All the Stars and Teeth(15)

I don’t remember much about what happened next, but I remember the prisoner’s face and the chains that shackled her. She was a woman hardly older than I am now, with blond hair and panicked blue eyes. I remember I couldn’t stop staring at them, wondering what she did to deserve this fate as Father pressed a dagger into my hands—the same one I use even now.

“This is how it has to be, Amora.” Father guided my trembling hand to the woman’s arm and helped me press my blade into her skin.

The woman cried all the while, but the moment her blood coated the steel, the beast within me sprang to life, and I no longer needed Father’s aid. The shadows of the prison walls and the screams that careened off them stopped seeming so overwhelming as I sunk into the beast’s power and let it filter through me. Let it feast on the blood of this prisoner until she fell to the earth, lifeless. Only then, when the beast was satisfied, did I come to my senses.

But it was too late to go back.

Father held me tight as the beast within latched onto my soul. It’s never let go, since.

It took only a season to quell the beast and recover physically, but years for the nightmares to stop. Since then, I’ve had to visit the prison annually in order to exert my magic and keep the beast within me at bay.

I’ve never enjoyed executions, or having to watch a soul fade to death by my hands. But I’ve come to realize that someone has to do it in order to keep Visidia safe, and the gods chose me.

But I’m no fan of these stuffy tunnels, and I kick the heavy iron bars of my cell to tell it as much. I hiss when it does nothing but send a shock of pain to my ankle, and tuck my forehead to my knees. The guards need to hurry and bring me food so I can stabilize.

Since my magic is useless without my satchel or a fire, they stuck me in the first prison—a small luxury, and perhaps a fleeting sign of respect as this prison is the cleanest and most maintained. But poor ventilation this far underground makes the place reek with a mixture of must and human excrement that does nothing to help the nausea that fights to best me.

“Looks like we’ve got ourselves a fresh catch,” a prisoner across from me taunts, squinting through the haunting red glow of torchlight to peer into my cell. In the darkness, he’s one of the few others I can see. “Never thought I’d see you all locked up, Princess. How about you give us a little show?” The man makes smacking sounds with his lips while another joins in, venturing into elaborate detail about all the ways she’d like to slice me up and feed my body to the Lusca, a sea beast of horror stories, meant to scare disobedient children.

“Try, and see what happens,” I growl. My hands itch for the satchel or dagger that were stripped from me, wishing I had a proper way to shut them up.

Because although I don’t let them see it, their words eat me alive.

I would never have thought I’d end up on this side of a cell, either. But that’s Visidia’s law: if a Montara cannot control their soul magic and is deemed too dangerous, they’ll be held until a trial can determine their fate—another chance at best, an execution at worst. Since the possible Montara heirs are so low in number, I doubt they’d kill me. I’m too valuable for that. Still though, it’s not something I want to risk.

I need to get out of here. Eat some food. Get my strength. Find a way to make things right.

But instead I’m stuck in this blasted cell, leaving my fate to be determined by whether Father’s able to sway our people into believing I’m still somehow worthy of their trust, and meant to be the next High Animancer. To be their future queen.

He has to convince them; there’s no other option. Since Aunt Kalea’s been secretly practicing enchantment magic, she’d run the kingdom straight into the ground if she tried to learn a second magic.

I want nothing more than to protect Visidia and show my people that I’ll be a worthy leader. Yet, in the moment I’ve been training for all my life, I failed to prove that.

I can’t be angry that they’ve locked me behind bars, though the weight of it suffocates me. My people were right to strip me of my belongings; they’re right to be afraid of me. Aran’s death may have been Visidian justice, but how I killed him was nothing short of monstrous.

When Father had me sent to this cell, it wasn’t by choice. He had to adhere to the law. But that doesn’t mean it hurts any less.

I hold my head in my hands, pinching my eyes shut to cast away the spinning image of Aran’s body.

The sharp squeal of the prison doors echoes through the tunnels, piercing my skull so fiercely I have to fight down a bout of nausea. Despite my swimming vision, I force my eyes open to see if it’s Father here to tell me everything will be okay; to tell me that despite how badly I messed up, my people have decided to give me another chance.

“Amora?”

My stomach drops. I recognize the voice even before Ferrick makes it to my cell, each footstep slow and hesitant.

Bathed in the dim glow of torchlight, he looks like a frightened fox with his fair skin, slicked back orange-red hair, and sharp cheekbones hollowed by the fire’s shadows. His nose is scrunched and his green eyes wide and anxious, as though he expects a prisoner to break through the bars and attack him at any moment. When I notice the three trays of food he balances on his hands and forearms, I groan and drag myself closer to the cell bars as he carefully lowers to his knees and sets the trays on the floor.