Chapter 97: When Masks Bleed

Amara

The fortress hums with talking, people scurrying about; I slip into my room while everyone rushes in a muck at Killain’s orders. His voice still booms under the door, but I take this moment—like I have so many others these last few weeks. I pull out the makeshift weapon and drag it along the backside of the vanity leg. The tally cuts shallow, ugly; one for each night my best friend lay sleeping, one for every day that passed. A reminder of how close I am to ending this once and for all.

The days roared while she slept; I counted routes, watched guards, and memorized two entire wings. I wanted to ram my blade through him the moment the vows finished, to watch his face as the truth finally pushed in—until death, he’d always promised; I’d make him mean it. I considered changing the plan and doing it in the bedroom as soon as his hands touched me. It would be easier to hide him as I slipped away. Either way, the problem was escape. I had found a way out, but I knew Killain’s games by now.

Out could easily be another trap, and I had no time to investigate it. I wasn’t even sure his guards would kill me the second the knife dropped, but it didn’t matter. Without him alive, she would be safe. Thomas would be safe. Strategy and anger blurred over the last week with every touch he forced on me. It stopped being simple fury at his hand and sharpened into something else—what his teachings meant. I was tired of pretending. Even with my emotions shut off, the need to end him only grew.

I rehide the weapon after the notch is finished, then run my fingers across the carved dashes. My brain flashes back to last night, when for a moment the mask slipped—not from weakness, but because the mask had been useful for too long. He had me on my knees, his commands like coals fueling my fire. He pushed with words, testing me; I fought to keep my composure. His final dig made me snap.

“You’re nothing without me, little one. You’re weak.”

His smile curled his lip, his breath hot in my ear.

Then it happened—the words hit me like ice; my eyes glared before I could stop them, my mouth moved before I could bite my tongue.

“I think you have that backwards. You’re nothing without me. Your world would crumble if I was no longer in it.”

His hand flew back. The slap echoed in the room, a hot sting across my cheek; my lip split, blood metallic and sharp in my mouth. The taste of it only added fuel to my fire, but I swallowed it down, forcing myself back under control. When I looked up again, he had to see submission, not murder. It wasn’t time—calm yourself, Amara.

I fixed the mask and looked back up at him.

His pleased smile staring down at me told me all I needed. He bought it. I would have to be more careful, but the days were stretching tighter, making it harder to contain what lived under my skin. He walked to the door and glanced back once.

“Tomorrow, you will feel the burn of that remark—not just on your face, but when I show you what happens when you run that mouth.”

The door slammed shut. The threat hung in the air like smoke, and I knew I had just caused pain to either Phoebe or Thomas. He was going to make me watch. Reality crashed back in. I should have been terrified for them, for what he would do. But I was far more concerned with keeping myself from clawing his eyes out the next time he breathed near me.

The clock hit noon, the exact time he said he’d come. The door opened as I exhaled.

He didn’t speak, only snapped his fingers. The sound echoed in my blood; my body rose, responding to his command. Eyes down, posture small—his perfect doll. The only thing I regretted was not killing him sooner.

He led me through the maze of halls, deeper than usual. I counted each turn silently, head bowed. He unlocked a door and shoved me inside, the lock clicking behind him. Thomas stood there—awake, alive, breathing, bruised but healing. My breath stopped.

He looked at me. For one heartbeat I lowered the mask so he could see what waited beneath—the fury, the fire—and then I sealed it again when Killain stepped closer.

“So quiet, little one,” he said, circling me. “But you had plenty to say last night.”

He paused beside Thomas. His shadow fell across him like a curtain.

“You’re going to regret speaking last night when I carve those words into his flesh.”

My stomach turned to stone. My mask trembled, but I forced my gaze to stay low. He moved slow—too slow—relishing every second of control as he pulled the knife from his belt. The sound of metal scraping leather made my throat tighten.

“Hold still,” he murmured.

Thomas’s eyes went wide as the blade pressed to his chest. The first stroke bit through skin. The smell of blood hit the air before the sound did.

He screamed—hoarse, raw, the kind of sound that rips through walls.

I flinched. Just once. Enough for the mask to crack. A tear slipped free before I could stop it. I bit the inside of my cheek until I tasted iron again, but it didn’t stop.

Killain didn’t.

He dragged the blade slower this time, the motion deliberate, cruel, each cut spelling something I couldn’t yet see through the blur of my tears.

The scream hit higher. The knife didn’t stop.

And neither did I.

I smiled—small, shaking, a split in the mask—as rage started to hum beneath my skin, the sound almost drowning the next scream.