Page 81 of Devour
When will my first campaign begin? Now that I am a captain with amplified black magic crawling through my body, my mission will be much more than scouting. I will be expected to kill, perhaps hundreds at a time. I will be expected to hunt down magic wielders. They still exist, out there in the desert, in Ayrinth, and in the mountains.
The one Lina protected, was she one of them? I’ve long pondered that possibility.
Ivar must have suspected one of them was a sorceress. He must have concluded it was Lina. He thought that was why I protected her.
He knows my heart is not fully with the Drak’yn. I do not willingly follow the Ancient One.
You are strong.
I sigh and twist again, trying my best to find a comfortable position.
“Not strong enough,” I answer my drakai.
You are Nihilian, and yet you are not.
I look down at my hands. Yes, I have fared better than I expected so far. But we both know once the killing begins, my demon will strengthen. If Marvros cares one way or another, he has never shown it. The drakai are reluctant allies of the Drak’yn. Most don’t have opinions or cares, they simply obey.
She strengthens you.
I shake my head. Her very presence is like a drug. If I were to use her to strengthen my defiance, the Ancient would know. He would know, and we’d both be better off dead.
Would I have the strength to kill us both before they could use us? I doubt it.
Maybe it’s best that I start my mission soon.
Another stabbing pain breaks my patience, and I groan, twisting to lie flat on the stone floor. It’s far from comfortable, and much colder, but at least I’m not being stabbed to death by wayward scales.
Another drakai could accidentally impale me with a talon, but I trust Mavros enough. He cares for my wellbeing as much as I care for his.
Why? I don’t know. The other drakai do not have the same sensibilities, at least not so far as I have seen. The other Drak do not speak fondly of their beasts. They are a begrudging part of their role as warrior.
The other drakai don’t have a problem harming their riders. They do as they’re told during battle, but it is obedience, notrespect. When they’re at rest—well, being smothered by a drakai is not an uncommon way for a warrior to die.
Maybe I am foolish to trust Mavros as much as I do. No one would ever think to even find me here in the drakai pit because it may as well be a death sentence even for a rider.
Thank fuck because I cannot be in that room with her.
So close. So warm. So fucking beautiful.
And I cannot have her the way I want. Not only does she hate me, but sheshould.She has every right to hate me. If I ever tell her why I chose her, or what she means to me, she’ll hate me even more.
I don’t know how long I’ll be able to keep the charade up. The seers know there is something special about her. They suspect my motives are not what they seem. And I am trapped.
I either allow her to die a horrific death or, at some point, one of them is going to put the pieces together.
I’ll be the reason the Ancient One wins. He’ll bring out his age of darkness, and it will be my fault.
Mine.
I should’ve ended my own life out in the desert years ago.
Then, what would have happened to her?
Fuck. I never really had a choice, did I?
Life is better when you don’t care. When your mind is lost to the world and residing in the void. But here I am, ruminating again, desperate fingers clawing at any chance that she could survive.
I need her to survive.
