Chapter 49 #2
“Take them back,” Ashterion ordered, his tone uncompromising. “Provide food and water.”
As the guards pulled me away, Cindrissian’s eyes met mine, crimson depths haunted, apology shining so raw and clear it was nearly painful. I saw his fingers tremble, fists clenching at his sides.
They hauled us back through the corridors, the weight of my own body a burden I couldn’t carry. My legs buckled with every step, but the guards didn’t care. They dragged me forward regardless, my boots scraping against the floor.
My ribs throbbed in sync with my pulse—a constant, pulsing reminder that I was alive, and breaking. Beside me, Fenric stumbled, unable to hold his own weight, while Cindrissian walked with measured steps, his shoulders tense, his expression unreadable.
When we finally reached the dungeon, the guards didn’t bother with gentleness.
A rough jerk, a sudden push, and I was tossed inside.
My body hit the damp stone, my already battered frame flaring with fresh pain.
I used what little strength I had left to brace myself as I crashed against the floor, my breath knocking out of me.
The heavy iron door slammed shut behind us, the sound echoing off the cavernous walls.
Silence followed.
Broken by a curse muttered under someone’s breath.
Footsteps approached. Then Darian was kneeling beside me, his hands firm but careful as they gripped my shoulders. “Isara,” he said, tight and frantic.
I forced my aching body to move, shifting to push myself upright against the wall. “I’m fine.” The hoarseness of my voice made the lie obvious, and the others didn’t look convinced.
Brynelle remained where she was, glancing between the three of us. Shaelith studied me, cataloguing every fresh bruise, every wound.
Linc was already moving before I’d fully settled against the wall, his hands reaching for Fenric with desperate urgency.
“Let me see,” he whispered as his fingers ghosted over Fenric’s face, tracing every bruise, every cut. “Gods, what did they do to you?”
Fenric tried to lean into the touch, but even that small movement made him wince. “I’m alright,” he managed, the words barely a rasp.
“You’re not fucking alright.” Linc’s hands were shaking now, trembling as they mapped the damage. A split lip, bruising along his jaw, what looked like finger-shaped marks around his throat. “Look at you. Look what they—”
His voice broke completely.
Linc was coming undone as he tried to hold Fenric without causing more pain, and something fierce twisted in my chest. They needed this moment. They needed each other. But everyone was staring, waiting for explanations that would only make everything worse.
So I did what I always did when things got too heavy, too real.
I laughed.
The sound came out harsh, but it was enough to make everyone’s heads snap toward me. “Well,” I said, touching my split lip gingerly, “I always wondered what it would feel like to have my face rearranged. Now I know.”
The others were looking at me like I’d lost my mind—which, fair enough, maybe I had. But it worked. Their attention was on me.
Which meant no one was watching as Linc finally pulled Fenric against his chest. Meant no one saw the way Fenric’s breath hitched as he buried his face in Linc’s shoulder, or the way Linc’s whole body curved around him like he could shield him from everything that had already happened.
My attention settled on Varyth.
He didn’t speak, but his eyes dragged over me, taking in the torn fabric, the fresh blood staining my skin, the way my breaths came shallow and uneven.
Then his gaze landed on Cindrissian.
Blood still coated his knuckles.
Varyth’s expression darkened, his fury curling through the air in a slow-building storm.
“Did he hurt you?” he snarled, gesturing toward Cindrissian.
Cindrissian’s face remained calm, but he flinched almost imperceptibly.
That was when I realised exactly what Xyliria had intended. She had sent us back like this on purpose. To see what would break first. The body or the bond between us.
If I told the truth, if I let Varyth know that Cindrissian had struck me, Xyliria would have won.
“No,” I said, wincing as I pushed myself up. “He tried to protect me. That’s why they beat Fenric.”
Varyth’s nostrils flared, suspicion lingered in his expression.
“She was making them watch a guard hurt me,” I continued before he could argue, pressing the words forward with as much certainty as I could muster. “Probably trying to figure out our weaknesses.”
Fenric blinked, shock flashing across his face, but he didn’t correct me.
Varyth’s hands tightened into fists, his breathing slow, controlled. He was weighing the information, deciding whether to believe me or not. Finally, after a long, drawn-out silence, he gave a curt nod.
The tension in the air eased but didn’t dissipate. Varyth’s focus remained on me.
“We need to get out of here,” Linc growled, his voice low and urgent. “Before they decide to pick us off one by one.”
Darian nodded in agreement. “But how? We’re still bound, still powerless. And even if we could break free, we don’t know the layout of this place.”
“We’ll figure it out,” I rasped, biting down a groan as I shifted my weight. “We have to.”
A knock at the cell door silenced us all. We tensed, bracing for another round of torment, but instead, a small hatch at the bottom of the door slid open. Several trays were shoved through, laden with bread, dried meat, and cups of water.
We stared at the food in disbelief.
Darian was the first to move, cautiously approaching the trays and examining their contents.
“It seems... safe.” He sniffed at the bread.
Shaelith let out a huff. “They wouldn’t poison us. Not after going through all this trouble to capture us alive.”
Varyth nodded in agreement, but his expression remained guarded. “Eat,” he commanded. “We need to keep our strength up.”
No one needed to be told twice. We fell upon the food with desperate hunger, tearing into the bread and meat with our hands.
I forced myself to eat slowly, knowing that consuming too much too quickly after days of starvation could make me sick. The dried meat tasted of dirt, the bread was stale, but it was the best thing I’d ever eaten. The water was cool and clean, soothing my parched throat.
As we ate, I noticed Cindrissian hanging back, his eyes fixed on a point in the distance. He made no move toward the food.
“Eat,” I said quietly, pushing a piece of bread toward him. “You need it as much as we do.”
Cindrissian hesitated, eyeing the offered bread as though it might bite him. He nodded, though a subtle tremor rippled through his hand before he reached for it. His eyes met mine for only a moment before he looked away. Fenric watched his brother, his own injuries forgotten.
The quiet in the cell stretched, filled only by the sound of ravenous chewing and the occasional scrape of metal against stone. The food wasn’t much, but it was enough. Enough to quiet the gnawing hunger, to soothe the raw ache in my throat, to remind me that we were alive.
The room tilted as exhaustion sank its claws into me, heavier than before. My shoulders sagged, the pain in my ribs turned dull and distant.
A steady, warm hand wrapped around my waist.
Varyth.
I blinked, my limbs heavy, thoughts slow.
The scent of dewed grass and sandalwood wrapped around me like armour.
I didn’t fight it when he pulled me toward him. Didn’t resist when he guided me down against his chest, his arms winding around me, holding me firm, secure. His thumb brushed along my spine.
The warmth of him seeped into my aching bones, into the places that trembled from pain and hunger and rage. His heartbeat was a steady comfort.
And, gods help me, I let myself sink into it.
The last thing I knew before sleep took me was the press of Varyth’s lips against my hair, and whispered words I couldn’t quite make out.