Of Whispers and Daggers ✓ [TLRQ #2]

Chapter 22 - Idyne

I stare down at this shaman in a soldier's body.

"Idyne," Alaar purrs.

I slap him. His head snaps to the side, and his tongue runs over the missing tooth.

"What have you done?"

My head cocks, angry but proud. He lies under my power. "I brought you back to life. I thought you'd be happy." My lips spread in a slow grin.

"You also murdered me." Dried blood speckles his teeth.

I sit back, arms tired of supporting my weight. "I brought you to the Morineause." My smile is mocking and cold, and I savor it.

"Behave, child." His head turns away, gaze indifferent.

My hand snatches his jaw, forcing him to look at me. My thumb digs into the joint, and his steel eyes harden. I hold his gaze. "You're mine now."

He can't respond and doesn't try to.

I release him with a shove and push to my feet, hoping my knees don't betray my exhaustion. I have to cast the second part of the spell now that he's awake. If I wait too long, the first part will become invalid, and the bracelet will disintegrate.

I move to his feet and close my eyes.

"What are you doing?" he growls. "Idyne!" One.

His name of ownership for me drives my magic to stir. In my mind's eye, words leave my mouth like ropes. The ropes attach to his bracelet and wrap around it. As I continue to speak in my mind, the ropes snake from the bracelet and up and around his arms, legs, body, mouth.

My eyes snap open. He lies unaffected on the ground, face like venom. The bracelet's red bead glares up, ready to be cast upon. The only thing binding him is the twine I tied last night; that won't be true for long.

Slowly, my arms rise as the words of magic draw themselves out of my lips. My hands twist through the air before one dips into my pocket for my silverglass.

With a shout, I slice it across my palm and fling the blood at Alaar.

The magic words give way to my first command for him. "Before the next full moon, you will not harm anyone within or on the castle wall!"

The bracelet tightens against his wrist and the bead glows. He twists on the ground, but his binds keep him. His jaw clenches, and my gut drops. Say it. He has to say it. If the spell's not strong enough, if it fails after all those hateful, hopeful nights, after I soaked my hands in blood, after I brought him back—my teeth clench. But I should have trusted my magic more. The bead glows brighter, and finally, the words tear from his mouth. "So I vow."

A smile slips onto my lips. The silverglass tears across my skin again and blood drops fly onto him. "Before the next full moon, you will not allow anyone to learn any part of you coming to be or currently being under the influence of this spell!" That will include my presence here.

The bracelet digs into his skin, the bead bright as a torch. He snarls, but the magic parts his lips again. "So I vow!"

The shard slashes across my palm a final time. The pain is searing, but in the magic, I couldn't stop if I tried. I throw the blood. "Before the next full moon, you will kill all the shamans!"

Clawlike tendrils of the bracelet burrow into his wrist, and he grits his teeth. "So I vow."

The magic words pick up, harsh and metered. I step forward, stooping, and drag my torn flesh down his face and chest, smearing thick blood. I stand, and the spell ends.

Dizziness rocks my mind, and I stumble. Black tunnels my vision, but he's not bound by the spell until a day for each command.

He's still dangerous.

Through the roaring in my ears, he hisses, "Your freedom is a facade. You were born to be a slave, and you will die serving the Greater Purpose!"

I fall to my knees, clumsy fingers fumbling for the shaudacerise and the bottle. One, two, three...

My hand trembles, and I lose the fourth drop to the floor. I try again.

Four, five, six, seven...

Jauntily, the voices sing, "You were born, you were born to die."

Eight, nine, ten...

"You will die, you will die a slave."

Eleven, twelve—

My hand jerks, and a stream of the poison tips into the bottle. I gasp and straighten the shaudacerise vial.

My head is spinning. I can't give him this much. It'll kill him, for certain.

The black at the edge of my vision constricts, and I close my eyes. The bottle in my hand starts to droop, and I start awake.

"Child," Alaar growls. "Just take the spell back and end this madness."

"Shut up!" I scream. I will measure this out, I will make him obey, and I will kill the shamans.

With shaking hands, blood still dripping from one—is there blood on my lip?—I pour some of the poison back into its bottle. I don't have the mental or physical strength to remeasure all of this. It might be too little to last for long, but better that than him dead prematurely.

I crawl back to Alaar, vision swimming, muscles empty and shaking. He twists, turning his face away from me. I grab for his jaw again, but my weak grip slips off. Catching his nose, I squeeze it shut. He wrenches his head back and forth, but this time, I hold on.

His mouth opens, and I pour the poison down his throat. He chokes, coughing, but swallows. I release him and scoot to the corner, back against the wall. Out of his range.

Eyes closed, I hear him stop coughing and draw a shuddering breath. This will work. It has to work. If it doesn't...

My exhaustion overtakes me.