When she awoke, there was a buzzing in her ears, irritating her more than anything. Rolling her neck, she attempted to rub her ear with her shoulder, only to find that her head was strapped down and it was not going anywhere.
Trying to push herself up, she found she had been bound at multiple points to a chair. Every finger, her wrists, elbows, and upper arms were all tied down. There was a strap across her chest and stomach, and across each thigh and calf. A strap across her neck and one across her forehead, all keeping her unable to see what was restraining her. She could only feel where the pressure pushed against her skin.
"Damn this city, and everyone in it," she growled. She attempted to bend her fingers enough to start carving into the wood of the chair, but her fingers had been tied down at the second knuckle, leaving her unable to flex them enough.
"Now that's not very nice," a low voice said from somewhere behind her. Turning her head as much as she was able, she tried to see who it was and where she was being held.
Before her there was nothing but a blank, nondescript stone wall. Above her, a blank nondescript stone ceiling. Left, and right?
Same thing. The floor was made of wood planks, so it was not as boring as the rest of the room, but there was not much to keep her interest.
"Who are you and what do you want?" she asked, straining at the bonds that held her.
"My name is Aelen. I am called The Ghost around here." The voice held that same thick accent, but it was not what she expected. It was smooth and light like honey yet had dark, sensual undertones that she found oddly tantalising. He stepped around her holding an oddly shaped lantern, and she could finally see him.
He was definitely an elf of the high or dark variety. His hair was jet black and hung thick and straight to his lower back. His eyes were a deep blue she had never seen before. His skin was the colour of inner tree bark, soft and warm. His ears were long, pointed like her own. The clothing he wore left nothing to the imagination. The black fabric was so tight it appeared to be painted on, and she could see every single muscle, including very pleasant abs. His pants were also black, and tight. They clung to his legs, giving her a good view of how toned his thigh muscles were.
He also wore black knee-high boots and a single gauntlet on his left hand that was made of some strange black metal. The finger guards were sharp like talons, each joint individual, pointed and dangerous-looking.
The lantern he held put out a light that was pure white, nothing like the warm yellows a normal lantern emitted. It was a thin cylinder with an elaborate dragon wrapped around it, yet the metallic dragon did not seem to block the glow at all.
Watching him place the lantern on the ground, she pondered what was going on.
"So, princess. I am sure you have heard of what I do for the crown. I am, however, not here to kill you tonight. I am here to perform the same ceremony on you that is performed on all of those under the service of the king." He sounded so completely calm and matter of fact, as though this was entirely normal.
"I'd prefer it if you did not," she replied, borrowing from his calm.
The man's lips flicked up into the shadow of a smile before he caught it and gave her a flat, emotionless stare.
"I'm afraid you have no say in the matter. King Alaric has decided that you are too much of a risk, and given your allegiance is to the Lich Prince Epharis, the king has decided that taking things into his own hands is necessary. You are too much of a threat." He spoke with a touch of bitterness, leaving her to think those were not the words Alaric had used.
"I am not a threat to the crown. My allegiance is to the prince, and the prince is under the crown." She knew trying to reason with him was pointless, but she had to try.
"Prince Epharis is a man unto his own. He has loyalties to the king only because he chooses to right now. If the prince were to leave, or try to take the throne, you would follow his lead. You would likely kill the king." As he spoke, the elf crouched down and laid out a small leather roll of tools which he withdrew from a pocket on his thigh. He carefully released the ties and unrolled it to reveal a long row of needles, bottles, and other tools of the trade.
She had never thought of the prince leaving before. She had always seen Epharis and Alaric as inseparable, brothers and royalty. The lich and the titan god king. But as she thought of it, she realised the lich was there only because it was convenient, or entertaining for him and if it was no longer that, he would leave without a word, pulling his assassin princess along behind him. And she would go, there was no question of that. Her loyalty was to him, not this place. Her loyalty was to him only because he made it that way and he would ensure it stayed that way until he no longer needed her.
Picking up a small syringe, the elf turned a bottle upside down and stuck the needle into it, pulling the plunger and sucking a healthy dose of the substance into the barrel. He set it to the side, preparing a second syringe and placing it beside the first.
"What did you do to me, during the fight?" she asked finally, a morbid curiosity growing in her about what that first syringe contained.
"A simple spell that knocked you out for a few hours. You are a far better fighter than I gave you credit for. It only required three taps on your skin to work, and thanks to the guard, I was given that chance. Without him I might have had to turn to other alternatives."
"What is this ceremony going to entail, and what will happen after?"
He was kneeling beside her now, using a scrap of gauze soaked in alcohol to rub at the corner of each elbow, his brows knitting as he attempted to find a vein.
"The ceremony requires we take your blood and hair. It will be stored somewhere secret by the king. Should you attempt to leave without his permission, he will throw them into a fire, say the magic word, and kill you. If you have been given permission to leave, you may destroy them at your own discretion."
She was surprised at how informative the man was. He worked carefully to ensure that he did his job without harming her in a way outside of what was demanded of him.
"What's the first syringe for?" she asked, watching as best as she could.
"Given your ability to heal at an unprecedented rate, I have deemed it necessary to dose you with diluted liquid iron to ensure the blood does not clot until I have a large enough sample."
Cold flooded her system, and she jerked, straining back from him.
The chair groaned under her.
"I am sorry, but it was the only way. We will ensure you are returned to Epharis for treatment after." He ignored her attempts to struggle for freedom, tying her left arm with a tourniquet until her fingers began to thrum with her heartbeat.
"Please, don't do this… please," she whimpered, fear flooding her system.
He ignored her, pretending he had not heard her. Moving to her right side, he picked up the iron-filled syringe and methodically slid it into her skin and into the vein below. It stung a little, but it was not terrible. Then he began to push down on the plunger.
Her entire arm felt as though it had been thrust into fire, the vein immediately turned purple and then black, the colour moving down and up her arm with each beat of her heart until it reached her fingers and shoulders. Her nails turned from silver to black, the base an unpleasant purple colour that darkened her fingertips. At her shoulder, the black branched out, headed across her chest, up her neck and down under the neckline of her clothing.
She was gasping now, trying desperately to fight through it but it was growing more intense. She was certain her arm would burst into flames, but it did not. As the blackness crept up her neck, her jaw clenched, and she felt a crack as the tightness of her jaw cracked one of her teeth.
Tears had started to fall as the black reached around her shoulder, staining her cheeks and dripping onto her chest. Her vision went black, then returned with a bloody red tone to the world. Her ears began to scream in a high-pitched tone. Blood began to dribble down her upper lip, following the curve to her jaw. Circles of darkness formed around her eyes, so dark that she could see them, bruised and ugly. Her other ear joined in the squealing as its twin and her legs went numb. By the time it reached her heart, she was screaming, unable to stop. She had no idea what the elf was doing. She had never felt the prick of the needle or the tug on her hair. She could feel nothing but a burning flame that seemed to intensify with each pump of her heart.
Finally, it reached her brain and her whole body convulsed. The wood under her palms splintered. Her hands reflexively balled into fists until her nails dug into her own skin making it bleed freely. Her ability to heal was gone.
Her screaming had been blood-curdling, but the silence that followed was worse. She was no longer able to scream, the muscles in her throat had stopped working. Every muscle had locked up, turning her to stone. Inside her head, a mad cackle started as she was crushed under the weight of the pain. Her primal self took her chance.
***
She awoke in a bed that smelled strongly of Epharis and she inhaled sharply, breathing him in.
She scanned the room, but he was not there. She was a little annoyed he was not there to see her wake. Crossing the room, she pushed the door open and strolled into the sitting room to find him sitting there with a pile of books around him.
"Epharis…" The tone of her voice, slow and seductive, made him look up.
Instantly he knew something was wrong, his face going guarded.
"Etani, I am surprised you can stand," he said slowly.
Her lips pulled up into a savage grin. "Don't worry about me, little lich. I'm just fine." Her voice was wrong, her tone off and without another word, she headed straight out the door. She had a bone to pick with two men.
The lich followed after her, curious and wary in equal measures.
She did not so much as pause as she headed in the direction of the throne room, stealing a sword and a knife along the way from guards who were barely conscious at that hour of the night.
The room was empty, not surprising, but she turned and headed in the direction she knew the royal suites to be.
Walking towards the door, she quickly cut down both guards, blood splashing over her. Without pause, she lifted her right foot and slammed her heel down on the door, just above the handle.
The door opened with a bang and she strolled in, the maniacal, feral grin still on her face.
The king jumped to his feet and turned to see the bloodied, manic fae in his doorway. Her nightdress was blowing in the wind. The lich followed several steps behind her.
She stalked into the room and headed straight for the king. The king stood his ground, ready to defend himself.
"Give it back, kingling," she said as she approached him, her blades held aloft.
"Etani, you are unwell," he said warily, backing across the room towards his sword.
She cocked her head like a sparrow, her eyes wide and her mouth pulled into a grin that would give him nightmares for years.
"Last chance, little king, give it back now or die."
The king hit something on the wall, sidling away from the weapons, even as she bore down on him.
"It is for security, Etani," he reasoned.
But she was no longer interested, she could hear racing footsteps, and she turned in time to see the elf come running into the room.
Screaming her fury, she turned on him. As one knife slid between his ribs, she turned and threw him out of the closed balcony doors.
Her head tilted back, and she turned, looking at the king upside down.
"I'll be back for you momentarily. Don't go anywhere," she crooned.
Ignoring Epharis, she crossed over the broken glass of the doors and took a running leap off the balcony.
Her hair and dress billowed out behind, and her furious scream filled the air as she fell, feet first towards the body of the elf below.
He was not dead, seeing her and rolling suddenly to the right. Landing hard, her knees flexed and absorbed the impact. The recoil gave her momentum she needed to launch herself at the assassin. Using the sword, she hacked at him, swinging wildly. Again and again she swung. The elf dodged and parried her frenzied attacks as best he could, using only his arms and hands.
His kicks to her body went unnoticed, his punches nothing but touches on her skin.
She was going to hack him to pieces. Then she was going to do the same to the king, and retake what was hers.
Eyes black as sin, she swung and stabbed at him until she was able to run him through.
Panting hard, she pinned him to the side of the castle, her forearm pressed against his throat, her bloodied face inches from his. "Payback. You stick something in me... I stick something in you." With that last word, she drove the sword through his stomach with enough force that it stuck in the wall of the castle behind him.
Her rapid-fire, frenzied attack had beaten him. Blood escaped his mouth in a flood as he coughed.
Crooning at his side, she licked up the side of his face, growling happily before she turned and walked away from him, leaving him to die. Tilting her head up to the balcony where Alaric and Epharis stood, she grinned at them and headed back into the castle for round two with the titan god king.
***
By the time she reached him, he was ready for her. Epharis stood off to the side, watching her as though she were back in the dungeon with him again.
"What's the matter, lich, want to join in on the fun?" she leered at him, his face remaining impassive.
Turning her attention to Alaric, she leant down and picked up two large shards of glass, clenching them so tight her fingers bled.
"I asked nicely, so I am no longer going to be nice." That was her only warning before she went for him. She only made it two paces before a hand on her arm stopped her.
The lich curled his other arm up around her shoulder and pressed two fingers gently against her chest. Her entire body went rigid and locked into place. That maniacal grin, those wide, empty black eyes, all locked with greedy intent on the king.
"Epharis?" Alaric asked, lowering the sword he had been raising to defend himself.
"Alaric, this is not the Etani I know. Give me a chance to reason with her," the lich said, his arm remaining over her as though he was protecting her.
Alaric glared at his brother, uncertain of whether or not this was some kind of game. The lich could never be trusted fully.
"You have three minutes," he said finally.
Stepping around her frozen body, he leant forward until he was whispering in her ear.
"Etani, I know you're in there. While this state fascinates me, you are not allowed to fight Alaric. He might not seem like much now, but he can obliterate you. I know what threats he made, and I will not allow him to force you into an arranged marriage, especially not to him. If you return now, he might give you leniency. You must come back, I demand it." He spoke so fast she could barely keep up, yet every word sunk in through the fog of anger and primitive instinct.
Turning her eyes to meet his, she knew he would be unable to tell where she was looking, given her eyes had no pupil, iris or sclera. Only bottomless blackness that glittered gently in the candlelight.
Why should she fight? She did not want to fight. She was in pain and so incredibly tired, it was easier to simply give in and let this numb side of her endure the agony of the iron coursing through her system.
Yet that last order, she felt it tugging at her, forcing the primitive her down. She did not even struggle this time, her primitive mind understanding the alpha, the dominant in their dynamic.
The blackness bled from her eyes and as the magic hold on her eased, she collapsed forward into his arms. She tried so hard not to scream, and instead bit her tongue.
"Epharis," she gasped in a tiny voice.
His arms tightened around her protectively, clutching her to him.
"If you ever poison her with iron again, brother, I will kill you," he said, curling his arms around the back of her knees and hoisting her up into his arms.
Clutching the front of his shirt, she clung to him. She shuddered with each beat of her heart. Another tooth cracked under the strain of her clenched jaw. Her fingers contracted in the fabric of Epharis's robes, tearing them, and still the brothers stared each other down.
"If there is no need, I will not have to do so again," Alaric said finally, acquiescing only a fraction.
Epharis nodded, turning to leave.
"You should get someone to fetch your little assassin. I'm sure he's getting bored down there." With that, Epharis carried the suffering woman from the room and back to his own.
Setting her down on the bed, he made quick work of setting up a device she had never seen before. It had two empty canisters, a lot of tubes, and a little rubber pump. Unplugging one of the canisters, he allowed the tube to dangle down into a bucket and he gripped her arm, forcing it down from its position curled against her chest, absently trying to press the pain from her body.
Inserting a small needle into her arm, she watched as he began to squeeze the pump repeatedly, setting into a slow rhythm in time with her heartbeats which he felt by holding two fingers against her wrist.
Watching with a morbid fascination, Etani saw black-red blood move up the tube, drip into one of the canisters, and then drain out into the bucket.
"This may not work, but at least if you are unconscious from blood loss you will not feel so poorly. Your body should replenish the blood, though whether or not the iron has damaged your veins is unknown at this point." He spoke calmly, giving her something to focus on. "If it has damaged your organs beyond what your body can handle, you will die. But if we can siphon enough of the infected blood, the clean blood should trigger healing."