Chapter 32
Chapter thirty-two
The holding cells were carved directly into living trees, the wood shaped by magic into small chambers with barred windows.
They'd separated the group—Briar could hear Eliam's voice from somewhere above, the low rumble of threats that the guards were ignoring.
Arion was in the cell beside hers, his light casting strange shadows through the wooden walls.
The others were scattered throughout the structure, close enough to hear but too far to see or touch.
The cell itself was simple. A sleeping platform grown from the wood itself, covered with woven grass mats.
A basin carved into one corner where water trickled constantly from somewhere above.
A waste hole in the opposite corner that led to depths she didn't want to contemplate.
The bars were living wood, still growing, impossible to break or burn.
Briar sat on the sleeping platform, her back against the wall, trying to stop her hands from shaking. The reality of what she'd done kept hitting her in waves. Tomorrow at midday, she would walk into a cave that had killed trained Drak warriors. Tomorrow, she would die.
"Briar." Arion's voice came through the wall, quiet and strained. "Can you hear me?"
"Yes."
"Are you..." He stopped, probably realizing how stupid it was to ask if she was alright. "We'll find a way out of this. Eliam's already trying to negotiate, offering trades, threats—"
"They won't listen." Her voice came out steadier than she felt. "I invoked their law. There's no taking it back."
Silence stretched between them. She could feel his light pulsing through the wall, agitated and desperate.
"What did Ferria tell you?" he asked suddenly. "In the safe haven, before you... before she died. You've been different since then. Distant."
Briar pressed her hand against her chest, feeling the warmth pulse in response. Should she tell him now? That he wasn't real, wasn't separate, was just a piece of Eliam walking around in his own body? What good would it do when she was going to die tomorrow anyway?
"It doesn't matter now," she said.
"Everything matters now." His voice was fierce. "If you're going to—if tomorrow—then tell me. Whatever it is, tell me."
Before she could respond, she heard footsteps approaching. Veroc appeared at her cell, carrying a tray of food and a bundle of cloth.
"Eat," he said, passing the tray through a gap in the bars. "Real food, not prisoner slop. The condemned deserve that much."
The tray held meat that smelled of herbs and smoke, roasted vegetables, flatbread still warm from baking. Her stomach turned at the sight of it.
"I'm not hungry."
"Eat anyway." His golden eyes studied her. "You'll need strength tomorrow. The cave doesn't kill quickly."
"How comforting."
He set the bundle on the floor. "Traditional clothes for the trial. They'll protect you better than what you're wearing now." He paused. "Not much better, but some."
"Why?" Briar looked up at him. "Why are you helping?"
"I'm not." His expression was unreadable. "I'm following protocol. But..." He glanced around, then leaned closer to the bars. "You saved Karse's life. Actually saved it, expecting nothing in return. That matters."
"It's why I'm going to die tomorrow."
"Yes." He didn't soften the truth. "But it still matters. Karse was my clutch-brother before he left. We were raised together, trained together. I hated him for leaving, but you gave him the chance to come home." He straightened. "The cave tests more than strength. Remember that."
He left before she could ask what he meant.
Briar forced herself to eat despite her lack of appetite. The food was good, better than anything they'd had on the road. She wondered if this was what condemned prisoners felt like eating their last meals.
After she finished, she examined the bundle Veroc had left.
The clothes were Drak-made—leather pants that would actually protect her legs, a tunic of some scaled material she didn't recognize, boots that fit better than anything she'd worn since leaving home.
There were even gloves, thin but tough, and a belt with loops for weapons she wouldn't be given.
She changed slowly, her body still aching from the confrontation with Ferria. The clothes fit surprisingly well, as if they'd been made for someone her size. She wondered whose they'd been, if their original owner had died in the cave she'd face tomorrow.
"Briar?" A different voice this time. Sian, from somewhere below.
"I'm here."
"I can feel water in the cave from here. It's... wrong. Corrupted. But it's there. If you can stay near it, I might be able to—"
"You won't be there." Briar's voice was emotionless. "I go alone."
"We'll be at the entrance. If you can get close enough—"
"Sian." Briar cut her off gently. "Thank you. But we both know I'm not coming out of that cave."
"You don't know that."
But she did. She could feel it in the way everyone had gone quiet when Mor'va described it. Fifty years of warriors entering and none returning. She was human, untrained, already injured. The math was simple.
Night fell properly, the amber lights in the tree structure dimming to almost nothing. Briar lay on the sleeping platform, staring at the ceiling, trying not to think about tomorrow. The warmth in her chest pulsed steadily, almost like it was trying to comfort her.
She must have dozed, because suddenly Eliam's voice was in her cell, though she knew that was impossible.
"Briar."
She sat up, heart racing. But no, he was above her, his voice carrying through the wood itself somehow.
"I'm here," she said.
"Move to the western wall."
She did, pressing her hand against the smooth wood. She felt it warm under her touch, and then suddenly the wood was thin as paper, her hand pressing through to meet his. Not breaking the cell, not creating an escape, just thinning the barrier enough for contact.
His fingers interlaced with hers immediately, desperately.
"I'm going to kill them all," he said, his voice deadly calm. "Every last one of them. For this."
"No, you're not." She squeezed his hand. "You're going to get to the seal. You're going to stop Malus. That's what matters."
"You matter." The words came out raw. "You matter more than any of it."
"Eliam—"
"I should have stopped you. Should have known you'd do something stupidly noble. Should have—" He cut himself off, his grip tightening. "There has to be another way."
"There isn't."
"Then I'll go into the cave with you."
"They won't let you."
"I don't care what they let—"
"Eliam." She pressed her other hand to the wood, wishing she could see him. "If you interfere, they'll kill everyone."
“If you fail they’ll kill us anyway.”
Briar was quiet. “I know you’ll figure something out.”
His silence was answer enough.
"Promise me," she said. "Promise me you'll get to the seal. That you'll stop Malus. That this won't be for nothing."
"Briar—"
"Promise me."
She felt him lean his forehead against the wood, felt his breath through the thin barrier.
"I promise," he said finally. "But I'm not saying goodbye."
"You don't have to."
“Eliam…”
She thought about telling him the truth, about what Arion was, but she couldn’t. Instead she let her forehead fall to rest against the cool wood.
“I’m sorry.” And she was sorry. Sorry for letting her compassion get the better of her again. Sorry for letting her doubts make their last days spent together strained and distant. Sorry that she hadn’t trusted herself enough to know her own heart before it was too late. “I love you.”
They stayed like that, hands pressed together through the wood, until she heard guards approaching his cell. The wood thickened immediately, her hand meeting solid barrier again, and Eliam's cursing told her they were moving him somewhere else. Probably to prevent exactly what he'd just done.
The rest of the night passed in restless dozing and sharp waking. Every time she closed her eyes, she saw the cave, imagined what could kill warrior after warrior without remorse. When dawn finally came, filtering gray through her barred window, she was almost relieved.
Veroc came for her as the sun reached its peak.
"It's time," he said simply.
She stood, legs steadier than she expected. The traditional clothes did make her feel more protected, more capable. Not enough to survive, but enough to walk to her death with some dignity.
They led her through the settlement, and it seemed the entire population had turned out to watch.
Drak of all ages lined the paths, their expressions ranging from sympathy to satisfaction to curiosity.
The children were the worst, watching with wide eyes as she passed, some clutching their parents' hands.
The others were already at the cave entrance, held back by guards but there.
Eliam's expression was murderous, shadows writhing around him despite the bright sunlight.
Arion's light was sharp enough to hurt the eyes.
Thaine stood perfectly still, the kind of stillness that preceded violence.
Even Halian had shed his grief enough to look ready to fight.
Only Karse looked defeated, his shoulders slumped, his golden eyes dull.
The cave mouth yawned before them, a jagged opening in the hillside that looked entirely natural except for the wrongness emanating from it. The air around it was colder, and Briar could smell something sweet and rotten, decay and flowers mixed into something stomach-turning.
Mor'va stood beside the entrance, the other elders arranged behind her.
"Briar of the Forest Court," she said formally. "You stand accused of crimes through the law of life debt. You face the trial of the cave. Enter, survive, retrieve what lies within, and all crimes are forgiven. Fail, and you join those who came before."
"What am I supposed to retrieve?" Briar asked.
"You'll know if you find it,” Mor’va replied. “No one has gotten far enough to see it clearly."
"Helpful."