Page 123 of The Rebel and the Rose
Standing over Talisa, Lark said, ‘This might sting a little, princess.’
He poured the water over her chest.
Screams erupted from the princess like a terrible aria, rising all the way to the ceiling.
Flinching – and entirely dishevelled now – Andreas staggered to his feet. Dismissing his mercenaries with a wave of his hand, he turned on Theo.
‘Remember this kindness, Versini. By rights, you should be dead for putting your hands on me.’ Then, looking down on the writhing, screeching figure of his own cousin, he said, simply, ‘Be quiet, Talisa.’
Talisa’s screams cut out. Though her mouth remained slack and gasping, she didn’t make another peep. But Sera could see the agony in her eyes, the blood vessels there bursting until there wasn’t a speck of white left.
Crawling back to sit by the princess, she turned her ire up at Andreas. ‘What the hell have you done to her?’
‘You’re the one who maimed her,’ he said, viciously. ‘I merely saved us all a headache.’
‘She’s dying. She’s going to die here.’
Andreas scrubbed a hand across his face. ‘Talisa,’ he said, his eyes glowing. ‘Go and get yourself to the healer.’
‘Have you lost your mind?’ demanded Theo. ‘Her chest has been scoured down to the bone. She can’t just—’
Talisa sat up, like a puppet yanked by an invisible string. With obscene effort, she managed to drag herself to her feet. She swayed once, twice, and then collapsed. Theo caught her before she hit the ground. Her lids fluttered closed.
They didn’t open again.
A yawning chasm of dread filled Sera, and she pitched forward, retching.
Andreas frowned. ‘This could not have gone worse.’
No grief, only frustration.
Theo was still holding Talisa’s body, staring vacantly at the chalky slats of her ribs, the pink ridge of her unmoving heart.
Val hissed in disgust. ‘She’s your cousin, you callous prick. And now she’sdead.’
‘Thanks to your friend.’ Andreas’s voice was clipped, cold. ‘Here lies the price of your cowardice, Seraphine. Let this be a lesson to you.’
Those cruel words struck true, slicing through Sera like a knife. She was too horrified to respond, too busy trying to hold herself together. She hadn’t meant to kill the princess. She had tried to save her, tried to warn Andreas, but what did it matter now? It was her hand that had scoured her, her fear-addled magic that had ripped through blood and bone and sinew to snatch away the last handful of her heartbeats.
All for nothing.
If this was power, she didn’t want it.
Take it back, she pleaded with Saint Oriel.
Smother it.
Give it to another.
At a snap of the prince’s fingers, a mercenary rushed over. ‘Get her out of here. And be discreet about it.’
‘Aye, sir.’ The mercenary moved as if in a trance, taking the girl from Theo’s arms, turning on his boot heel and running across the empty dance hall and out of the back door.
Raising her head, Sera watched him go, then turned to study the other mercenaries in their midst. How they all stood, straight-backed and blank-eyed against the walls, like wind-up toy soldiers. She thought back to last night. All that raucous laughter that refused to die out, revellers dancing until their feet bled, twirling and twirling until they vomited. What Andreas had done just now to Talisa, plucking her from the floor like a broken stem and making her stand. How she had somehow managed it, taking those final tortured steps even as her heart gave out.
‘They’re enthralled.’ Her voice was a broken whisper. ‘You’ve enthralled all of them.’
Lark snorted. ‘Well, obviously.’ He flopped back into his chair. ‘This is painful, Andreas. Why did Saint Oriel choose the dumbest one to lead us?’
