Chapter 12 | Cracked Knuckles.
The rock crackled across Brice's knuckles.
She did not scream.
Aire felt the bones give way underneath the blow, pausing as the world outside erupted into madness. Outside the tent, screaming cut the jovial air.
"Continue, Aire." Brice whistled out through her clenched teeth.
Aire struck again. The bone crunched under the blow and Brice let out a strangled scream this time, her eyes clenching shut as hot tears washed down her cheeks. The hand was limp and slowly, Aire pulled it out from the shackles.
Brice did not open her eyes the second time, but cried openly. The other hand broke just as easily and Brice's mangled hands were illuminated by the burning fire light shining in through the crack in the tent's entrance. The smoke was beginning to ebb under, as the fire roared and snarled outside.
Fire. Aire stared at the light leaching through the gaps in the tent, sweat rolling down from her hairline.
"Aire..." Brice begged. "Hurry."
"I..." Aire forced herself to look back towards Brice's hands.
Her hands were mangled, the skin split and blood and the white of the bone exposed. Brice's eyes cracked open as the second hand was pulled free, her breathing quick and hollow. Siseal cried for her, even as Nyeth commanded him not to look.
"I am sorry," Aire's tone betrayed her guilt. This had been her suggestion.
Brice pulled her hands close. Siseal continued to sob loudly, but his brother just stared on to where the burning light shone inside.
The air in the tent warmed for a minute, becoming unbearably hot. Then, like a cold ocean breeze, she felt the heat along her skin ease. Magic.
It sighed along her skin, easing the pain of need that thrummed inside of her. It melded into her bones and her aching feet began to uncramp and soften. A sigh slipped from her, unbidden.
Brice released a long, shaking breath. Her eyes rolled, exposing the whites. Her hands began to twitch, the fingers dancing like grotesque puppets. The skin rose and swelled, bulging like a parasite was writhing underneath. The tang of magic hummed along Aire's skin, and she grew restless, her own blood reacting.
Moons. It might be more addicting than Eoban.
Her teeth gritted. The earth beneath her bit into her knees.
Brice's knuckles reformed, her fingers snapping into place. The pain along her brow eased and Brice wiped the tears from her cheeks, her hands new and untouched. The shackle marks along her hands had begun to soften in colour, paling against her Sibran snow skin.
It had taken less than two minutes for her hands to heal.
"My turn." Nyeth leaned forward, waving her bound hands insistently. Anluan opened his mouth to protest, but that withered on his tongue with one sharp look from her. "I will go. Danger comes, as sure as the bite of fire. I am best suited keeping it from spilling inside. Aire, break my hands."
"I do not think I can alleviate your pain when you wear those chains, Nyeth." Brice warned. "Until you are free, my Wield is useless."
"You endured it. So will I." Nyeth looked to Aire, sitting back on her heels. "I am ready, Aire."
YOU ARE READING
Wicked is the Curse.
Fantasy'Magic Wielder Aire, finds herself at the heart of a rebellion she has always tried to avoid, to dismantle the brutal Empire that hunts her people.' A tale as old as time. Magic is forbidden in the ever-growing empire of Kaelara and those who wield...
