THE CONFLICT #2

CHAPTER 17

EMMALINE

It’s been five days since Phobos tortured me and then killed Max. Every time I close my eyes, I see his terrified face, watching as Phobos swings his sword moments before Max’s head topples from his shoulders. I felt the same terror as Phobos had strolled over to me again. I remember closing my eyes, restraining from continued sobbing and waiting for the quick blow that would end my life. I cried for my friend, for the boy who I had known for years and years. However, I would not cry for myself. I would not sink so low. Someone else would have to cry for me. I waited for that sword to drop. But it didn’t come. The guards had escorted me through the castle to the cell I have called mine since being imprisoned here. I wear the ugly white tee-dress provided to me for my use. The ugly thing hangs to my knees, like a bag over my slim frame. I feel disgusting lying here day after day, thinner than what is considered healthy, having lost the lean muscle that used to shape my body so nicely. But who even cares at this point? I’m lucky I’m not dead. I just need to bid my time… A sharp thump sounds at my window causing my attention to alter away from my thought. My eyes immediately brighten, filling with tears of happiness as they fall on Corax's raven form. I spring from the covers of the prison bed and hurry to the picture window that doesn’t open. I press my hands flat against it, as I gaze lovingly at Corax. My family. I can’t believe he is here, finally. I’ve been unsure how long it would take him to use our combine lifeforce to track me. He spreads his beautiful black wings, his mouth opened as he hits the window. Confused by his aggressive display, I frown at him just as I feel the hair on the back of my neck stand up. I turn my head just in time to catch the sight of someone behind me before the person grabs me. I hiss as my forehead is forcefully slammed against the window. The intense shock and pain almost makes the next few seconds numb. Thick fingers intertwine in my hair, pulling me backwards as I’m thrown onto the hard floor. The impact of my head hitting the cold stone floor of my cell scatters my thoughts as the blurry figure looms over me. An imposing figure as I stare through hooded eyes. The shadowy man grabs me by the neck, hoisting me from the ground.

“You little w***e!” He spits in my face as he forces me against the stone wall, choking me with one hand as he removes a knife from his belt. “You are a traitor to the Valglarians! And traitors die!”

The hostility in his voice as he raises the knife to my throat snaps something inside of me. Something that so badly wants control. The knife stays risen in the air as the man’s eyes widen in surprise. I force my life energy from the core of my very being into waves of power. I meet his wide eyes, finding fear in their dark glare. It lets me know he is afraid to die just like anyone else.

“Remove your hand.”

I thread each word with the essence of my being. He gapes, bewildered as he removes his sweaty hand from around my throat. I slip beneath his bulky arm and watch the man’s back, trying to calm my nerves.

“Turn around.” I say with a shaky voice, my throat burning.

He doesn’t speak or try to fight back at all. He’s cooperation unnerves me to my bones. It occurs to me that he cannot resist no matterhowhsrd he tries. I breathe through my mouth, my hands shaking, as I look at the face of the man who has just tried to kill me. I can’t hold my powers much longer. Blood already runs from my nose as I consider the only option available. I pause one last time, realising that if I do this I will forever be changed.

It’s my only choice, “Now slit your throat.”

And he does.

Blood pours like a waterfall from the line he draws across his neck before his dead body collapses to the floor. The wave of dizziness that follows the release of my powers sends me reeling back. I collapse back on the bed, staring at the ceiling as the world moves, bluring around me. I wipe at my nose, staring strangely at the silver blood before I'm quickly wiping it away. My body feels deprived of physical sensation. I breathe deeply as my stomach turns and I squeeze my eyes shut only to realise that is worse. I snap them back open. I’m not sure how long I’ve been laying here when I hear a piercing scream some distance away. I don’t try to understand or call out to the person. I just stare, unblinkingly at the ceiling waiting for the sickening attack on my drained body to lessen. I make sure to breathe, drawing air into my lungs while my throat pains and burns. I hear heavy footsteps against the even stone floor and then the numb feeling of touching by hands as someone seems to search my body.

“The human’s dead, your Highness.” I hear someone say.

"Who is he?" Someone asks.

"A servant in the palace. He usually tends to the equipment." Another person responds.

A heartbeat later and I hear a voice I swear I recognize, "Why was he here?"

There is only silence to this question.

I swallow with difficulty, "To… murder… me."

"Says the prisoner." Someone mutters.

“Do you have any other reason for his presence here? No? Then I believe the prisoner. Make sure to display him where others may see. I want the message to be loud and clear. I don’t want a repeat of this. And make sure they think it was us who killed him.” Phobos says and of course he would be the one in charge here.

It is a few moments before I hear, “Emma? Can you hear me?” His voice is almost unrecognizable, it’s so soft.

But I know who lingers above me even if my sight is blurred. I can smell his strong rich scent even in this state. I wonder if this is an improvement on the last time I used my energy for physical combat. I can only imagine what a sight I must make. No doubt my throat shows signs of the struggle while I mutely stare at nothing. Corax and I need to be touching for me to share with his lifeforce. No doubt he is desperately trying to get to me but here, I don’t think he stands a chance. So, I take comfort in knowing that he is near. I feel the sensation coming back as I finally blink away the blurry figure of a man, to replace it with the image of Phobos hovering about me. His brows are pulled together in a deep frown as his white-blonde hair falls over his shoulders and hangs above me. I watch his lips part as he sees my focus coming back and my breathing increasing. He straightens, lifting me with him and laying me down properly on the bed, drawing the sheets over me for warmth.

“Do you know what happened?” He asks softly, sitting on the edge of the bed.

Lifting myself into a sitting position, I give him a cold long look, “Yes, that man tried to kill me. But I’m getting used to that around here.” I spit out.

“I see you are feeling better. Do you know him?”

“No, you the only murderer I know.” I snap, then think better of it, “He is a Valglarians. I think the motive is obvious.”

He seems troubled by that, even though it should have been obvious. Perhaps it’s worse having your thoughts confirmed. I am a traitor and I need all the help I can get. I don't need more enemies, especially the war lord of the North.

He raises a perfect dark silver brow “But he is a human?”

“He could just appear to look like a human." I say.

He laughs, a full gorgeous smile that puts heat in my eyes as I watch him, “The Valglarians are only women.” He pins me with a look, “How do you not know that if you are one of them?”

I’m completely shocked. Words fail me as I try to remember if my father had ever mentioned that before. “That’s not possible, my father is a Valglarian.”

“Your father is most likely an inamorato.”

I could feel my anger rising, “And what is that?”

“Well, to put it plainly, he is a Valglarian's male lover. The Valglarians don’t take husbands.”

My face heats, “What?” He must be lying. This can’t be true.

“They rarely conceive, and the infants are almost always female. And the male infants, well they are just ordinarily human,” he chuckles, “Valglarians are born female, otherwise they are made. They are a female warrior race, under the control of their King. Originally they were created by his… keeper, the Goddess of Old Souls and Jealousy, Pneuma."

"And how do you know all that?" I question.

"Pallas has traveled to Vetus Valglares. There are human settlements in their country if the sons of valglarians would rather live out their days that way or they can give themself to a valglarian if she will accept him as her protector."

Phobos has his information wrong. My father is not human. I've seen him use his powers…

"The man who tried to kill you could very well be one of these sons. They are trained along with the valglarians young.” He pauses smiling cruelly, “I don’t think the male children get much motherly love, or any love really. Cruel, aren’t they?”

My lip curls in disgust, “You are a fine one to speak. You are just a cold blooded murderer.” I hiss through my clenched teeth.

“That was all you. Don’t you know we are a territorial species? When you tried so hard to take the brunt of the pain so that poor little Max wouldn’t have to, it triggered something feral in me.” I could barely look at him as he smiled at the memory. "Something acutely possessive."

All I can think about is Max’s face crumbling as he realised that he was going to die. “You’re a monster and if I could kill you right now I would.” I promise with murderous intent. If only I was stronger...

Phobos's smile wavers, before he stands to leave. He smoothens down his stunningly desired suit, a twisted kind of smile displayed on his lips before he leaves my cell. Without another word.