I muttered Ch 22

They came for me at dusk. The clang of iron against the dungeon bars echoed like a death knell. I didn’t flinch. My body was too far gone for reflexes. My wrist still pulsed with searing pain from the brand Valen had burned into me. I curled tighter against the wall as if I could melt into it, disappear into stone.

But they yanked me up by the arms, dragging me like a corpse. I couldn’t walk—my legs hung useless. Every step up the winding stairs jolted through my ribs, each heartbeat a stab. We passed no one. No guards. No wolves. Just stone and shadow until the dungeon opened into firelight.

The heat hit me first. Then the coppery smell.

They brought me into the war hall, and the air choked me with smoke and sweat. Blood slicked the stone floor in thick streaks, congealed and fresh. Warriors slumped against the walls, groaning, growling, some unconscious, others pressing furs to gaping wounds. The room reeked of meat and victory.

And Valen stood at the center, perfectly clean.

He wore black today. No crown, no armor. His hands were behind his back, and his expression was calm—too calm, like the storm had already passed, and now he could enjoy the wreckage. My knees buckled when they shoved me forward. My feet slid in blood. I caught myself on one hand, but my fingers left a smear on the floor.

Valen’s voice cut through the moaning. “Your touch,” he said, as if we were discussing logistics, not people. “Will be useful again.”

I stayed silent. Rage churned in my belly, but it had nowhere to go. My voice wouldn’t obey me.

He stepped closer. “You’ve done it before. You’ll do it now.”

I raised my chin, just slightly. My throat was raw. “No.”

He blinked. “No?”

I forced a step back. My body screamed at the movement, but I stood anyway. “I said no,” I repeated. My voice cracked, but the words came out clear.

The room stilled.

For a heartbeat, I thought he’d laugh.

He didn’t.

He moved.

So fast I didn’t see the blade until the silver kissed my skin.

The knife dragged a line down the inside of my arm—slow, deliberate, cruel. I screamed. The pain came like fire, spreading up my shoulder, blooming into my chest. My knees gave out. I collapsed, clutching the wound with shaking fingers.

Valen crouched beside me, all composed cruelty. His voice was quiet, intimate, as if we were alone.

“Heal them,” he said, brushing blood from the hilt of his blade. “Or I’ll let them have you.”

I turned my head. The warriors were watching now—more alert than they’d been all night. Hungry.

Some licked their lips. One smirked. A few looked away, but none protested. None rose. They didn’t need to say it aloud. I saw it in their eyes. They wanted me to refuse again.

I pressed my hand to the gash on my arm, trying to stop the bleeding. My gift didn’t respond. It cowered inside me like a frightened animal.

Valen stood, rolling his shoulders. “This is not a request.”

One soldier groaned nearby. His chest was torn open, a gash from shoulder to ribs. The blood smelled thick, old, dying.

I stumbled to him. My knees cracked on the stone, but I forced my hand to move. When my fingers brushed his skin, something inside me lit. My power surged. I didn’t summon it—it devoured me.

It rushed into the wound, sealing it with heat, with light, with everything I had left.

And it took something with it.

Strength. Breath. Hope.

The next man moaned. I crawled to him. He had a broken leg. I didn’t want to know how it had snapped. My palm hovered over the twisted bone, and the healing began. Bone reset. Muscle fused. My spine arched with the effort.

One by one, I moved through them. A parade of pain. My hands trembled. My vision blurred after the third. My chest began to seize after the fourth.

“Keep going,” Valen said, from his throne of furs.

I did.

By the fifth, I was drenched in sweat. By the sixth, my lips were blue. My lungs felt small—shriveled. I gasped between healings, but the magic wouldn’t stop. It dragged itself out of me, more ravenous than before.

The seventh man pressed a hand to my thigh as I knelt beside him. I slapped it away. “Don’t touch me,” I hissed. My voice was barely a breath, but he moved his hand.

I reached for the eighth with blood-crusted fingers. I didn’t feel the healing. I only knew it happened when his body jerked upright and he walked away without a thank you, without a glance.

I collapsed on my side. Cold stone met my cheek. My chest heaved like I’d been drowned and yanked back. My body didn’t feel like mine. My fingers were numb. My power, gone.

Valen knelt beside me again. He wiped the silver blade against my torn dress, like I was nothing more than cloth to him.

“My blood,” he said, “and your gift. A fine pair.”

He leaned close, brushing hair from my dirt-caked face.

“You’ll be useful yet,” he murmured.