Page 22 of A Dance With Fire
Her whole body tensed. The emperor? The Emperor of Illyk wanted to see her? A damning fate, she knew, for all who were presented before His Majesty never returned. His hatred for Fae was legendary. Rumors said he kept the remnants of Fae preserved in his throne room, mounted on his opulent walls.
Remnants that could soon belong to Shula. Her ears. Her hands. She gulped… Her head.
She needed to get out of there.
The need of survival hit her and pierced past any pain she felt. The pain was miniscule compared to what could come. The emperor? He would do much worse than these brothers ever could. Instinctively, she knew it, and she wouldn’t be victim to it.
She’d been victim to a lot of things in her life. To death, to fear, to pain. She didn’t want to live that way. Didn’t want her head mounted above Emperor Laurel’s throne, something for him to stare at when he was feeling particularly conflagrated.
She’d built her life around Piriguini’s Circus, and she knew she could do it again. Somewhere else. She’d done it when she was twelve, and she could it now that she was twenty-two. But first, she had to get out.
Just a tug would pull the chain from the floor where it was lightly embedded. But how would she get away from them? Her mind began spinning as she tried to plot.
All her bravado fled when she realized there wasn’t a way she could escape. Not without magic, not bound in iron, with ashwood poison still in her veins, and that water still burning the back of her throat. Her magic was useless, but she’d survived years without magic, armed with nothing but her wits. She may have been overpowered, one against six, but there was something she’d learned from the circus that was integral in tricking humans.
Sleight of hand.
And humans were creatures that were easily fooled.
She was sure they would be, too.
If there was one thing she gauged in the few moments of contact with them, it was that they wanted her unharmed. While they’d shoved that liquid down her throat and it burned like never before, she was sure it wouldn’t do her any damage beyond her current discomfort. Not when she was the emperor’s property. The bindings were likely more for their sake, so she wouldn’t use her powers on them.
Within moments, she’d formed a plan.
Taking a deep breath, she groaned, loud enough to break through the plans they made about her life, her body as if she weren’t there. She groaned a second time, affectively silencing them. They turned to her and the now pained expression she wore. She didn’t look, but when she felt every single eye on her, she slumped forward. Hard. Hard enough to crack her face against the glowing marble beneath her. Hard enough for her nose to crack and blood to spill. She let it slide down into her mouth and stain her teeth. Only then did she get back up and let them see the stains.
Once they caught a glimpse of her bleeding face, she slammed herself back down against the ground again and this time, she convulsed. She let her body wrack with shivers so hard, her eyes rolled to the back of her head. Blood heaved from her mouth and she gurgled on it, choking.
She’d seen her fair share of death throughout her years. She knew how to convince them.
She knew that it worked.
Their panic was palpable. Beyond the coppery taste of her own blood coating her tongue, she could taste their fear. Fear that they might have inadvertently harmed what the emperor desperately desired.
“Go get a healer! Now!” Three sets of footsteps retreated. The door to the catacombs opened and closed.
With every convulsion of her body, she propelled herself forward, closer to where the chain was embedded into the ground. Shula rolled onto it, hiding her hands with the position of her body so she could pull the nail from the ground. She grasped it tightly in her hands and when one of the brother’s bent to check on her, she moved on instinct and fear, her own need for survival.
She brought the nail swinging up against his throat. Skin tore open and blood poured from Brother Lara’s neck. It stained the pristine, parchment robes, blooming red across the material.
Robes of white and red, indeed.
9
Demon Eyes
Brother Lara made a choked noise and staggered back. The two remaining brothers stared in confusion, and Shula took advantage of the moment. She pushed herself to her feet and ran for the door. Her muscles screamed every step of the way, her chains were heavy, and blood dripped down to her elbows.
She’d never killed anyone before. She’d been to blame for deaths, but it wasn’t the same as actually taking a life. It didn’t feel good; she felt no happiness, only the desperate pounding need of her heart, begging her to survive. So she listened to the heavy thumping like it was the song of a siren.
By the time the brothers gained their wits, she was nearing the door. But she’d been abused, her body weakened. They were faster.
Fingers grasped her hair and tugged her back. A cry of pain pushed past her lips as her neck was jerked back. The action caused the necklace at her throat to break and clatter to the ground. She whirled on her captor, swiping the iron nail out. It snagged against his robes, so she swiped again, tearing against the material of his arm and to the skin underneath.
Manic, angry eyes stared back at her as she struggled. She wanted to believe she was getting out of this alive, but she could feel the second brother creeping around her, threatening to close her in.
Panic seized and she whirled, using as much strength as her body possessed and more. The suddenness of it had the hairs from her scalp pulled. She bit back the agonizing cry that wanted to slip from her throat. She pulled herself from the brother’s grasp and charged at the one sneaking up on her.
