Stolen by the Rebel King
Chapter 91: Recreating Miracles

Chapter 91: Recreating Miracles

The sinking feeling in Daphne’s chest arrived like an unwelcome visitor, a heavy weight that settled upon her heart. Time seemed to stretch, the world slowing around her as the realization dawned that the person she had been discussing stood silently behind her.

A chill ran down her spine, the air thickening with tension as she slowly turned back to look at where Maisie pointed at. Or rather, who.

In that moment, the air thickened with tension, every beat of her heart reverberating with the echo of vulnerability and the lingering knowledge that they were no longer alone and their conversation was no longer private.

"Just can’t keep still, can you?" Bram sneered.

His boots roughly hit against the wooden stairs as he stormed down. Before either Maisie or Daphne could react, Bram already had his hands around Maisie’s hair, pulling her up to her feet. She cried out in pain, her hands flying up to hold her scalp where Bram tugged at. Her hair wasn’t long and Bram couldn’t grab that much hair. It made it all the more painful where he did pull.

"Let her go!" Daphne screamed, climbing to her feet as well only to be kicked square in her chest by Bram.

He sent her sprawling back, the air roughly butted out of her lungs as she crashed into the barrels behind her. Instantly, the smell of alcohol wafted through the air. The impact had chipped the tap a little, causing wine and mead to trickle out of the barrels and kegs. Daphne’s waist knocked against the stolen carriage wheel, causing Daphne to wheeze in pain. It would no doubt leave more than a bruise the next morning.

If they could even live until then.

"I said," Daphne forced out through gritted teeth, "let Maisie go!"

She threw her hand out, focusing all her energy in the center of her palms, visualizing the heat and flames gathering just like Jonah had taught her. She had just burned the ropes that tied Maisie’s hands together. Surely she could gather some flames now too.

Unfortunately, things didn’t proceed as she planned. There was no tingle of heat in Daphne’s earrings nor did they glow even the slightest. The most that happened were the tinkling sounds they let out when she swayed, the melody mocking her incapability at summoning their powers to aid her during this time of need.

Daphne’s heart stopped, her blood chilled. She stared at her hand in disbelief, perspiration quickly trickling down her forehead when she realized that magic had failed her.

"I saw what happened in the slums, Your Highness," Bram ridiculed. "Burned the house down into ashes, along with my brother and that useless good-for-nothing Clive. What a powerful feat of magic for a Reawethen princess!"

Bram pulled Maisie a little closer to him, eliciting a sharp cry from her. Tears had started to stream down her face as she sobbed in fear, struggling to stand properly. The strength he used to hold her up had been so much that she was almost lifted right off the floor. Only Maisie’s toes could touch the wooden surface, swinging back and forth as she desperately tried to take some pressure off her scalp from the way Bram was holding her.

The sickening man chuckled as he watched Maisie squirm. He leaned in close to her, his putrid breath fanning over her face. Even the growing smell of alcohol couldn’t mask that. The liquid had formed a steady stream, slowly spreading to every corner of the room.

"Where’s your magic now?" Bram cackled, his eyes glinting with menace. "Weren’t you a fiery terror just not too long ago? Where are the flames, Your Highness? Or is that just a strike of luck that cannot be recreated?"

From his pockets, Bram brandished a knife. The silver blade caught a glint of golden light from outside, reflecting what could’ve been an ethereal illumination and turning it into the spotlight of nightmares.

For a second, Daphne’s lips paled, eyeing the blade with caution. Then, she looked to the small window that showed the outside world. The sunlight that shone in was a deep amber.

Sunset.

Her hand instinctively reached into her pocket, feeling inside for the stone that could save their lives. When her fingers made contact with the rough edges of the broken clear quartz, Daphne nearly heaved out loud in relief.

She had to break it somehow to get it to send the flare early. Could she even break it by smashing it against the wooden floor? But how could she do it without Bram noticing? He would surely react even more violently if he knew what Daphne was attempting.

It should be time soon. She would rather wait for it to send out the signal rather than risk agitating Bram even further.

Yet, Daphne knew she couldn’t do nothing.

"What do you have against us?" Daphne asked. She had to stall for time.

"Against her," Bram answered, "nothing specifically. She was just at the wrong place at the wrong time. And rumor has it, you will be wherever this little bird can be found. And you, Your Highness, is the one I have something against. This little miss is just unfortunate."

"Then let her go," Daphne said through gritted teeth. "You have me. Just let her go."

"Your Highness, no!" Maisie cried out. Although, Bram’s hand did slacken a little. She was at least back on the floor and her scalp no longer burned as much as before with the pressure off her hair.

"How touching." Bram smiled, though there was anything but warmth in the curve of his lips. "But unfortunately, there is no need for such pitiful plays. Neither of you are making it out of here alive today."

Daphne pursed her lips, watching in horror as Bram lifted his knife. She placed a hand on the carriage wheel, using it to support herself as she tried to stand back up on her feet. The wheel had been soaked through with wine, and since Daphne’s hand had been placed under the steady stream, the alcohol, too, made contact with her hands.

"No!" She screamed, watching in horror as Bram plunged the knife into Maisie’s side.

Just then, a blinding eruption of light filled the room. The sun had set, causing the clear quartz to glow a brilliant white. Daphne needn’t even check to know that the stone had worked and Atticus would see the flare soon, if not already.

At the same time, her earrings glowed scarlet and the familiar tingle of heat coursed through her veins and straight to her palms.

The heat raced to where her hands were under the steady stream of alcohol. Within seconds, the room was aflame.

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