Page 144 of Thorn Season
I met his eyes, tears streaking my vision. I now knew why those prison tunnels hadn’t seemed suitable to host humans.
Because from the beginning, Erik had called uscreatures.
“Didn’t I say I wanted more than my predecessors?” He spoke slowly, his bright gaze steady on mine. “Didn’t I say I couldn’t stand alone to achieve such greatness? Our world is on the precipice of an immense change—a new era of conquest, in which every nation shall blaze with the colors of Daradon... and this compass will lead us there.”
With rising horror, I looked again to the compass’s case—ornate yet unassuming, about the diameter of a tealight.
“How?”The whisper dropped off my tongue, and I instantly regretted speaking. Because, as if in answer, Erik unclasped the lid.
Blood rushed to my limbs, my specter coiling again as the compass’s glassy face reflected the flames. Though Erik had been the keeper all along, he must have never thought to consult the compass around me until this moment.
And now I had nowhere to hide.
The needle stirred anxiously at first, flicking in every direction—and for a moment, I thought my specter had curled itself tight enough that I wouldn’t be targeted. That I was safe, that he had no proof, and I needed only to hold out a little while longer—
Then the needle rallied into a swift, all-consuming spin.
And stopped directly on me.
I gasped as my specter gushed toward the needle, rocking me forward. The dullroot dug its claws deeper in response. I swallowed against the ache, panting as everything inside me felt primed to burst.
“Magnificent, isn’t it?” Erik murmured, revoltingly calm. “The Ansoran Spellmakers forged this compass from the raw power of molted specters. Do you think such a mighty instrument was created for the mere purpose of Hunting?”
“You Hunted those Wielders,” I rasped, fighting the strain.
He laughed under his breath—a sound that made me want to shield my face from his inevitable temper-snap.
“Can’t you feel it?” he whispered, almost reverent. He ran his thumb over the domed glass. “This compass doesn’t point to Wielders. It points tospecters.” His voice darkened. “Wielders just get in the way.”
A primal terror seized me. I couldn’t comprehend his distinction. But as my specter leaned all its weight against me, building in pressure with an ear-humming force, I somehow sensed exactly where it ended and I began.
And the power that had always been mine—that should’ve beenme—suddenly felt as foreign as somebody else’s arm attached at my shoulder.
“Now you understand why I had to take it from the Capewells,” Erik said, though I understood nothing except the sudden urge to cling tighter to my specter than ever before. “How could they be trusted with such an object? They descend from mercenaries—pests—always scavenging for power, showing no loyalty or dedication.” He smiled dryly. “And yet even pests can be leashed.”
My eyes widened, pained tears glassing them over. I’d understood Erik’s poetic punishment of the Capewells—picking them off individually, as they’d always picked off Wielders. But I hadn’t understoodthe dark extent of those similarities.
Erik was methodicallysubduingthe Capewells, just as the Crown had once subdued the Wielders of Daradon. Making them forget their strength in numbers—even eliciting a perverse gratitude in those left behind.
Because fear leashed people far better than chains.
“The rise in Huntings finally scared Briar into a confession,” Erik continued. “And I ordered them to reclaim the compass I knew they could never find. They were so intent on avoiding my wrath that they never suspected I’d committed the very murder they’d tried to conceal.”
A chill gripped me. Seeing my expression, Erik laughed again.
“Yes, I killed Wray Capewell myself. I was fifteen, newly crowned, and he was my first. The poor man was so stunned that he didn’t even try to fight me.” Erik’s expression turned wistful, caught in happy memory. “It’s a power like no other, to hold a life in your hands. To snuff it out like a flame.”
The pressure inside me built without release, my taut skin throbbing. Even the compass’s needle began to shudder, as though struggling to maintain its vicious hold on my power.
“So get it over with,” I said through rattling teeth. Because now that Erik knew what I was, a quick death was all I could hope for.
A little smile inched around his mouth.
Then he snapped the compass lid shut and severed the strain on my specter. I went limp, almost tipping onto him—lowering in an involuntary bow. One hot teardrop spilled over my lashes,splatting onto his lap.
As he repocketed the compass, my specter buried itself in the depths of my body, quivering from the violation. I wanted to wrap my arms around myself—aroundit—in protection from the torment to come.
A quick death had been too much to hope for. I’d already seen at the Opal that Erik liked to savor every morsel of human suffering. And after the way I’d toyed with him these past weeks... my suffering would be the sweetest he’d ever tasted.
