The Alchemists of Loom (Loom Saga #1)(35)

Sybil lowered her head, and her silence was sharper than any executioner’s axe. Leona shifted, blocking the room’s only exit. Yveun Dono stood.

“Sybil, look at me.” Magic lapped against the King’s lips as he spoke. It radiated off his tongue, slithering into Sybil’s ears. “Tell me, what hand do you favor the most?”

Her sister was frozen on the outside, unmoving, barely breathing. But Leona knew that inside, she was waging a futile mental war. The King’s magic was strong and undeniable. His influence couldn’t be ignored, not when he threw that much power behind it.

“Tell me, Sybil.” The tone Yveun Dono took as he softly beseeched Sybil would’ve been enough to make Leona do his bidding, no magic required.

“M-my right.” The magic won out. The second her head snapped up to meet his, Yveun Dono shifted his magic.

His eyes seemed to glow in the dimly lit room as they met Sybil’s. The faint taste of blackberries filled Leona’s mouth, flowing in from her nose. The King’s magic had a sweet palate, but almost too much so. Like something that had been left on the vine for too long and was one day from rotting.

“Right it is then,” Yveun Dono whispered. “Give me your hand.”

His magic reduced Sybil to a puppet with invisible strings. As long as the King’s stare was unbroken, she was his.

Her right hand rose up from where it rested on her knee and extended to the King. Yveun Dono took it with grace, all the while his eyes locked with Sybil’s, holding his magical control of her mind.

The moment his magic shifted and Sybil regained command of herself, it was too late. The King’s onyx claws were out, magic and pure rage woven between them. He brought them down on Sybil’s right hand, where they punctured through tendon and bone, ripping meat and flesh and stringy ligament as he shredded the offending appendage.

Her sister cried out in pain as the King twisted his wrist. He rendered Sybil’s fingers to nothing more than pulp, her palm in shreds, before cutting her hand off at the wrist. Leona stared darkly at her younger sister as she nursed the stub at the end of her arm. She could feel Sybil’s magic trying to regrow the appendage, but to no avail. Dragons could regrow almost anything if their hearts and heads were intact—and if a stronger Dragon wasn’t committing himself to blocking the magical healing process.

“Dono, Dono,” Sybil wailed. “Forgive me. Spare my life.”

Yveun Dono looked down at the bloodied mass of what he had hailed as one of his Riders in disgust. His magic was still locked with Sybil’s, stopping hers from healing the wound. He started back for his throne.

“Very well. I will spare your life.” The King sat. “And I will defer to your commander, my Master Rider, for administering any remaining discipline.”

Leona met her King’s red eyes, still glowing with magic in the near darkness of the room. He radiated effortless authority. She dissected his decree, looking for the scrap of his true will in it. If there was one, he was hiding it. The King appeared to be giving her a genuine choice.

She met Sybil’s eyes. Her sister was still huddled, wounded. Pathetic tears streamed over her cheeks and soiled the floor upon which their King walked. No half measures. Sybil had given the King her word and failed time and again. Now her eyes had the audacity to seek forgiveness in light of her shame. Her sister clung to the desperation to live more than she sought the glory of their house.

Shameful.

Leona wouldn’t explain her actions. If her sister had any sense left in her, any pride remaining as an Anh of House Rok, she would know. They were one body, and they worked to serve one mind—Yveun Dono’s. Any who didn’t were a cancer ravaging the system, leeching resources for their own selfish gain. There was only one course of action when a tumor had grown.

Sybil’s eyes went wide in shock the second Leona’s hand plunged into her chest. The sharp edges of ribs raked against her fingers and wrist. Her blood mingled with her sister’s for what would be the last time. Leona held Sybil’s frantically beating heart in her palm. Golden blood dribbled from the younger Dragon’s mouth.

She stood over her sister’s corpse, the heart still twitching in her fingers with the dying pulses of Sybil’s magic. She offered the organ to the King.

Yveun Dono turned his head in a slow, deliberate side-to-side. “It was your kill.”

Leona raised the heart to her mouth, tearing into it with her teeth. Her canines rendered the tissue into thin strips that were palatable on her tongue and easy to swallow. Power surged through her; Leona’s head swam. She gorged herself on magic and meat until her vision blurred and her stomach felt fat.

“Imbibe her strength. Take her magic.” Somehow Yveun Dono was right before her. She hadn’t even heard him move. “Take your trusted two—Andre and Camile.”

His hand was lacing around hers. He was touching her. The King was touching her. Leona’s whole body flushed on a high she had never felt before. Magic mingled with hers, filled her, overwhelmed her.

Golden blood slicked between their fingers, the sticky liquid fading in the air. Leona looked up at her sovereign and breathed the taste of blackberries. If she was ever to die, she would want it to be by his hand; she would want him to be the one to feast on her heart and engorge himself with her essence. She would want her magic to cloud his head and make him feel heavy. She would want him to be drunk on her as she was drunk on Sybil.