Chapter 28 #3
"The moon phase must be exact. The Hunt begins in four days, and certain.
.. elements... must be gathered before then.
" He moved toward the door, then stopped.
Turned back. The struggle on his face would have been comical if it hadn't been so genuine.
"You'll attend the ball the night before. With me."
"The ball before the Wild Hunt?"
"An ancient tradition. The court gathers to..." He seemed to search for words. "Celebrate. Honor the old ways. Present themselves before the Hunt."
"And I'll be presented?"
Something flickered across his face—anticipation? Anxiety? "Yes. You'll... yes." He turned to face her fully, and something shifted in his expression. "I've arranged for a dress to be made."
"Another gossamer nothing?" She couldn't keep the bitterness from her voice.
"No." His response was immediate, almost fierce. "The seamstress will visit tomorrow. You'll tell her what you want. Color, style, coverage." His jaw tightened. "Whatever you choose."
She stared at him. "You're letting me choose my own dress?"
"It seems..." He struggled with the words. "Appropriate. For this occasion."
"Why?"
"Because I—" He cut himself off, ran a hand through his hair again. "The Wild Hunt ball is different. Traditional. Important. You should wear something that makes you feel... yourself."
"I don't understand."
"Neither do I." The admission seemed to surprise them both. He moved toward the door again, then stopped. Again. "You're not to go near water."
"Eliam—"
"Any water. The baths will be supervised. You'll take meals in the main hall where others can watch you. If you so much as look at a river—"
"I won't go near water." The words came easily. Not quite a lie—the dungeons were dry as bone.
He studied her for a long moment, that ancient gaze seeing too much. "Why do I feel like I'm making a mistake?"
"Because you're paranoid?"
"Because you're reckless." He crossed to her in three strides, fingers tilting her chin up. "I mean it, Briar. No heroics. No adventures. No doing anything that might result in your death while I'm gone."
"Where exactly are you going for these... preparations?"
His jaw worked. "North. To the... there's a grove. Sacred. Ancient. Things that must be done before the Hunt can..." He was absolutely terrible at this, she realized. Whatever he was hiding, deception didn't come naturally to him. At least not with her.
"You're being very mysterious about forest rituals."
"Magic is mysterious." The response came too quick, too defensive. "Some things are for the Forest King alone."
She studied his face, the way he couldn't quite meet her eyes. "You're not telling me something."
"I'm not telling you many things. That's the nature of our arrangement." But his thumb brushed her jaw, betraying his harsh words. "Just... be here when I return. Safe. Whole. Not drowned, frozen, or otherwise damaged."
"I promise to be boring."
"Somehow I doubt that." He stepped back, and she caught him glancing at her hands—imagining something? "There's food in your sitting room. Real food. Eat it."
"You just said I could take meals in the main hall."
"You could. But the food there is..." He scowled. "Inadequate. What I've arranged is better."
She bit back a smile. Even leaving for mysterious "preparations," he was still fussing. "Very practical of you."
"Stop saying that word like it means something else."
"Does it?"
He stared at her for a moment longer, then shook his head. "Two days. Three at most. Try not to die."
"I'll do my best."
"Your best is historically terrible." But there was fondness in the insult. "I've left instructions with the staff. If you need anything—"
"Eliam." She crossed to him, placed a hand on his arm. "I'll be fine."
He looked down at her hand like it was a puzzle he couldn't solve. "You said that before. Right before you threw yourself at an ice construct."
"There are no ice constructs in the castle."
"That we know of." He covered her hand with his, just for a moment. The touch sent warmth racing up both their arms—hers from the mark, his from something else. "Be careful, little thief. I find I'm... reluctant to lose you."
The admission hung between them, heavier than any declaration.
Then he was gone, leaving her standing alone in her room for the first time in a week. The silence felt strange after so many days of his constant presence. No scratch of pen on paper. No quiet observations about her complexion. No fussing about blankets or temperature or nutrition.
She should feel relieved. Free.
Instead, she felt oddly bereft.
Briar found herself pacing the room, unable to settle. Her legs, weak from a week in bed, protested but she couldn't stop moving. Couldn't stop thinking about the way he'd struggled to leave, turning back three times like he was fighting his own body.
She paused at her mirror, studying her reflection. When had she stopped looking like a captive? The shadows under her eyes had faded. Her cheeks held color—from all those carefully prepared meals, those perfect breakfasts with their tiny purple flowers.
"What are you doing?" she asked her reflection softly. The woman in the mirror looked healthier than she had in years. Fed. Rested. Cared for.
Her gaze dropped to the mark winding up her arm.
She pulled back her sleeve, expecting to see the angry thorns that had been spreading like wildfire just weeks ago.
But they'd... settled. The vines still traced her skin in elaborate patterns, but they no longer looked invasive.
They looked like they belonged there, part of her rather than something consuming her.
And there, she leaned closer, were those tiny white buds? Closed tight, no bigger than pinheads, but definitely there. Flowers beginning to form along the thorns. Not golden, but white like promise, like potential.
She touched one gently, and the warmth in her chest hummed. Not the desperate, frightened pulse of before, but something content. Settled.
Like her.
The realization hit her like cold water. She wasn't looking for escape anymore. Hadn't been, not really, not since...
Since when? Since he'd held her through the night after Malachar? Since he'd dove into freezing water after her? Since he'd spent a week bringing her breakfast and memorizing how she took her tea?
"You want to stay," she said to her reflection, testing the words. They should taste like betrayal. Like defeat.
Instead, they tasted like truth.
But Thomas. Thomas was still down there, still suffering. And even if she didn't want that kind of freedom for herself anymore, he deserved it. Deserved more than darkness and chains.
She moved to her sitting room, finding the breakfast he'd arranged. Multiple dishes, all her favorites, still warm under silver covers. Enough food for three people, as if he couldn't quite stop himself from overcompensating these days.
Briar ate slowly, saving portions for Thomas. Not because she needed his help escaping, she didn't want to escape, God help her, but because he was human and hungry and forgotten.
She would advocate for him. When Eliam returned, she could ask for Thomas's release. Remind him that he'd been down there for years, that whatever crime he'd committed, surely he'd paid for it. Eliam had been... softer lately. More willing to accommodate her requests. Maybe he'd listen.
But first, she needed to talk to Thomas. Needed to explain that she wasn't seeking escape anymore, but she hadn't forgotten him. That she'd try to secure his freedom even if she was choosing to keep her own chains.
The warmth in her chest pulsed uneasily as she gathered the saved food. It knew she was about to go to the dungeons. But this time, the pulse felt less like a warning and more like... concern? Like it worried for her safety rather than trying to stop her betrayal.
Because it wasn't betrayal anymore, was it? She was coming back. She wanted to come back.
The leaf felt different in her hand too. Less like a tool for deception and more like simple concealment. She wasn't sneaking around to plot against Eliam. She was sneaking around to help someone, then returning to where she... belonged?
The word should terrify her. Instead, it settled in her chest next to the warmth, finding its home.
Tonight, she'd visit Thomas. She'd bring him food, explain her intentions, and promise to speak for him.
When Eliam returned from his preparations, she'd be here waiting. Not because she had to be.
Because she wanted to be.
The thought was somehow more frightening than any escape attempt could have been.