The Heirs of Death

41.2 Alliance

ALLIANCE

Ha-ámej's fog was nothing more than scraps and whispers as he collided with the wall. Not a song. Not a memory. Nothing but faltering, curling grey smoke that swirled around him as though a breaking barrier. Bones groaned as he hit ground, what remained of his rotting flesh burning and flaking as Dearcious held him by the throat.

I could smell it from the alley, the stink of the decaying muscles and fabric catching fire. Could almost taste it beneath my tongue.

The Unknown Prince's frail body was thrown across the widely open cell again, a few phalanges snapping from his hand as he scrapped to get up. He failed miserably. The next thing I could notice was the sweep of darkness that wrapped around him—wrists and knees and ankles—tightening, squeezing, suffocating. More breaking sounds echoed in the dim, cramped space, some of them so loud I wondered how Ha-ámej still clang to life.

Hours—it had been hours since Blake had brought us down here, since he'd gotten in that prison. And Ha-ámej hadn't broken down once, hadn't slipped a single answer, not even with the claws and the talons and the merciless, stifling waves of sheer darkness. But again, he'd been fighting him for centuries and lifetimes, as the Armedes king had told me as we got through the gate. Centuries, many ones, of torture and prisons and pain.

The fog hissed, a long, dragging sound that filled every hole and crack as he was pushed back, head forced down on the brick floor. No blood came out, but the impact had been harsh, and even from my position I saw the bit of torn skin, the crack in his skull, the liquids that seeped out.

And amid all the beating, all the lashing of powers, I sensed how his fog swayed—stared at me. Even the empty sockets he had for eyes, I could swear I felt them locking on me, observing. I remained silent, arms wrapped against my chest, not able to lift a finger to help, not even knowing if I should intervene or not.

Blake hadn't bothered with questions when he'd melted the bars away, stepped in, and had claws spouting from the other side of the Prince's shoulders. They must have gone over the verbal scenario far more than enough.

A pained groan. A muffled scream. Another crack.

I knew what the pain coursing through Ha-ámej was, I knew what the darkness and fire that chained him, wrecked him tasted like. I lived through it, the same horrors. And I knew what the hand Ha-ámej tried to extend, what the fog that fought to approach me meant. Begging, pleading.

It took centuries, and perhaps even more, to drain him this much.

For a long moment, I only saw the motionless body, the twisted ankle, the slightly curling of his bone-fingers. And the claws that came down on him like barreling Death.

For the first time in a long while, my magic flared in my blood, despite Dearcious's presence. Flared and—

I grabbed Blake's hand, feeling the twitching of his muscles, the blind, bitter madness rising up, filling the space like the thick scent of burning oil.