Page 109 of A Sword of Ice
“They took her away because she had healing magic. They said she was needed. I have not seen her since.”
“How long ago was it?” Iona’s own voice echoed through the space; it was cracking and full of emotion.
“I… I do not know. Years, it feels like. Time flows differently in the dark.”
“Thank you,” Iona said, because there seemed like there was nothing else to say, nothing more he could give her than he already had. “I appreci—” She didn’t get the rest out because she was slammed back into her body. She gasped for a breath, her vision slowly returning to her. She looked around, her gaze wild for a moment.
Weylyn had already recovered, staring at her like her reaction to his magic was amusing. “Do not think this is a gift freely given,” he said in his strangely accented voice that was full of cruelty and malice. “It was a favor, and I expect you to give me one in return.”
She gritted her teeth.
Bastard.
As if he could hear her thoughts, he smiled. “As to when I plan to collect?” He leaned forward, fingers swiping at the blood she knew was on her chin. “It will be when you least expect it.” Then he was prowling away.
She didn’t watch him go but turned back to the Fae. He was breathless, like he was just as overwhelmed by Weylyn’s magic as Iona had been. She grasped his hands and gave them a reassuring squeeze.
“Thank you so much,” she whispered. “You have given me hope.”
After leading him back with the other Fae, Iona decided she needed to find out where they’d taken her sister.
She knew she wasn’t dead. In fact, any time she tried to conjure up those negative thoughts, it felt like Mana was inside her, tearing them down before they could even fully arise. Because it couldn’t be true. Her sister wasalive. And she’d been here. At this dreadful place where hope was dead and the Fae were broken.
She should have felt closer to Malika, but all she felt was dread as she took the steps to the upper levels of the camp where there were doors to what looked like human offices.
The first one she broke into was wide in space with side doors that Iona assumed were the bathing rooms or connecting offices. It held a long metal desk that she circled, using her magic to break the locks on the drawers. She yanked them open and found stacks of papers inside.
She didn’t hesitate to pull them out and start reading.
* * *
Hours.It felt like she was sitting there for hours, her gaze scanning every page. Every detail of every Fae they ever harbored and everything they’d ever done to them. They’d been degraded. Reduced to magic and numbers and pain.
Her heart hurt like every word on the page was piercing her own soul. Like everything she was reading was happening to her instead.
Then she came across the words that would haunt her.
She read them over and over again until every single word was memorized, starting with her sister’s name—Malika Wylde—and further down. To everything the humans in this place had ever done to her.
Broken ribs.
Pulled nails.
Broken nose.
Missing toes.
“Subject does not break under measures of extreme torture.”
“Subject’s magic has depleted and has outlived her usefulness. Tomorrow she will be transferred to the camp in Ojor, Ielwyn, where she will be evaluated before her execution.”
Execution.
“No.”
Her legs gave out from under her, and she came crashing down against the edge of the table. Everything on top clattered to the ground in a commotion that felt similar to the one raging in her own chest. A storm roiled inside her, and her magic responded to her emotions. Snow began to rain down from the ceiling, fat chunks freezing against her skin like the winds in the northernmost parts of Illyk.
Executed.
