Page 80 of All Hallows Fate

The ring of noise made my whole head shake. Blood trickled over my bottom lip.

I angled my shield to knock the hammer from his hand when he came at me again, but all it did was sink the pointed end into the ground—and magic thumped from the hammer once more. It seemed to suck in all light, to muffle all noise, yet forced out oppressive waves of energy that pressed my skin to my bones and shook the air in dense pulses. Not just sound, but more. Violence distilled to its purest form.

More blood dripped from my nose and I lifted my shield to—the gods began to scream. Wrath first, then Fear, Hunger, Passion, Neglect, and the others. And just when I thought being a new goddess meant I was immune, pain carved through my skull into my brain, scythed down my throat into my chest, and attacked my organs. The magic shredded me from the inside, and I coughed up blood right as I began to scream.

Only Orwell and my dad were unaffected, but it was terrifying how easily Violence took them down. My dad didn’t move. He splayed there in the mud and didn’t move. I tried to sob, but I was screaming too much to make the sound.

I ended up on the edge of the lake, silvery water crashing into my knees, but the pain was so crushing I couldn’t feel the cold liquid drenching my clothes. The lake should have been still, but it thrashed like a sea. Violence’s base had been under the lake. What else was down there?

Orwell thumped to the ground beside me, and my scream turned ragged when I stared into sightless, dead eyes. Pain pinched my chest, joining the rest of the agony ripping me apart. I couldn’t take my eyes away from him. Orwell came to help every time we asked. He never abandoned us. And now he was dead.

A dozen avian screams filled the sky, and I screwed my eyes shut when human roars followed them. The winged creatures. The Stalkers. They were all screaming. And then came a familiar voice, roaring Orwell’s name over and over. Duncan.

If I could remember how to cry, I would have.

I shook with the force of Violence’s magic, pressure drowning my head, crushing my chest, bowing my bones until I waited for them to break. The gods were still screaming, and I was suddenly very glad my husbands weren’t here. We would all die, but they’d live. They could fight for the domain, save our home and—

Death wouldn’t. He was clinging to life, wasting away every day, every hour. Miz would survive. Tor and Madde would. Pain would survive if he found his heart. But Death would join me wherever gods went when they died.

Would I be rewarded with a new life, a clean slate of memories, like my dad? Or would there be nothing left of me?

A fresh wave of agony crashed into me and my back bowed, my fingers tipped with jaguar’s claws as I scrabbled at the mud, out of my mind with pain. My teeth were sharper, limbs straining oddly, but I didn’t have enough strength left to shift. Maybe I didn’t have magic left, either. Maybe Violence had drained it all from me, the way he drained the spirits.

I told myself to fight, to crawl through the mud and get my scales, to unleash their judgement upon Violence, but I’d tried. So many times. And I was tired.

“How wise,” his repugnant voice floated over my head, as cold and composed as ever, “to kneel before your king. If I didn’t hate you so much, I might let you live if only to make you kneel every day. Cruelty would enjoy watching you kneel, Cat. Or should I say Kitty.”

There was enough left in me, just a scrap of control, to flinch. Violence didn’t even try to hide his laugh. His sick chuckle rippled over my skin like the poisoned touch of a hemlock plant.

“Get on your feet,” he commanded.

A fist grabbed my hair, ripping tears from my eyes as he forced me to slide through the mud, forced me to find my feet even as my legs shook and caved in. “I’ll enjoy breaking you before I wipe every trace of your miserable existence from the world.”

I didn’t care that I was crying. Didn’t care that I wasn’t fighting. What was the use? I’d given everything to battling him, weakening him, injuring him, and it wasn’t enough. Nothing would be enough, even if I gave my last breath.

“So cooperative now,” he taunted. “Put your hands on my shoulders. Touch your king in supplication, subject.”

The word rang through my ears, shot through my muscles in another flinch. The double meaning was clear, the reminder that I was a beast, that he was the reason Poppy had that vial of my blood, that I changed. Even if I didn’t resent my jaguar now, even if I enjoyed the brutality and severity… it had changed me. They had changed me. Twisted me so far from the innocent, anxiety-ridden girl that stepped off the boat my first day in Ford’s End. I wasn’t sure that Cat would recognise herself in me. No, I knew she wouldn’t.

I hesitated, my vision swimming, but it was as if he'd grabbed the dial of my pain and turned it all the way to maximum. A scream ruptured my throat, white blinded my vision, and for a long moment there was only the pain. No Cat, no magic, no judgement, only pain.

When it released me, I sank to my knees at Violence’s feet, and I hated him.

“So sweet of you to kneel once more,” he said, making my skin crawl when his fingers sifted through my hair. “But your king gave you a command.”

“Just kill me,” I breathed, tasting blood as my lips cracked. “I’d rather die than touch you.”

Violence’s laughter this time was a low, delighted rumble. My heart collided with my ribs, not because of his laughter, but because a shadow stirred behind him, low to the ground where he wouldn’t see. Tears burned and dripped down my cheeks.

“If I—” I gasped, trying not to look at that shadow as I reached within the dark pocket where I’d put Pain’s heart. “If I touch you—will you let me live?”

He was pleased with the question. “I’ll consider it.”

I shook as I scrambled in the dirt and pushed to my feet, disguising the flick of my wrist with the motion. I couldn’t look to see if Pain caught it, couldn’t see if he placed it where it belonged. A pained heart returned.

But if playing along with Violence’s cruel whim bought Pain time, meant he survived, I’d do it.

So I rose on my unsteady legs, and reached out shaking hands, setting them on Violence’s shoulders. I breathed through my mouth, my stomach roiling, lurching.