Page 8 of Oath of Betrayal
My mother’s curse was merciless. It didn’t matter how hard I fought; it always ended the same.
I lost.
My mind drifted back to the worst moments of my life … and there I was, cowering on the floor as my father stood over me, whip in hand.
‘You useless, weak child. I wish I’d left you for the wolves when you were born. Why do you continue acting so human when my blood runs in your veins? You are a disgrace to the Shen’ra name,’ my father spat, raising the whip.
‘What do you expect? You’re the one who took a human as a mate,’ I hissed through clenched teeth just before the lash bit into the skin of my back, but I had to endure. Otherwise, theterrified servant behind me would bear the brunt of my father’s fury.
‘If you didn’t look so much like me, I would think your mother had spread her legs for the swine in the forest.’ The whip cracked again.
Agony tore through me, but my eyes searched for the child hiding beneath the chair, and I smiled reassuringly as our eyes met. I would protect him from this injustice. All the child had wanted was to learn, and I was the fool who had agreed to teach him.
Again the lash fell, and again I refused to scream. My father would not break his son so easily, and I relished every moment I frustrated his desires.
‘You think you can hold on? Fine. You wanted to teach the human, then teach him,’ he snarled. A magical net squeezed my throat so tight that my vision began to waver.
Hrae! What irked him this time?
He’d been at court earlier to see the empress, and I knew he hated it. Each time he returned, he took his anger out on us, but it had never been this bad before. At least this time, my mother and sister were safe from his wrath.
‘Lost for words, boy? Go ahead—teach him about Ozar. Tell him what happens to those who trust humans.’ My father sneered, and I felt the silver strands of his magic tightening on my throat.
Will he end up killing me this time?I wondered.
‘Cahyon Abrasan is one of the most brilliant mages on the continent.’ I rasped. ‘He is skilled in …’ I dragged in another breath before continuing, my father smirking as my pause caused the net to squeeze tighter, my little student crying too hard to listen to the mockery of a lesson.
‘He is skilled in transmutation and soul binding, making his golems incredibly powerful constructs as well as a source offree labour. This also made them unstoppable, which no one realised at the time. The gentle night-dwelling Moroi were so impressed that they invited him, a human mage, to the Kingdom of Ozar so that he could create servants to care for their needs during the daytime.’
‘Please, stop, Father. You’re killing him, please.’ I heard my sister call out over the wailing of the child servant and silently cursed. Why did my Ro, my little sunshine, have to turn up now? I had drawn away our father’s anger. She just needed to stay silent while I endured.
Outside of the horror I was trapped in, my struggling body wept, remembering the hatred I had felt at that moment—not for my abusive father, but for Ro, as she wrecked my efforts with her begging. My guilt from that emotion haunted me, and I wished I had fought back and saved her—saved us all—from my monstrous parent.
‘Stop?’ he laughed. ‘Why would I stop when this is the perfect teaching opportunity?’ my father replied. ‘Continue, Alaric.’ I followed his order, hoping to focus his ire on me alone, caring as little for my life as my father seemed to.
‘Through subterfuge and the use of twisted magic, Cahyon gained the support of the day-dwelling races, and when his golems turned on their helpless masters, no one opposed it. Those here in the Care’etavos Empire were shocked when dishevelled refugees appeared at our borders, nauseated by their accounts of horrifying barbarism. Of how the king and his court, helpless under the blinding sun, were dragged out at midday and slaughtered. That day, Cahyon stepped from the shadows and took control of the country, beginning his reign of blood and terror.’
My final words were little more than a wheeze as I fought for breath, but I fell into silence, knowing that if I begged now, it would only make things worse.
‘Don’t stop now, half-breed. You were doing so well,’ he jeered, enjoying my struggle.
‘The Moroi could only submit or die. They were a gentle fae race, and that merciless human now known as the Lich King took them and corrupted their life-affirming blood rituals so that they felt only an unquenchable thirst, turning the kind people into monsters.’ I took a breath.
‘Within a few short years, the glowing cities of Ozar were cesspits of death and debauchery. The surrounding nations were horrified at such carnage, but they also knew to fear and refused to commit to a war they might lose. So they sent emissaries to negotiate with the new king and established secret negotiations with their neighbouring countries.’
My face was on the ground and my vision was failing, but I had finished, and no one else was hurt. I felt my sister’s arms wrap around me, her voice cracking as she pleaded with our father, trying to use her own power to keep me conscious without realising she was prolonging my agony.
‘There we are. Now, let me continue your lesson, boy. Our wretched frightened empress has decided to sendmeas one of those emissaries—I, Roan’va Shen’ra, will be a servant to that human’s court,’ he spit out. ‘That’s what you get when you let females rule. Truly disgraceful.’
The illusion darkened as my past self blacked out when my father’s rage manifested in his magic, and for a brief moment, I felt a profound relief, even knowing it would soon start again.
Light flickered, my nightmare dragging me back into the memory. I fought its pull, sobbing in my frustration, knowing what was coming and cursing my weakness.
My father, in his infinite wisdom—or perhaps cruelty—took my mother and sister with him. Supposedly as a gesture of faith, to demonstrate our nation’s commitment to peace and cooperation.
I opposed the idea, intending to speak to the empress herself about it, but Rowena asked me not to intervene. And after reading the letters she sent to me during their journey, I began thinking that it was fine that I hadn’t, that my suspicions were unfounded. Ro’s stories were filled with excitement and wonder, the lengthening intervals between letters not so concerning in light of that happiness.
Our father was welcomed with open arms and seemed to hold an honoured position at the new king’s court. So I relaxed, believing that all was well. However, the tone of Rowena’s writing soon changed, fear and anxiety replacing the bubbly mood of her words. She was increasingly afraid of Cahyon, and when she learned of his deal with our father to make her his queen, Rowena begged for my help.
