I don’t know what sucks more. That I can’t move any part of my body besides my eyes, which I can’t blink and have gotten dryer than a desert, might I add, or that my tongue is literally not in my mouth anymore.

  The pain from the wound radiates to no end, and a part of me hopes the other side of the bond doesn’t feel it. I’ve been feeling increasing amounts of worry, of dread, since the attack, and it’s only getting stronger as we travel.

  The groja have been switching me off every mile or so and haven’t taken many breaks. Which is annoying, mostly because they reek. I would kill for some time away from them, if only to breathe a morsel of fresh air. It doesn’t help that every night, I’m assuming roughly around the time they first stabbed me, I get another dose of whatever that disgusting ooze is that keeps my body incapacitated.

  Much to my delight, they were late that first time. I actually managed to get my hands back on my jade handled knife and got a good stab in Igra before they shot me again. Luckily, they didn’t notice I had already pocketed the knife. Unluckily, they haven't allowed that slip up since, and I haven’t been able to move an inch for two days.

  We’ve been out of those woods for quite some time, and are in an area that reminds me of Dumbrik. There's mountains everywhere, and I’m amazed at how little it seems like the change of terrain has phased them. We must be getting closer to the palace. I won’t let myself believe anything else. And worse, I can’t keep my mind off of my mom. Of how they think I’m her and what that could mean. Why is he looking for her? The question has been eating me alive.

  Rounding another curve of the mountain we’ve- well, they’ve been running on, they finally begin to slow down. The groja who had been holding me throws me off his shoulder and I fly to the ground without any hope of stopping the impact.

  Leaving me face down on the rocky terrain, they huddle together, the three of them whispering like children with a foul secret. Soon, their voices fade to nothing and out of the corner of my eye I watch Xatta stand from the huddle to saunter over to me, his hood pulled back under the glow of the Moon, the bones of his jaw looking even more menacing in the light.

  He crouches over my face and growls low and gurgly. I wish I could smirk at the bastard. He hasn’t been able to talk since I cut out his tongue. Which is a bite of victory. At least neither of us can talk anymore.

  He digs his black fingernails into my sides, hoisting me over his shoulder. It must be a constant game of balance, carrying me like this. I actually know it is, seeing that I’ve slipped from their grip so many times I’ve begun to think it’s on purpose.

  Xatta turns around so the top of my head is facing the other two groja. Ura comes forward to crouch below me and looks up so I can see his rotted skin in full view. So I can smell it too. It’s gotten worse since the beginning of our trek, something I didn’t think possible.

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  “Not much longer now, Deliandrah.” His tongue flicks over my cheek, making me really wish I could close my eyes, “The Emperor will have his pet back before the Sun rises.”

  Ura slides out from under me and picks up a steady run, Igra and Xatta quick on his scaled heels. They round another bend and out of the corner of my eye, I get the first look at the palace. They were right. We are close.

  I’ve read about the Palace of Vershka time and time again, I’ve asked my mom about it even more, but none of those times could have prepared me for seeing the palace with my own two eyes. It gives me a feeling of dread even from here.

  The palace is built in the deadcenter of Ivierma, each land spilling to the outer edge of the grounds. But the various landscapes don’t make it far, because for a solid five miles outside of the palace walls, the land is as dead as Veren’s corpse.

  The grounds surrounding the palace are as black as an esha, any life that had once existed there long gone. The skeletons of trees and unknown creatures litter the decayed dirt, all a part of a graveyard that has no beginning or end. But what’s worse than the unending death are the creatures who patrol every inch of the atrocious ground.

  From here I can see the thick wall of kraj, the first line of defense. They’re spaced every few feet, hardly a scrap of room between them. Behind them are thousands of Varkashi’s other creations: the tikav, esha, mashai, groja and more that I can’t name or identify, likely created after my book was completed. And verinah soar through the sky like vultures. There are so many here that it looks like an army. Not that he needs it. The beast has more power than everyone in the realm combined. Talk about compensating.

  Speaking of compensating, the palace is absolutely massive. I don’t even know what you could do with all of that room. And it’s hideous. Not even the Mother could help rationalize how this man had access to every resource in the world, able to create anything with ease, and still ended up making the most repulsive looking palace that could ever be made.

  It’s at least three miles in circumference and double the height. Entirely jagged, every tower taller than the next, each pointed like hundreds of deadly knives. Even the shape of it is like a poorly drawn square, not a single wall even or unmarred by brutal divots and edges. There isn’t a single inviting angle, everything is just so…sharp. And it’s entirely black. I’m not sure there are even windows, it's that dark.

  The only thing that could be considered decorative is the thick moat that surrounds the dreadful sight. It’s as black as the castle, the water so murky you wouldn’t be able to see your own feet and I know without an ounce of doubt that that atrocity is filled with starving wyrvna. A drawbridge stands high above the castle, blocking what must be massive doors.

  That is not a home. Not somewhere people gather for light hearted meals and comfortable conversation. Not somewhere that makes you feel happy or relaxed, somewhere to gather and bond. That is nothing more than an abomination.