Ferelith hasn’t laid a hand on me, but with the power of her magic and my inability to fight her after I willingly gave up my own power through a poor choice of words, she’s made me suffer. She kicked aside the pyrite stones holding me captive and relished in her amplified power to throw me around the room where I crashed into walls and furniture.
My left shoulder is dislocated, and there are at least two broken bones in that hand.
At one point, without even moving a muscle, she beat me with something invisible that felt like punches delivered by a ham-fisted man. I’m sure my body is bruised from head to toe.
What’s most distressing of all, however, is that none of her torture has gotten me to open the spell book for her. With a shriek of frustration, she held out her hand. The knife she used to kill Archer flew toward her. She caught it easily by the hilt and stalked toward me.
I tried to scramble away, but she had me by the hair. Rather than cut my throat, however, she sliced my forearm right through my shirt.
I winced because I knew she was going to freak out when she saw my blood was black, but instead, it poured as red as the pool surrounding Archer’s body.
I was so stunned, I didn’t realize she’d grabbed hold of the wound, coated her hand with my blood, and then promptly smeared it on the book. She commanded it to open, assuming perhaps it answered only to the life force that runs through my veins, but nothing happened.
My heart sank as implications dawned. Whatever power I might possess as Amell’s daughter appears to have disappeared. Either it was temporary, or Ferelith has somehow driven it out of me with the pyrite stone circle or even when I offered my blood to save Archer. Maybe that was too humane a gesture to ever let the darkness take root within me.
Regardless, my secret relationship with Amell was protected, but I was still in for a world of pain. Ferelith screeched with fury that my life force did nothing to activate the spell book, and I took a magic kick to my ribs that had me coughing up blood.
And now I wait for more, my body nowhere near its breaking point yet.
Ferelith paces back and forth, talking to herself. Her eyes are crazed, and she waves her hands around as she debates her options out loud.
“You’re not hurting her enough,” she says, and then whirls to pace the other direction. “But she can’t lose too much blood. That has to be done in a ritual sacrifice to transfer her powers to you.” Once again she spins, doesn’t bother to glance at me. “Just burn the book. What does it matter if you know what it does?” One more pivot. “Because it could be a trick. She might have learned something from that book to thwart me.”
I lift my head from the floor, the spell book in my line of vision. The red blood on the cover seems to mock me. It speaks to my inadequacies in my refusal to fully embrace the shadows. Perhaps if I had done so, I could’ve saved Archer.
Myself.
Beyond the book lies Archer’s body. Skin pale, lifeless, his irises turning milky. Did he know what he was getting into? Or was he under her control? It hurts that I won’t know the answer—was he a pawn or a traitor?
“You haven’t made her hurt enough,” Ferelith says to herself, and next thing I know, I’m on my back, Ferelith straddling me. Her gown splits, allowing her legs to squeeze tight at my hips as her hands clutch around my throat. She squeezes with inhuman power, my airway instantly closed off. I claw at her fingers to try to pull them away, but I’m not strong enough and two of my fingers are broken.
Hovering over me, Ferelith demands, “Tell me what that spell book does. A Dark Fae gave it to you, I’m sure of it. I heard rumors one was in Clairmont. Did you know a Dark Fae taught me how to use blood magic? I’m wondering if you learned the same as me, or if you know something more from that book. Save yourself the pain, and just tell me.”
Her hands loosen, and I suck in precious air. The expression on her face is expectant, but when I stare at her in resolute silence, she chokes me again.
This time, she keeps the pressure on until my vision starts to go black. Just as I’m on the verge of passing out, she releases her grip again. Snarling at me, a tiny string of saliva escapes the corner of her mouth. “You will tell me what that book does, or I will kill you.”