Death Bound (The Soulsworn Chronicles #1)

Chapter 11

Chapter Eleven

I woke to the sound of boots striking stone, the steady rhythm cutting through the quiet. My room—if I could even call it that—was dark, save for the faint glow of dawn creeping through the tall, narrow windows. The cold was everywhere, seeping through the thick furs draped over the bed, lingering in the air no matter how brightly the fire in the hearth crackled.

I shifted, the faint murmur of guards outside the door reminding me I wasn’t being protected. I was being watched.

Then I saw him.

Rhydian stood by the window, his broad frame cast in the pale light of dawn. His dark armor blended with the shadows, but the line of his jaw caught the glow, highlighting the tension etched into his features. His shoulders were rigid, his hands clasped behind his back.

For a moment, I couldn’t look away, drawn to the way the light played against the scar on his cheek, the way his whole body seemed braced for a fight he wasn’t having yet.

“Get up,” Rhydian ordered, his voice gruff, cutting through the cold stillness of the room.

I blinked, dragging myself upright, the fur blanket slipping from my shoulders as the biting chill crept in. “What now?” I muttered.

“Get dressed,” he snapped.

“Good morning to you, too, Warden Lord,” I shot back, standing shakily. My legs wobbled, but I forced myself to stay upright, ignoring the cold stone beneath my bare feet. “What does she want with me?”

Rhydian’s fists clenched at his sides, his jaw working like he was biting back whatever he really wanted to say. “You’ll find out soon enough,” he said.

“That’s not an answer,” I said, my voice rising despite myself. “You know something. Just tell me.”

He exhaled, the sound more frustration than anything else. Without a word, the air around us shifted—his Soundveil falling into place, cutting us off from prying ears. When he turned to face me, his expression was hard, but his gray eyes flickered with something else. Anger. Resentment. And something heavier that made my stomach twist.

“She’s going to test you,” he said.

“Test me?” My heart stumbled. “Test me how?”

Rhydian stepped closer, his movements deliberate, controlled, but I caught the tension in the line of his shoulders, in the way his hand hovered just shy of his sword. “She wants to see if you can do it again,” he said bitterly. “The power you used with the frostwolves. She wants to witness it herself.”

I stiffened, my chest tightening. “But I don’t even know how I did it,” I said quickly, shaking my head. “I don’t… I don’t know how to control it.”

Rhydian’s eyes locked onto mine. “Then you’d better figure it out. Fast.”

“You’re not listening,” I snapped. “I don’t even know if I can do it again! It just… happened. I wasn’t thinking, I wasn’t—” I broke off, my breath hitching. “What if I can’t?”

Rhydian’s jaw tightened, his gray eyes darkening. “She doesn’t tolerate failure, and she doesn’t care if you’re scared or untrained. She only cares if you’re useful.”

I stared at him, the weight of his words pressing down on me, making it harder to breathe. “Why should I even try?” I asked, the question slipping out before I could stop it. “Why should I help her? Why should I pretend to be Aeliana when I don’t even know who I am anymore?”

“Because if you don’t,” he growled, stepping closer, “you’ll be dead before you figure it out.”

Anger flared in my chest, cutting through the fear. “Right. Because survival’s all that matters to you, isn’t it?” I shot back. “Like when you almost left me to the frostwolves?”

Rhydian’s expression flickered, the anger in his eyes briefly giving way to something else—something raw, unguarded. But it was gone in an instant, replaced by his usual, infuriating mask of indifference. “You survived,” he said flatly. “That’s all that matters.”

“That’s not the point,” I snapped, stepping toward him despite the way my legs trembled. “You were willing to let me die.”

“You don’t understand,” Rhydian growled. His hand shot out, gripping my arm—not hard, but firm enough to keep me in place. “This isn’t a place for heroes or martyrs. You don’t save people here. You survive. And sometimes that means doing things you don’t want to do—or leaving people behind.”

His words were harsh, but his grip lingered, warm against my skin. For a moment, the fury between us hung heavy in the air, electric and volatile, but there was something else there too—something softer, unspoken, simmering beneath the surface.

“I’m not a hero, Rhydian,” I whispered. “I don’t even know what I am. How am I supposed to survive when I can’t even trust myself?”

His eyes searched mine for a long moment, something shifting in his expression. “You don’t need to trust yourself. You just need to convince her you’re what she wants.”

“And if I can’t?” I asked.

“You can,” he said simply, his grip on my arm tightening slightly before he let go and stepped back. “You have to.”

The words lingered in the air between us, heavy and unyielding. I hated that he was right, hated that I didn’t have a choice. But as much as I wanted to argue, the look in his eyes kept me silent.

“Get dressed,” he said finally, his tone brusque again. “The queen’s waiting.”

I nodded, though my legs felt like lead as I moved toward the wardrobe. I didn’t know if I could do this. I didn’t know if I could summon the ice again. But one thing was certain—whether I survived this or not, Rhydian’s words would haunt me.

The dungeon was even more grim and foreboding than I could have imagined. The air was thick with the scent of decay, mold, and something far darker. The walls, damp and slick with moisture, seemed to swallow the light from the torches, casting long, twisted shadows that danced like restless spirits.

I had spent years among the dead in the crypts, where the silence of the tombs had been a comfort, a reminder that the worst was over. But here, the cold was different. It was alive, almost oppressive in its intensity, as if the very walls were closing in, eager to consume me whole.

We entered a large, dimly lit chamber, and there, seated in the center of the room like a queen surveying her kingdom, was Queen Marisella. She was the embodiment of calm, her presence incongruous amidst the gloomy setting. Her posture was regal, her legs crossed elegantly as she sipped tea from a delicate porcelain cup. The sight of her, so composed and indifferent, sent a shiver down my spine. It was a twisted mockery of the place.

The queen’s calm, detached demeanor was more terrifying than any threat she could have made.

“Oh, good, you’re here,” she said, her voice as sweet and sticky as poisoned honey. She didn’t bother to look at me as she set her cup down on a small table beside her. The casualness of her words made my skin crawl. Rhydian stood behind me, silent like a shadow.

“Bring the first one in,” she ordered, her words taking on a tone of mild interest.

The heavy iron door swung open, the sound reverberating through the room, a stone chamber, like a mournful lament. Two soldiers stepped into the room, dragging a man between them.

The man staggered forward, chains clanking with each step. His wrists and ankles were raw, the iron biting into his skin and leaving fresh, bleeding welts. His face was a swollen mess—one eye nearly shut, a deep cut across his cheek still oozing.

Another soldier stepped forward, unfolding a crumpled parchment with a practiced ease, his voice detached as he read aloud. “This man is the bastard son of the noble House of Adara,” he began, his words carrying an air of disdain. “Confirmed magic user—pyromancy. His family is deceased. No home. No titles. No heirs.” He paused, glancing at the man with a sneer before continuing. “An outcast.” He folded the parchment, tucking it back into his belt.

The other soldier shoved the man to his knees, the iron chains rattling as he hit the ground with a grunt of pain. Despite the humiliation, the man lifted his chin slightly, his dark eyes burning with a rebellious light that clashed with his broken body.

Queen Marisella’s smile spread slowly across her face, sharp and predatory, like a buzzard spotting a dying creature in the desert. “Good, strong magic,” she purred. The gleam in her eyes grew brighter, and for a moment, I thought I saw something like hunger there—an insatiable appetite for power, for control.

Then, without even a moment’s hesitation, she turned to the soldier standing beside the captive and said, “Kill him.”

There was no pause, no moment of doubt. The soldier obeyed immediately, drawing his sword in a swift, practiced motion. The blade gleamed in the dim light, and before I could fully comprehend what was happening, it was plunging into the man’s chest.

The sound of steel slicing through flesh was sickeningly loud in the otherwise silent chamber. Blood sprayed across the stone floor, a crimson pool spreading beneath the man as he gasped in shock. His eyes widened in disbelief, his mouth opening and closing as he tried to speak, but no words came out. The life drained from his eyes, leaving them vacant and dull as his body crumpled to the ground, lifeless.

I screamed, the sound tearing from my throat, raw and filled with horror. My hands flew to my mouth, trying to stifle the sob that followed, but it was useless. “Why did you do that?” I yelled, my voice shaking as tears burned my eyes, blurring my vision. Rhydian grabbed my arm, steadying me.

Queen Marisella didn’t flinch. She didn’t even look at the body crumpled on the floor at her feet. “We are reinforcing the boundary,” she said calmly, as if she were discussing a minor inconvenience.

“This is wrong.” My tears spilled over, streaking down my cheeks as I stared at the queen, struggling to comprehend the depth of her cruelty. “You can’t kill innocent people.”

“They’re dying for their kingdom,” the queen said, her voice detached, like she was explaining something trivial to a child.

“They’re dying for nothing!” It felt useless, shouting at someone so utterly indifferent. “The Dragon King could tear through even the strongest boundary like it’s nothing! You’re sacrificing them for no reason!”

She stared at me with that same cruel calm, like my defiance was beneath her notice.

Queen Marisella’s icy calm gave way to something darker, more menacing. “Perform the death rites.”

I shook my head. “I don’t know how,” I stammered, the tears now spilling freely, my vision swimming with them.

“Sure you do,” she said, her voice softening just slightly, but there was no warmth in it. Only calculated malice. “You’re the princess . You’ve been doing them for more than a decade. Cryomancy flows through your veins. Perform. The. Death. Rites.”

I stared at her, my chest heaving with panicked breaths. The room seemed to close in on me, the air pressing down. I didn’t know what to do. This wasn’t right. The rituals Aeliana performed were sacred, meant to preserve and honor the dead—not this. Not this perversion of everything she stood for.

“Perform the death rites!” she screamed. The words echoed off the frozen walls of the dungeon, reverberating in the lifeless air. The veins in her neck stood out, throbbing with the intensity of her command.

I tried to speak, to protest, but all that came out were choked sobs. Aeliana was gone, and now I was alone, forced to carry out a ritual that felt more like desecration than anything else.

A soldier stepped forward without hesitation, his grip firm as he grabbed my arm and shoved me toward the body. I stumbled, my feet sliding on the slick, blood-soaked stone floor. The air was thick with the stench of death, and as I fell hard, my hands hit the ground first, splashing into a pool of warm, sticky blood. It soaked through the fabric of my clothes, clinging to my skin like a pressure I couldn’t shake off.

“Get up,” the queen said, her tone like the crack of ice.

I struggled to push myself up, my hands slipping on the wet stone, and for a moment, I couldn’t move.

“You’re Aeliana ,” the queen hissed. “You have her magic. You’ll perform the rites.”

I wasn’t Aeliana. I wasn’t noble or trained. And this wasn’t a solemn ceremony. It was a test, a cruel spectacle for the queen’s amusement, and I had no choice but to obey.

“If you fail,” the queen said while standing. She then stepped closer, “I’ll make sure you wish you’d died in the crypt. The rites are sacred. If you’re going to be the princess, you must prove you can carry out this duty. It’s your birthright now.”

The words were calculating, and I realized the truth. This wasn’t just about the king or his fragile mind. The queen had plans for me—plans that went beyond keeping up appearances. I wasn’t simply replacing Aeliana; I was being tested, molded into something useful for her schemes.

“Do it,” she commanded.

I stared down at the body before me, my breath hitching. A dead man, his face twisted in pain, his blood pooling beneath him.

My heart raced as I kneeled. I then reached out, my fingers brushing against the lifeless skin of the man’s hand. The magic inside me stirred uneasily, as if sensing the wrongness of the moment, but I forced it down.

“Prove that you can be her,” the queen whispered. “Or I’ll make sure you never leave this place.”

I began the ritual, summoning the magic that wasn’t mine, trying to weave it into the air as I’d seen Aeliana do so many times. But the ice magic felt foreign, wild, like something that didn’t belong in my hands. I could feel it resisting, buckling against my will.

But I had no choice. I had to obey.

I tried to steady myself, to remember what I had seen Aeliana do so many times before. Her voice echoed in my mind as I whispered to the poor soul who had died in vain. “I’m so sorry,” I whispered.

I rolled the man’s body over, his lifeless form heavy and unyielding. I smoothed his bloodied clothes as best I could, closing his eyes with a gentle touch. The gesture felt hollow, a pitiful attempt to restore some dignity to the life that had been so cruelly taken.

I thought of the way Aeliana would always place flowers in the hair of the dead, a final act of respect and love for those who had passed. She had told me once, her voice soft and reverent, “ These flowers are a bridge, Elara, a way to guide their souls to peace. ” The memory of her words echoed in my mind as I reached out to the lifeless man before me.

I inhaled deeply, “Eternal are the dead who serve the crown…”

The chill crept through my fingertips, icy flowers blooming from them in delicate, frost-laden petals—Aeliana’s flowers, a pale, shimmering blue like the ones she’d woven so many times before. I placed them in the man’s hair.

“Bound in death as they were in life…” I whispered, choking back a sob as the ritual pressed on. My fingers hovered over his body, willing the ice to form beneath them, the glacial magic reluctant but steady. I wasn’t Aeliana, but this was all I could offer.

“Their sacrifice be our shield…”

The ice spread, slow and deliberate, crawling over his lifeless body like a creeping frost. I could feel it dragging me down, every inch of frozen skin a reminder of what had been taken from him, from me, from this cruel world. I wanted to scream at the unfairness of it all, but there was no space for that now. There was only duty.

“Their magic, our unbroken wall…”

I watched the frost wrap around him, encasing him in a crystalline shell. I could see my reflection in the ice—pale, broken, eyes filled with tears that wouldn’t stop falling.

“Through their blood, we are guarded. Through their bones, we are strengthened…”

Tears blurred my vision, hot against the icy air, as the memory of Aeliana’s grace—her delicate, caring hands—seemed so far from my unsure movements. This was my burden to carry now. How was I doing this? Why did I have her powers?

“By their hands, the kingdom stands. By their souls, the throne endures…”

The words tasted bitter as I chanted them, each one heavy with the truth I didn’t want to face. His sacrifice was meaningless in the face of what was coming.

“May their vigil never end…”

I stared at the siphon of magic forming above his frozen body, flickering weakly like a dying flame. A poor imitation of the rituals Aeliana had perfected, but it was all I had. The ritual was complete, but I felt nothing. No peace. Only the crushing weight of it all.

“And may the darkness never breach…”

I was falling, the ice shimmering in front of me, pulling me down with it.

“Long live the king…”

A gasp ripped from my throat as the power dragged me under, my knees buckling. But before the ground could claim me, strong arms caught me mid-collapse. Rhydian. His presence was immediate, steady, like an anchor in a storm. His grip was firm, his hands gripping my shoulders as he held me upright. The heat of him, solid and alive, cut through the cold emptiness threatening to swallow me whole.

“And everlasting be the dead,” I choked out, the final words barely audible, my breath shuddering against his chest.

His arms tightened around me, holding me together when I felt like I might shatter. I clung to him, my fingers curling into the fabric of his colar, my body trembling as the weight of the moment hit me like a tidal wave. Rhydian didn’t speak, but his silence carried more than words ever could—an unspoken promise that he wouldn’t let me fall. That he wouldn’t let me break.

“I… I did it,” I whispered.

Rhydian didn’t respond, but his hold on me tightened slightly, a silent acknowledgment of the horror we had just witnessed. I wanted to collapse into him, to let the grief and exhaustion consume me, but there was no time for that. Not now.

Queen Marisella’s voice shattered the fragile silence. “Good,” she said, her tone dripping with satisfaction. “Bring out the next one.”

“No,” I whispered, barely audible. But even that small defiance caught the queen’s attention.

She turned to me, her eyes narrowing, her gaze crueler than death itself. “No?”

My stomach twisted as she took a slow step toward me. Every inch of space she claimed felt like the walls closing in, trapping me in her icy grip.

“You have one month,” the queen continued, her tone now sharp and cutting like shards of ice. “One month to rebuild the boundary and restore the kingdom’s defenses.” She gestured to the frozen corpse beside me, her lips curling into a cruel smile. “I don’t care if I have to kill hundreds. You will succeed. Or you’ll join them.”

The scent of blood and decay choked me, and the queen’s command was crushing. My chest tightened. My body was frozen, just like the body littering the floor.

The world shrank to nothing—just me, the queen, and the suffocating weight of her words. I wasn’t Elara anymore. I wasn’t even a person. I was a weapon, forged in grief and bound by fear. And as the queen’s words anchored around my neck like a noose, I realized there were only two ways this would end: I would survive as Aeliana, or I would die as no one at all.