Chapter 63
The cell door slammed shut behind me, the iron lock clicking into place with a finality that settled deep in my bones.
The guards didn’t say anything. Just shoved me forward with the same practiced disinterest they used for all of us.
Good.
It made it easier to lie.
I staggered into the cell, every muscle already bracing for what came next. Darian shot to his feet first, his expression contorting—relief, then fury, then something tight and horrified.
“Gods, Isara—”
“I’m fine,” I said too fast, too sharp.
I wasn’t fine. But that’s what I had to be. Because if I faltered, if I showed even a fraction of what had actually passed between me and Ashterion, they’d see it. They’d ask. And I wouldn’t know how to answer.
Brynelle stood next, pale beneath bruised skin. Varyth hadn’t moved from where he lay, but his eyes were open, watching. Always watching.
I dropped to my knees near the corner, the cold stone bit against my legs.
“Did he do—” Brynelle didn’t finish the question. Didn’t have to.
I nodded once. “Yes.”
The word was acid on my tongue.
Darian’s hands curled into fists. “He’ll pay for this.”
“No,” I said quietly, head bowed, hair falling forward to hide my face. “Don’t.”
“Isara—”
“He didn’t get what he wanted,” I lied. “I didn’t give him that.”
Varyth stood. “What did he ask you?”
My throat tightened. I forced myself to meet his eyes.
“He wanted me to break.” I held his gaze, let him see the defiance I knew he expected. “I didn’t.”
Another lie. A prettier one.
Because part of me had broken. The moment I’d agreed to lie to Varyth, something had cracked that I wasn’t sure I could fix.
Varyth’s hands braced against the wall, muscles trembling with effort. His breath came shallow but the look in his eyes had turned to frozen starlight. That terrifying, breathless calm that meant the storm had already arrived.
“I’ll kill him.”
I looked up, heart hammering, throat dry. “Varyth—”
“I’ll tear him apart,” he said again, louder now, voice raw with fury. “I don’t care what power he holds. I don’t care if the gods themselves put him on that throne. I will make him choke on every drop of blood he spilled.” His hands slammed against the stone wall, hard enough to echo.
For a moment I wanted to let him believe it. Wanted to be the version of myself they all expected, the one who had been tortured and survived. The one who deserved this kind of rage.
But watching the fury blaze through him, watching what he would do for me, made the lie feel like a fresh wound.
“Varyth,” I said again, quieter this time. “Please.”
His head whipped toward me. “He harmed you.”
I let the silence confirm it.
Fenric hovered nearby, close but not quite touching. His presence warm, steady. As though he wanted to reach for me but didn’t know if he should. Didn’t know if it would hurt me more. The grief in his expression was soft and gutting.
Lincatheron, by contrast, stood stiff and seething near the wall, arms folded, wings twitching in minute bursts of tension.
He hadn’t said a word since I returned—but his silence was loud.
A furnace of rage simmered just beneath the surface.
I knew that look. He was counting breaths.
Calculating casualties. He wouldn’t speak until he could control it.
“He dies for this,” Varyth snarled, shaking with rage. “I will end him myself. With my hands. Slowly.”
I swallowed. My fingers dug into the stone at my sides. “Stop.”
“I should’ve torn his throat out the moment he looked at you. The moment he spoke your name.”
“You couldn’t,” I snapped before I could stop myself. “They had you in chains, same as me.”
He flinched. I hated myself for it. But I couldn’t break here. Couldn’t let the mask slip. Not yet. Not when this might be our only chance at survival.
“I’m back now,” I said. “That’s what matters.”
Varyth crossed the cell in two steps and wrapped his arms around me, pulling me against him like if he pressed hard enough, he could keep all my pieces from coming undone.
His embrace was warmth and fury, the tremble in his chest giving away how tightly he was holding it in. I felt the pulse of his magic beneath his skin, erratic, barely contained by the collar.
“I should have protected you,” he whispered into my hair.
I didn’t deserve his guilt. I’d lied to him. I was still lying, right now, in his arms.
And worse—worse—a part of me didn’t even regret it.
Because if Varyth knew the truth… if he knew I’d touched the monster, tended him… if he knew I’d looked Ashterion in the eye and told him I believed he meant me no harm.
My stomach twisted.
Why had I said that?
Why had I looked into the face of the Shadow Lord, the creature whispered about in blood-soaked corners of fae history, and thought—maybe?
Maybe he wasn’t what they said.
It had been a moment. A flicker. But I’d meant it. I had looked at his wound, at the way his breath caught when I touched him, at the crack in his mask, and I had believed he wouldn’t harm me.
I was a fool.
Varyth’s arms tightened around me. “You’re safe now,” he murmured. “You’re safe.”
I wanted to scream that I didn’t even know what safe meant anymore. That I didn’t know where the lines were—between mercy and manipulation, between pity and power, between the person I was and the thing I was becoming to survive this.
But I just nodded against his shoulder. Stood in his arms and tried to breathe through the weight of the lie on my chest.
I spied Cindrissian over Varyth’s shoulder, silent and still, tucked in the shadows like he always was. But now he stepped closer, his gaze never leaving mine.
“Ashterion did that?” he asked.
I looked up, and caught it. Something in his tone. Something that wasn’t surprise. Not really.
He knew.
My breath hitched, shallow in my throat, and I didn’t answer. I just looked at him—pleading, silent.
Please don’t.
Cindrissian studied me for a long moment. Then, almost like an afterthought, he asked, “Does it make it on your list?”
I hesitated for only a breath. “No.”
He nodded, and stepped back, leaning against the wall once more.
The others glanced between us, watching the exchange with quiet puzzlement. But neither of us offered explanation.
I let myself exhale.
Because whatever Cindrissian had seen, whatever he suspected… he wasn’t going to expose it.
The others were curled in uneasy sleep against the stone walls, exhaustion and pain dragging them under despite the ever-present tension that clung to us.
Except for Darian and me. We sat side by side against one of the walls, watching the others breathe.
“You okay?” Darian’s voice broke the fragile quiet.
I let the air in my lungs go and hoped the ache would go with it. “No.”
Darian didn’t push. He sat there, his warmth a grounding thing against the cold.
I hesitated before speaking again, fingers curling around my knees. “I… accidentally told him about Mireth and Eryx.”
Wordlessly, Darian reached out and squeezed my hand. Warm. Solid. A quiet, simple anchor. We sat there, breaths steadying in the silence, the weight of our lives pressing against our shoulders.
Darian’s hoarse whisper broke the quiet. “As a babe, he used to wake me up at dawn, you know.”
I blinked. My mind sluggish with exhaustion, with too many emotions fraying at the edges. “Fionn?”
Darian let out a tired, rasping chuckle. “Yep. Every gods-damn morning.”
I rested my head against the wall, staring up at the cracks in the ceiling. “Mireth was the same,” I murmured. “Eryx though…” A small, aching smile pulled at my lips. “He’d sleep until noon if I let him.”
Darian chuckled, the sound rough and worn. “Smart kid.”
“The smartest.”
I let myself think about them. Really think about them. And it threatened to rip me apart. Mireth and Eryx. Wondering where I was. Why I hadn’t come back.
I released a slow, shaky breath. “Mireth had the fiercest little glare.”
I could almost see it now. Her arms crossed, brow furrowed, fists planted on tiny hips.
“You mean she has.”
I stilled. He was right. Maybe we weren’t getting out of here alive, but I knew they’d be kept safe.
I swallowed. “She has the fiercest glare.”
Darian nodded once, firm despite the weakness in his body.
He leaned his head back. “Eilrys likes to say Fionn and I will run her into an early grave.” His lips twitched, his voice fracturing. “Joke’s on her, I guess.”
“We’re never holding them again, are we?” The words broke from me before I could shove them back down.
Darian didn’t answer right away. He sat there, breathing, staring at the darkened ceiling as if searching for answers in the carved stone.
A soft tremor ran through him. “No. I don’t think so.” The answer sounded like it came from the same dark place as my own.
There wasn’t anything either of us could say. Nothing that would fill the hole that had been ripped in each of our chests. I did the only thing I could. I leaned in without thinking, cheek against his shoulder, the fabric of his shirt scratchy with dried blood and salt.
“Eilrys will look after them.” Darian exhaled, slow and steady. “She’ll raise them like they’re her own.”
I pressed a hand to my mouth. Because I couldn’t cry. Not here.
“Darian—” I started.
He cut me off before I could say something stupid. “It’s not charity, Isara.” He slipped his hand into mine. His palm was warm and steady. “You’re family.”
My throat ached. I gripped his fingers so tight I was sure it hurt, but he didn’t pull away. “Thank you.”
“Don’t thank me yet.” Darian huffed a quiet, dry chuckle. “I might live through this just to be annoying.”
I snorted. “You already are annoying.”
He made a quiet noise of agreement before resting his head lightly against mine.
We fell into silence again. But I had to say it. I had to say it.
“Thank you.”
Darian shifted, the fabric of his shirt rustling against the stone. “For what?”
“For your friendship.” I nuzzled my head against his shoulder. “For letting me into your life. Your family. I’d forgotten, you know? What it was like. Having people around. Gods, having other parents around. People who understood.”
“Yeah,” he said quietly. “I know.”
Someone shifted in their sleep. The drag of breath a reminder we weren’t alone, but somehow, in this moment, we were.
Then, Darian scoffed. “Not that you gave me much of a choice.”
“I suppose I didn’t.” I laughed. A real, quiet, gods-damned laugh.
Darian turned, pressed a delicate, fleeting kiss to the top of my head. “It’s been a while since I’ve had a real friend.” A shaky breath brushed against my hair. “Without all the political bullshit.” His fingers squeezed mine. “So, I suppose I should thank you too.”
I let my eyes slip shut, the warmth of Darian’s shoulder steady against mine. “You should. I’m an excellent friend.”
“Debatable.”
I gasped, scandalised. “Excuse me?”
“You’re violent,” he said, his voice teasing but laced with fondness. “And dramatic. And you’ve got an awful habit of dragging me into trouble.”
“You walk willingly into trouble.”
“That means I’m an idiot, not that you’re excellent.”
“I think that makes us both idiots.”
Darian hummed in agreement.
“You’re a good friend too, you know,” I added quietly.
Darian adjusted his head, letting it rest more comfortably against mine. “Gods, I hope not. I’ve worked very hard to cultivate my reputation as an asshole.”
I let out another laugh. “Well, you failed.”
“Damn,” he muttered. “All that effort wasted.”
Sleep tugged at the edges of my thoughts, dulling the ache in my limbs, in my heart.
As I drifted, I heard him murmur, “I hope we make it out of this.”
I wanted to answer, wanted to promise we would.
But the words never came.