Queen of Fire (A Light-Bringer Prequel)

Epilogue

Nineteen years later...
"Get her up!" barked an all too familiar voice.

Marilyn was tugged upwards by two sets of arms. Her dull, gold eyes cracked open, and rested on the woman—the witch—she presumed was Ashlynn.

Nineteen years of exile hadn't done her any good. Her raven hair was no longer the wine red she remembered, and her skin had lost all colour. And her eyes...

Marilyn suppressed a shudder.

Ashlynn's once dark brown eyes were now pools of soulless black.

"Take her to the dungeons," she ordered.

Ashlynn's men slipped her arms around their shoulders, and led her to the dungeons. She knew that she should be able to turn them into ash—she was the Queen of Fire, after all—but she couldn't summon a single spark.

As they neared the dungeons, the quiet clinking sound of chains reached her ears. They came into view of the cellblock, and Marilyn's heart plummeted.

Miles, dressed in his red and gold finest, was chained to a table. A man paced the length of the cellblock, a weighted hammer in his hands.

The man turned to pace back, and Marilyn caught a glimpse of Hell-orange eyes.

Not a man, she thought in terror. A demon. A Prince of Helheim, nonetheless.

The demon-prince caught sight of them, and grinned sadistically. "So this is the queen I've heard so much about?"

Ashlynn descended the final step and said, "Yes, James, this is her. And that—" she pointed at Miles "—is my former Captain of the Witch-Hunters."

James looked down at Miles, cocking his head to the side. "Looks pretty tame for a madman, in all honesty."

Ashlynn's men chained Marilyn to the wall a few feet from Miles. "I will ask you this once, Marilyn Firestarter," said Ashlynn. "Who is the Light-Bringer, and where are they?"

Miles turned his head to face her. Don't tell her, he mouthed. I'll be okay, but don't tell her a single thing.

"Can we please get to the fun stuff, Melania?" James whined.

"Last chance, Queen of Fire," Ashlynn pressed.

Marilyn kept her mouth shut. Ashlynn—no, Melania—frowned.

"Break his fingers."

James put the hammer down, almost like he was disappointed, and picked up one of Miles' hands as far as the chain would let him.

"Which one to start with?" he mused. "Ooh." His fingers lightly held the left ring-finger, where his wedding band still sat. "Lucky girl. Where is she?"

"Died fifteen years ago in childbirth," said Miles, his voice void of any emotion.

"Well, that sucks," James pouted before jerking Miles' finger to the side.

Miles cried out in pain and James grinned. He moved to the next finger and did the same. James finished the first hand, then dropped it.

"Music to my ears."

Ashlynn turned to Marilyn. "Feeling talkative, now?"

She shook her head. "Go to hell."

James crossed to the other side of the table, looked Marilyn in the eyes as he held up Miles' other hand, took one of his fingers, and began to slowly, agonisingly, snap the bones.

Miles screamed and James started to laugh maniacally—never breaking eye contact with her.

He put Miles' hand down, picked up the hammer where he left it, and swung it like an axe onto Miles' left hand.