Chapter 19 #2
The Withered spread out, flanking them with that eerie synchronization. One reached for Ferria, its decayed fingers stretching toward her face. She jerked back, throwing up an illusion of herself that stepped sideways—but the creature's hand passed right through it, still reaching for the real her.
"They don't see illusions," she gasped, stumbling backward.
"Then stay behind me." Karse stepped forward, fire roaring from both hands now.
Not the concentrated blast that had destroyed the first one, but a wall of flame that forced two of the Withered back.
The moss on the floor charred and smoked, filling the air with an acrid stench that made Briar's eyes water.
But the other three kept coming from different angles.
One moved toward Briar with that horrible gliding walk, its antlered head tilting as if considering her.
She backed up, her bare feet slipping on the wet moss, and her hand found the rusted remains of a cell bar on the ground—broken off, about the length of her forearm.
Without thinking, she swung it at the creature's reaching hand. The moment the metal connected, the Withered recoiled with the first sound she'd ever heard one make—a hiss like air escaping from a punctured lung. Where the metal had touched, its flesh smoked.
"Iron!" she shouted. "The iron hurts them!"
But there was no time to process this discovery. Another blast of fire erupted from Karse, this one aimed at the cells themselves. He was trying to clear a path, but the angle was wrong. The flame hit the bars of one of the occupied cells, and the metal glowed white-hot before starting to bend.
"Karse, wait—"
Too late. The bars twisted and warped, the ancient metal giving way. Part of the cell wall collapsed inward with a grinding crash.
"Was that supposed to happen?" Ferria asked.
From inside the damaged cell came movement, then Thaine appeared in the twisted opening, having to duck through the half-melted bars.
He looked terrible—days without food or water had left him unsteady, his usually immaculate clothing torn and stained, dried blood matting his hair from some unseen wound.
"Were you aiming for me," he rasped, "or was nearly incinerating me just a bonus?"
"You're welcome for the rescue," Karse shot back, sending another gout of flame at an approaching Withered. "Though if you're going to complain—"
"Behind you!"
Thaine's warning came just as a Withered reached for Karse from his blind side. The Drak spun, but not fast enough. The creature's fingers brushed his arm, and where they touched, his scales immediately began to gray and flake.
Karse snarled in pain, fire exploding from him in all directions. Briar threw herself flat, feeling the heat sear over her head. When she looked up, another Withered had been reduced to ash, but Karse was favoring his left arm, several scales now dull and cracked.
"Can you fight?" Ferria asked Thaine, pressing something into his hand—a broken piece of chain from his own cell.
"Do I have a choice?" He swayed on his feet but wrapped the chain around his fist. His movements were weak, uncoordinated, but his eyes burned with fury.
Four Withered left, and they were adapting. They moved more carefully now, using the pillars and shadows, making Karse work for his shots. The air grew thick with smoke and the stench of burned moss. Briar's eyes streamed, her throat burning with each breath.
The warmth in her chest pulled desperately toward the remaining sealed cell. Eliam was there, so close, but the fight had spread across the chamber. There was no clear path.
One of the Withered lunged for Ferria. She threw herself sideways, but it caught her dress, and where its fingers touched, the fabric aged decades in seconds, crumbling to nothing.
She screamed, more from shock than pain, and Thaine swung his chain at the creature's head.
The impact did little damage, but it turned its attention to him.
"Any time you want to burn the rest of them," Thaine gasped, dodging the Withered's grasping hands.
"Working on it," Karse growled, but Briar could see he was tiring. The cold of the dungeons had weakened him, and each blast of fire took more effort than the last.
They were losing ground. Being pushed back toward the stairs. Away from Eliam.
The fight was spreading, pushing them away from where she needed to be. Another Withered fell to Karse's fire, but three remained, and they were learning—keeping distance, using the shadows.
Briar saw her chance when Karse drove two of them toward the far wall with a sustained blast of flame. The third was focused on Thaine, who was barely managing to keep it at bay with wild swings of his chain.
She ran.
Her bare feet slapped against the wet moss, skidding on the slick surface. The sealed cell was just ahead—twenty feet, fifteen, ten. The warmth in her chest burned so hot it hurt, pulling her forward with desperate need.
She reached the bars, her hands wrapping around them without thinking. The metal was cold and rough with rust, flaking under her grip. Through the gaps, she could see him.
Eliam sat against the far wall, wrists shackled with heavy chains. His head was down, white hair falling forward, but at her approach it lifted slightly. Even in the dim moss-light, she could see how pale he'd become, how the days without eating had already hollowed him out.
"Briar." Her name came out cracked, disbelieving.
"I'm getting you out." She pulled at the bars uselessly. They didn't budge. The lock was massive, ancient, and she had no key. Behind her, she could hear the fight continuing—Thaine cursing, Karse's fire roaring, Ferria shouting warnings.
The warmth in her chest pulsed, almost painful now. It wanted out. It wanted to reach him.
"Go," Eliam said, his voice stronger but still rough. "Get out while they're distracted."
"No." She pulled harder at the bars, her palms tearing on the rust. Blood smeared the metal. "I'm not leaving you."
A crash behind her—someone hit the wall hard. Thaine's voice, pained. They were running out of time.
The warmth surged, and she felt it building like pressure under her skin. Not gentle like before, not subtle. This was desperate, violent almost in its need to reach its other half.
"Please," she whispered, not to Eliam but to the magic itself. "Please."
Heat flooded down her arms. Her hands began to glow, that familiar golden light but brighter, more solid. Then the vines came.
They burst from her palms, from her wrists, even growing up from where her blood had touched the bars. Not delicate things—these were thick, woody, thorned. They wrapped around the bars like living things, growing into the gaps, pushing, pulling.
The metal groaned.
"Briar, stop—" Eliam started, but she couldn't. The magic had taken over, pouring out of her in waves.
The vines thickened, multiplied. Golden flowers bloomed and immediately wilted, their petals falling like tears. The bars began to bend, rust flaking away in sheets. Her vision blurred, dark spots dancing at the edges, but she held on.
With a shriek of tortured metal, two of the bars bent outward, creating a gap just wide enough for a person to squeeze through.
The vines crumbled to dust. The light died.
Briar's knees hit the stone floor hard. Her hands were raw, bleeding where the magic had torn through her skin. Everything spun, her body cold and shaking from the effort. She'd pushed too hard, given too much.
But the way was open.
She crawled through the gap, her dress catching and tearing on the bent metal. The stone floor of the cell was damp, cold against her palms. She could barely lift her head, but she forced herself forward, toward where Eliam sat chained.
"What did you do?" His voice was closer now. She felt his hands on her shoulders, trying to steady her. "Briar, what did you—"
"The keys," she mumbled, her words slurring. "Where are the keys?"
"There are no keys. Malus—" He stopped as another crash echoed through the chamber. "You have to go. Leave me."
"No." She forced her eyes open, made herself focus on the shackles. Old iron, but the locks looked different from the cell door. Smaller. More intricate. "There has to be a way."
Her hands were shaking too badly to be useful. The warmth in her chest was quiet now, exhausted from breaking the bars. She could hear the fight getting closer, they were being pushed back.
"Briar." Eliam's hand touched her face, tilting her chin up. Even weakened, even chained, his touch made the warmth stir slightly. "You magnificent fool. You should have run."
"Shut up and help me think," she managed. "How do I get these off you?"
“Briar…”
She ignored him, her mind spinning. "What if… you could break them."
"I don't have strength left." His words were matter-of-fact, resigned.
"You could." She forced herself to meet his eyes, even though everything was spinning. "If you fed."
The temperature in the cell dropped. Even through her exhaustion, she felt him go completely still.
"What did you say?"
"Feed on me." The words came out steadier than she felt. "My blood will give you strength."
His hands tightened on her shoulders, not quite painful but close. "How do you—" He stopped, and she saw the moment he understood. His face transformed, even weakened as he was, fury blazing in his eyes. "Malus. He fed on you."
It wasn't a question.
"It doesn't matter—"
"It matters." The chains rattled as he shifted, leaning closer to examine her throat. Even in the dim light, he could see the bite mark, still not fully healed. "My brother put his mouth on you. Drank from you."
"Eliam, please. They're losing out there." There was another crash, closer now. Thaine's voice rose, sharp with pain. "We need you strong."
"No."
"You have to—"
"I don't feed on humans." Each word was clipped, final. "I have never fed on humans. I won't start with you."
"Then we all die here." She grabbed his face between her bloody hands, forcing him to look at her. The warmth stirred weakly in her chest, responding to the contact. "Karse is exhausted. Thaine can barely stand. Ferria's useless against them. You're our only chance."
"I said no."
A scream—Ferria. The sound of fire sputtering out. They were almost out of time.
"Please." Tears ran down her face, mixing with the blood on her hands. "I know what I'm asking. I know what it costs you. But I can't watch you die. Not when I can save you."
"Briar—"
"My blood is different anyway." She was desperate now, words tumbling out. "You know it is. The warmth, the magic—it's yours. Part of you. You wouldn't be feeding on a human, you'd be taking back what's already yours."
His jaw clenched. She could see the war in his face—principle against necessity, revulsion against need.
"They're dying out there," she whispered. "We're all going to die. Please. Please, Eliam. Just this once."
The sounds of battle were getting worse. She heard Karse roar in pain, heard something heavy hit the ground.
Eliam's hands moved to her throat, fingers ghosting over the mark Malus had left. "This will hurt."
"I know."
"I might not be able to stop."
"You will." She tilted her head, exposing her throat. The warmth pulsed stronger, seeming to understand, to offer itself. "I trust you."
He didn’t move and for a moment Briar thought he might continue to fight it. Then his mouth was on her throat, not where Malus had bitten but the other side, and his teeth broke skin.
The pain was sharp but brief. Then came the pull—deep, desperate, nothing like Malus's controlled feeding. Eliam drank like he was drowning, like her blood was air. She felt the warmth respond, flowing toward the wound, offering itself eagerly to its other half.
Her hands tangled in his hair, holding him close even as dizziness washed over her. She could feel him getting stronger with each swallow—his grip steadying, his breathing deepening. The chains around his wrists groaned.
"I can’t… please, no more," she whispered, but he didn't seem to hear. The pulling sensation intensified. Her vision started to gray at the edges. "Eliam. Eliam, stop."
With visible effort, he wrenched himself away. Her blood stained his mouth crimson, his eyes had gone completely black, no white visible, and for a moment she didn't recognize him.
Then he blinked, and they were just his eyes again, horrified and grateful and furious all at once.
"Briar—"
The chains around his wrists snapped.
He stood in one fluid motion, power radiating from him in waves. The moss on the walls flared brighter, responding to his presence. The very air seemed to thicken with forest magic.
"Stay here," he commanded, and his voice carried the weight of the Forest King even if he no longer held the title.
Then he was gone and she heard the Withered's hissing screech accompanied by the sound of ancient wood growing where no wood should be, and, finally, silence.
Briar stayed where she was, one hand pressed to her bleeding throat, the other flat against the cold stone floor to keep herself upright. The warmth in her chest thrummed with satisfaction, weaker but content.
They'd done it. He was free.