Abolisher [Drothiker #2]

GONE.

"Do you remember this suite, Syrene?"

Erauth roamed about the room.

After entering the palace Syrene had never wished to ever see again, Erauth had given her a few hours to ease her mind, bathe, settle down. He'd even sent a maid to lay out a dress for her as she bathed—all the things expected of a true gentleman.

Except the abducting part, of course.

"Make yourself at home, Mesgur, cool your mind," he'd said as he led her to this suite. "I will need you at your best behavior when we begin our work."

Dread froze her spine at those words.

He'd said many more things, but Syrene's eyes and mind had been scanning the palace the entire walk to the suite—anything that might one day help her escape the Saqa Erauth was planning to forge for her.

She'd walked the same halls with Azryle past year, when he'd escorted her to the throne room. Her eyes burned.

Memories were all she had now. And, to answer Erauth's question, yes, she did remember this suite. She'd sat on this very bed a year ago, shaking like a weakling when Azryle had entered. He'd lain his heart bare for her for the first time. Let her see how much alike him and her were.

He'd done that to keep her from breaking. He'd kept isolation from claiming her. He'd saved her life in myriad more ways than he realized.

Her mind scrambled to wonder what he was doing now, what had the snapping of leash done to him, whether he even remembered her in that state, but she clamped her thoughts shut.

Thinking about him would only lead her to a breaking she knew she had to keep shelving.

She wished ... she wished she'd had more time with him. But wishes were foolish and hopeless. Wishes made her weak. More so than the ripper did.

Maybe Azryle was her weakness, or maybe he was her strength, she didn't know. She only knew she wanted him to go live. Find a life that brought him joy—the life he deserved. Maybe even a lover ...

At her lack of response, Erauth cleared his throat, amusement and patience slowly waning from his face. She hadn't even noticed when he'd moved to the closet across from the bed.

"Isn't this the closet you'd held Felset's friend hostage in?"

Her throat burned. Deisn. If only she'd known, then—that Deisn had been her friend, not Felset's. Deisn had always been on her side, not Felset's—

Quicker than a lightning bolt, Erauth moved to her side. His face was a lethal calm. His hand came to brush away a strand of hair from her face. "Have you lost your voice, or do you not deem me worthy of answers, Starblood?"

Fear, once again, attempted to tear through her, but Syrene clenched her jaw against it. "Yes," was all she could get out.

She didn't want fear—didn't need it. Fear would slaughter her quicker than any weapon.

His lips shaped a sad smile. "Not the right answer." Then—

His hand in her hair gripped her head, the heel of his palm flat against her forehead—his fingers painfully dug in her scalp.

"What are you doing!" she hissed, and attempted to wrench her head from his grip, but—

Cold insects seemed to crawl under her skin as some invisible power wrapped her entire form. She felt as if she'd been buried in stone, she couldn't move—

"I have shaped this world anew, Syrene." Amusement brimmed in Erauth's voice. "It's only fair I go into the roots." And then—

She felt as icy power swept into her skull like liquid.

One moment, she felt her mind numbing as it froze but ...

White-hot fire burned her skull from the inside.Her sight vanished and Syrene screamed her lungs out.

Her head was pounding when she awoke. It was an effort to lift her lids. Pain cut up her temple when brightness of the room greeted her.

Her sight was blur for moments. Then—

Instantly, she sat up, breathing hard, felt the change in the course of blood in her body with her movement. Her skin felt raw, open, air of this place itched at it.

It took moments for her sight to adjust.

A man stood over her, smiling sweetly. The ceiling, the room behind him was whiter than anything she'd ever seen—

Ever seen.

Her hand went to her head, her heart speeding.

She didn't ... she didn't remember.

She didn't remember anything.

"Welcome back," the man said, still smiling. Eyes almost colorless in the brightness of the all-white room. Almost—there was a hint of gold there.

And a world of evil.

Her fingers dug in her hair. "What—what happened? Where am I? Who—"

Who am I?

Concern colored his features. His damp-golden brows furrowed. "Do you not remember?"

She shook her head, panic thrusting her heart.

"Very well, then." The man smiled wider. "Let's begin."

"Begin?" she asked, shrinking back on the lean table she perched atop, her white dress snagging at her feet.

She tried to move away, but his hand found her cheek. The touch seemed to have pierced dozen needles in her skin.

"Welcome to the making place."