Chapter 49

He comes towards me and I move, trying to keep that distance between us, but this time, he’s not content to allow me to do it. He rushes towards me. Unfamiliar with this room, I back myself into a corner trying to get away from him. Panic flares in me when his hand closes around my throat. He squeezes so hard, my feet left off the ground and every bit of air seizes in my lungs. I bring my knee up, aiming to hit him between his thighs, but my leg freezes. Knee bent, leg raised…and it just freezes. My eyes open wide, and Azar laughs in my face before he tosses me clear across the room, further than any man should be able to throw me, even one as strong as him.

My body crashes into the wall, and the impact jars every bone in my body. I’m only on my hands and knees, trying to catch my breath, for a second before Azar’s feet come into view. I scramble to stand, even if dizziness makes the room spin as Azar closes the small distance left between us. His fist comes towards me, and I duck under his arm, bringing my own fist to his ribs, but again, I freeze. My arm will not move from where it’s still inches from his middle. He backhands me, and my head whips to the side, a ringing beginning in my ears as blood fills my mouth.

Realizing something is preventing me from hitting him, I stand up on unsteady legs and try to run towards the dresser. He charges me, his arms going around my middle, making us both fall backwards. My back collides with the wall again, and a groan filled with pain leaves me. Every not fully healed wound on my back screams in protest as I fight to stay upright. Before Azar can stand, instinct makes me realize that his head is vulnerable. I try to bring my elbow down on the back of it and almost cry when my arm won’t go any further than where I’ve bent it.

Azar drags me to the floor, and I’m where I never wanted to be. Beneath him. Him looking down on me with pure evil, and a promise of cruelty in his eyes. His hands begin tearing at my dress, ripping the neck line until my breasts are exposed. I try to hit him over and over, but my hands never make contact, always stopping midair before touching him, but my body doesn’t stop trying.

Azar leans forward, bringing his mouth towards mine, and I turn my head at the last second. His lips end up on my neck, and I gag. Out the corner of my eye, I see a piece of my gown hanging from the edge of the dresser. I reach for it desperately, stretching my arm so far, my muscles begin to burn. Azar bites down hard on the top of my breast, and I scream as I finally grab hold of my gown. I yank and it falls next to me, the dagger hidden inside of it tumbling out.

I grab the dagger and bring it to Azar’s neck. He freezes at what I’m sure he recognizes as the cold steel of a blade. He leans back and I keep my blade where it is, pressed against his skin, but when he sits fully up, my eyes widen in horror as I realize the blade isn’t touching his skin at all. No, like my hits, it sits inches from him, frozen there. A cry of despair leaves me, and I try to make my hand move further, but my body has turned against me and will not obey me.

Azar laughs, its sound callous and harsh, and everything inside of me runs cold. He even moves his neck towards the knife…and my hand draws back, without me ever moving a muscle.

“Go on. Do it,” he says menacingly. “Plunge it into my neck. Slice it across my skin.”

“What have you done?” I ask hoarsely, my body screaming in pain.

“Had a little something added to the spell at our wedding. You see, I don’t trust you anymore than I trust your snake of a father. The woman who broke that feather in half in my throne room would never agree to marry me. But here you are, my wife. So there must be a reason for it. And apparently, there is.” He looks pointedly at the dagger. “So I had Arwa add into our spell that you could not hurt me, could not kill me, could do me no harm. And yes, dear wife, that includes trying to slit my throat.”

Dread fills me as I listen to him explain why all of this has been useless against him. Why my body has betrayed me, not letting a single hit land. Why this dagger is not truly a weapon in my hand, not anymore. Why I am now defenseless and at his mercy. But the man before me has no mercy. Only a need to inflict pain.

My hands begin to shake, and the dagger drops from it, clattering against the cold tiles of the floor. I spit on him, the blood from my mouth landing inches from his face, suspended in mid-air before falling on my bare chest. He simply closes his eyes, as if he’s savoring the fight in me. When he reopens them, the maniacal excitement in them chills me to the bone.

“Now that we’ve dispensed with the death attempts, at least on your part, we can get on with the night.” He leans in again, his voice lowering, “We may even make it to the bed.”

He gets closer and closer, darkness overtaking his features more and more, but still I see the smile that blooms across his face. A conqueror’s smile. That’s the only way I can describe it because surely, he thinks he’s conquered me. That I will give in now, realizing all hope is lost. He’s wrong.

All thoughts of hiding my magic from him cease as he bites down on the skin of my neck, causing pain to flare through my body. I gather every bit of magic inside of me and bring my hands to his chest. The weight of his body leaves me, and he flies backwards. Only the end of the bedframe keeps him from going further across the room. His eyes stare at me in wild rage, and confusion.

“She bound your magic,” he puzzles.

So she did tell him. And he knew exactly what she did at our wedding. But not that Widad had been able to realize it in time to undo it before I became trapped in here with him. I rise on shaky legs, trying my best to smile around the blood in my mouth at him. A kink in his own plan finally being revealed.

“And Widad undid her spell,” I say.

He rises as well, that confusion fading from his eyes to give way to manic happiness. Nervousness and strength war in me, one feeling telling me I cannot win against him, that the pain I’m in right now bears testament to that. But the strength in me, the drive to make sure I leave this room alive tells me that I cannot lose. Fighting him, and winning, is the only way forward for me.

Azar raises his hand, and I feel his fingers around my throat as if he were standing right in front of me. My body begins to levitate, my toes barely touching the floor as it floats towards him. I paralyze Azar, and his grip on my neck fails. I fall fully back to my feet and can already see his own magic breaking my spell. Unlike my father, his body begins to move again immediately, his neck straining with the movements he makes.

I slash my hand through the air with my eyes on his legs, and he drops to his knees. But then his hand is lashing out, sending pulsing magic that makes me crash into the wall. The air rushes out of me and then I prepare for the pain when I see Azar clench his hand into a fist. I know the spell he is using and know it will hurt. My insides begin to feel like he’s twisting them in his grip. My chest and stomach both churning until I can barely see straight.

I take as deep a breath as I dare and reach towards his body. Once I feel the phantom weight of his heart in my hand, I pull back, tightening my grip as I go. He grunts and I feel his own spell loosen as my magic makes the blood in his heart seize. I can only hold the spell for a short time, my strength weakened by his own magic still affecting me. But it’s enough for his grip on his spell to slip. I take advantage of it and move the bed so it’s crushing him between the wall and the frame.

I heal myself as much as I can before the bed slides across the floor, colliding with the wall as Azar gets to his feet again. His hair is mussed now, a wildness has overtaken his features. He did not expect this, but it feels like he’s enjoying it, loving the violence of our interaction, sure that it’ll all end the same way no matter what I do.

His arms spread wide, and I go over my limited training, trying to think of every spell he could be preparing for. It’s clear Arwa has taught him as many spells as I know, and the knowledge of that scares me more than I can afford to admit to myself right now. His hands come together in a thunderous clap, and it feels like the sound is right between my ears, ricocheting through my brain until my thoughts will no longer form. Pain rockets through my head, making me scream out, but even my own screams are drowned out, both by my hands coming up to cover my ears, and from the effects of the spell.

Azar storms towards me as I drop to my knees in anguish. His hand reaches for my neck, and I make a feeble attempt to stop him. He brushes my hand aside like it were a bothersome bug and clutches my neck. My air constructs in an instant, but it at least takes my mind away from the pain long enough for me to remember a spell. I use his hold on my neck to push the pain he’s making me feel into his body. The very opposite of the healing spell. He hisses, and his grip loosens enough for me to scramble away from him.

His spell begins to fade, the aching between my ears dying and then all at once it stops. He looks down at his hands in obvious puzzlement, his brows furrowed. I know what’s happening, and I hurry to act before he realizes it too.

I put my hands together, linking my fingers and wretch them upwards. His back arches, and he bellows his rage and pain. Then I turn my hands clockwise, and his body twists with the motion, folding in on itself as his shouts turn into screams. I can already feel my energy fading as I hold him in this painful pose. I have never expended this much magic at once before, and it’s taking its toll on me. He begins to fight back against my hold on him the only way he can now. With his physical strength. And although I can feel myself weakening, although I can feel my hold on him beginning to fail, I smile.

Because all of this was to buy time. All of this was a mere distraction, albeit a painful one. All of this was leading up to this very moment. I open my mouth, knowing enough time has passed.

I scream. “Hamza!”