Chapter 54 Wren
“I’m sorry,” Cassiel says when we return to his chambers—and they are his right now, not mine, not ours, not today, not when it’s so, painfully clear how different we are, how I am an outsider— “I can’t imagine that was easy to view.”
“He’s my cousin.”
Cassiel pauses. “What was that?”
“The prisoner Evander has in the dungeons. He’s my cousin, Zephyr.”
“Your… your cousin?” Cassiel sways slightly. He recovers, stepping towards the bed. He places his head in his hands. “His voice. I thought… I recognised his voice. Then you—” Realisation dawns in his expression. “You’re one of them.”
I stare at him. This shouldn’t be the part that shocks him. He said… I thought he understood…
“You knew that—”
“I think I was still hoping you were something else,” he replies, his voice deathly quiet. “You can lie. Iron has no effect on you. Dain and I thought that maybe…
My throat tightens. I’m not prepared for this. I’ve spent so long imagining his reaction, conjured so many awful possibilities, but I think, deep down, I’d always hoped that he’d just take me in his arms and tell me it didn’t matter.
“I’m half fey,” I admit. “Human mother, fey father. My mother died when I was seven. I’ve spent the last twelve years in the Duskfen Forest. I’m one of them.”
Cassiel can’t look, but he doesn’t have to. His face shakes with horror.
I do, too.
“He… he said he knew who did this to me. Then you—”
“I found out when I was back home, but I didn’t know when I was sent here, I swear—”
“You… you were sent here?” His eyes swell with silver.
“Yes,” I admit. “I was, but—”
“I can’t believe this.”
He sways on his feet. I go to steady him, but he waves me away. He lowers himself to the bed instead. At least he isn’t calling for the guards. At least he isn’t—
“Was any of it real?”
I hate that he has to ask that. “Yes!” I insist. “Of course it was! Of course it is—”
“But you can lie,” he says, his voice awful, final.
No. No, no, please don’t think that. All my life, no one has trusted me, and yet he…
“I can,” I tell him, “but I don’t. Not to you. I swear—”
“Why were you sent here?” he asks me.
I swallow. I don’t know how to answer that. “Cassiel, please—” I place my hands on his arms, as if I can pour out understanding that way, unlock the secret words that will let him understand—
But I don’t have them. The words don’t come.
Because the truth was I was sent here expecting to be asked to kill him, and I was prepared to do it. I don’t know when that changed. I don’t know how to stop that truth from hurting.
Cassiel yanks away from me. “Wren!”
I don’t have time for this. I have to get Zephyr out of here before the torture begins, before he admits everything. I don’t have time to explain everything to Cassiel, to make him understand.
I don’t have time for him to forgive me. If we’d had longer, if I’d told him before—
Tears roll down my cheeks, twins to the ones on Cassiel’s face. I’m about to do something awful. I know it, and I’m desperately trying to find a way out of doing it that still ends with me leaving this room and saving Zephyr.
There has to be another way. There must be.
Ironically, if Cassiel was helping me plan, I’d probably come up with a much better solution than the one I’m about to use. But Cassiel isn’t going to help me. Not like this. Not today.
And I cannot let Zephyr be tortured to death.
“I love you,” I tell him. “I didn’t mean to, and I wasn’t supposed to. Whatever happens next, remember that.” I bite my finger hard enough to draw blood, and stride towards him.
He flinches at the sound of my footsteps. “Don’t,” he says, already twisting away.
But I’m faster. He lashes out, a wild swing that grazes my ribs. I catch his wrist, wrench it back, and shove him down. He bucks, twisting, trying to throw me off, but I taught him these moves—I know how to counter each one. His body strains, all strength and desperation, but I’m ready for it.
He can’t see me. That makes it easier.
And so, so much worse.
“Stop,” he grits out, voice cracking as I force his arms behind him. One of his knees lands hard against the edge of the bed, and he lets out a short, pained sound. I push him forward until his face meets the mattress.
“I’m sorry,” I whisper, breathless.
He thrashes, muffling protests against the linen, but no one comes. Of course they don’t. I’m the one meant to keep him safe. They trust me.
He’s still fighting when I draw the rune on the back of his neck, his shoulder blades heaving beneath me.
“Parethys,” I whisper.
The rune glows. Cassiel slumps beneath me. He won’t be able to move for a while. He won’t even be able to speak, not with the rune against his throat. I’m not sure how long it will last—casting time restraints on a rune is a tricky business—but the minute it washes off, he’ll be fine.
I don’t know how fine he’ll be alone, voiceless in the dark, but I can’t think about that right now.
I haul him further up the bed, attempting to make him comfortable. His face is a frozen mask of horror. I’d give anything not to see it.
“I’ll come back after I’ve freed my cousin,” I tell him. “I won’t leave you for long.”
I’m not sure that brings him much comfort. Stars, what have I done? But I can’t turn back now. And I have to rescue Zephyr. I have to.
“He’s my Evander,” I tell him, like this excuses what I’ve done. “You’d do anything to save him, wouldn’t you? That’s why I have to do this. I hope you can understand… even if you never forgive me.”
I change into my guard’s uniform and slip into the corridor, closing the door softly behind me. I’m gripped by an awful feeling as I move, like I’ve left that place for the last time.
What have I lost by leaving him that way?
If I think about it, I’ll cry. I’ll go back to his room and beg for forgiveness.
And Zephyr will probably die. Stars, what they might be doing to him already…
I can’t wait. I can’t falter. Instead, I draw a glamour over my features.
I keep my hair and uniform the same—my glamours always stick best if I’m altering a little as possible—and hurry down the corridors and back towards the dungeons.
I don’t even know why I’m bothering to disguise myself.
I suppose a part of me is still desperately hoping that I can free Zephyr, return to Cassiel, and explain things.
It’s a foolish hope, but it’s all I have to hold onto.
It’s all I’ve ever had to hold onto.
The descent into the dungeons is colder than I remember. My boots echo on the stone steps, the blue lanterns casting jittering shadows on the walls. I breathe through the tightness in my chest.
Two guards are posted at the final door. One sits on a stool, half-dozing, and the other is more alert, hand on the pommel of his sword.
“The queen requests your presence,” I tell them in a clipped voice. “She sent me as relief.”
The seated one jumps up, rubbing his eyes. The other doesn’t move.
“She said nothing to us,” the alert one says. “You got written orders?”
I hold his gaze, willing him to believe me. His suspicion only sharpens.
I’ve never been good at glamours. But something’s different this time—like the heat of the torches is pressing against my skin, urging, offering. I focus on the power as it pulses under my skin, drawing it in. My fingertips prickle.
“Of course she didn’t give written orders,” I say, letting the compulsion tip from my gaze as I speak. “She’s the queen.”
His eyes widen. The tension in his body slackens, like someone untied a knot inside him.
“Right,” he says. “Of course. Sorry. Didn’t mean—”
“Go,” I snap. “Now.”
They leave without question, their boots thudding back the way I came. I wait until they’re out of earshot before pushing through the door and heading deeper.
The torches here are old, smoking and sputtering, but I keep close to them. I’m not sure I’ll be able to pull on that magic again, but just in case. I’m not willing to waste too much of it, not when it’s still so new to me.
There’s another guard at the bottom of the stairwell, leaning against the cell gate with a bored expression.
He doesn’t even get time to speak before I slam the hilt of my dagger into his temple. He goes down with a grunt, and I catch his keys before they can clatter to the ground.
The cell door creaks as it opens.
Zephyr is slumped against the back wall. His wrists are raw, chained above his head. His clothes are torn, and there’s blood crusted along his temple, his lip, the edge of his throat. I hurry to him, heart pounding. He lifts his head at the sound, and our eyes meet.
His mouth moves, but no sound comes.
“I know,” I whisper. “You don’t have to speak. I’m getting you out.”
I unlock the manacles and catch him before he falls. He’s heavier than I remember, all lean muscle and dead weight. His shoulders sag against me. He’s trembling.
“I’m sorry,” I whisper, pressing my forehead to his for a moment. “I’m sorry I didn’t come sooner.”
He pulls back and raises one hand. Slowly, carefully, he signs.
Safe?
“Yes,” I tell him. “Not for long, but enough. We’re going now.”
He tries to walk, but it’s no use. His legs collapse beneath him after the second step, and I catch him around the waist.
“All right,” I mutter, tightening my grip and hoisting him up. “You’ve carried me enough times in the past. Guess I owe you.”
He makes a wheezing sound I think might be a laugh.
The weight of him against me is terrifying and grounding all at once. I haul him through the corridor, forcing myself to stay steady. I can’t afford to make noise. I can’t afford to be followed.
I take the back route. One of the half-flooded escape tunnels beneath the old cisterns. It’s damp, cold, and foul-smelling, but no one will be here. I lower Zephyr onto the ground, his back against the wall. He’s shaking harder now.
“I know,” I murmur. “I know. It’s cold, I’m sorry.”
He signs again, slower this time. It’s a sign I don’t recognise.