Page 148 of Lady of the Drowned Empire
This time Trey stepped forward. “Still want to play that game? You’re a fucking prisoner. Deal with it.”
Brockton bared his teeth. “The forsworn bastard who can’t keep his eyes off you—who loses his shit if someone so much as looks your way. That one? The one who risked everything to break you out of prison…he just left? Left you all alone and helpless? You really expect me to believe that?”
“It’s what happened!”
“And after we combed the entire mountainside, we found no sign of him.”
“Because he left.”
“That story is almost as believable as saying he isn’t fucking the shit out of you every night.”
“What? No.”
“What?” Geoffrey mocked. “No.”
The wolves all laughed.
“Face it, Batavia,” said Trey. “He’s fucked. He comes for you, we turn him in for vorakh. He comes for you, we turn him in for breaking his oath, and taking advantage of his poor innocent novice.”
Brockton laughed. “Let’s find out, shall we? Get the truth out of you at last. We’ll wait for him to come. And…have some fun along the way.”
He stepped behind me, his breath disgustingly hot on my neck, his hands reaching for the ties of my tunic. I jerked, my body going taut, my breath coming short, but he only pulled harder. His fingers began to unlace the top, loosening the fabric. I felt the clasps of my armor unbuckle, the metal loosening, no longer a protective shield around my body, no longer a barrier between me and my enemies. With a loud clang, it fell to the floor.
“Brockton, stop,” I pleaded, shaking, trying to twist my head back, to see him, to somehow stop him. “Please! Please.”
“Just making you a bit more comfortable.”
I couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t escape.
The laces loosened further, just like they had when I’d been whipped. Brett, Geoffrey, and Trey leaned forward, their nostrils flaring, as their eyes lit with excitement.
I squeezed my eyes shut, trying to hold back my tears and panic. They knew about Rhyan, and there wasn’t anything I could do.
The rope dug into my wrists—cutting, brutal.
Rope. Rope. Tear the rope. Tear the rope apart….
I opened my eyes to look around the room for anything I could reach to use as leverage or a weapon. But I could barely move with my bonds. And my protections were leaving me, piece by piece. My belt was off. My remaining Valalumir stars lying helplessly out of reach.
I realized then why I hadn’t been stripped of my dagger and armor before. Brockton was crueler than I’d thought. He’d left them to give me false hope—to see how I’d react when they were taken. He’d wanted to witness me losing my protection, losing my weapons. See me awake, see me suffering.
But there was one weapon left.
I still wore Asherah’s armor. He thought it was a necklace, and he’d left it behind.
Could I call on her twice? Was it possible?
Heart hammering, I began to chant the incantation under my breath: Ani petrova kashonim me ka el lyrotz, dhame ra shukroya, aniam anam. Chayate….
But I felt nothing. None of the diamonds were glowing, and I felt no sense of power or connection. Asherah’s blood was dormant. I’d only called on our kashonim hours before. The magic was only ever meant to be used on rare occasions, once-in-a-lifetime moments, not twice in one day. And the magic between me and her, it was unlike any other kashonim. Rarer, unknown. Something told me that calling on it again, so soon, would be worthless even if she knew what was happening, even if she wanted to help me.
There was my kashonim with Rhyan. His blood ran through my veins. And I already knew what he would say.
Call it. Use it. Take everything he had.
But I couldn’t.
I didn’t know where he was—if he was in danger or if he was on his way to find me. Either way, he needed all his strength, if he even had any left after this morning. I couldn’t risk his life nor the slim possibility that he’d gotten my message. That he knew I’d been taken. That he was going to find me.
