Chapter 33
Thirty-Three
SENAN
If someone would’ve told me yesterday that this morning I’d be strolling past a line of pikes topped with rotting heads and no eyes, I would’ve laughed my ass off. But here I am, strolling away, doing my best not to breathe through my nose so the foul stench of the grayish skin melting off the skulls doesn’t leave me in a heap on the silty black earth.
After I let this “friend” of hers go free, Allette will be so relieved that she’ll come to my room to thank me. Then I can say all the things I didn’t last night.
If only I hadn’t dusted.
If only I could’ve convinced her to stay until I sobered up.
If only…
I can’t blame her for leaving. After seeing me in such a deplorable state, she must think me pathetic. If I could exhume the man I once was, the one she loved, maybe I could convince her to choose me again.
There must be some way to remind her what we once had. That we are two halves of the same whole.
When I explained to Bilson my plans for today, he’d questioned my sanity. I’d told him that I was perfectly capable of coming here on my own, but he did not agree.
Centuries ago, my ancestors carved a prison into the black cliff face of an active volcano, fondly referred to as “the pit.” My boots sink into the sand as we climb toward the pit’s entrance. I would’ve flown straight here, except the wards around this place keep anyone from flying too close.
Sweat trails down my brow as we trade the barren wasteland for a set of steep stairs. A shirtless guard in black leather trousers leans against a wall behind the prison’s barbed gate, picking at his nails with the tip of his dagger. He is built like a brick tower, muscles stacked on top of muscles. Wouldn’t want to meet him in a dark alley. When he sees us, he pushes off the wall and snaps to attention. “Your highness,” he says with a bow. “We weren’t expecting a visitor from the castle.”
That is because only one other person knew I would be coming—the one breathing down my fucking neck.
I withdraw a heavy purse from my pocket, telling the man this isn’t an official visit. Can’t have the king finding out that I’m poking around and start asking questions. “I’m here to speak with one of your prisoners.”
The purse disappears into the man’s pocket, and he unlocks the gate using the heavy ring of keys hanging from his belt. “Of course, sire. What is the prisoner’s name?” he asks, crossing to a desk with a thick ledger on top.
“I’m not sure of his surname, but his given name is Jeston.”
The guard drags his thick finger along the names scribbled on the page and then taps one of the last entries. “Right this way.” His keys jangle with each step as he leads us down into the bowels of the mountain. It’s hot as a fucking furnace down here. Feels like I’m melting.
Bilson and I end up waiting in a small room with a table and two chairs across from a wooden stool. The iron fittings attached to the stone wall on either side of the stool have gone red with rust. Or blood. Hard to tell from here.
I wipe my brow, half tempted to remove my shirt. But then the guard hauls in the man from the Black Hole and it feels like I’ve been doused in ice. Not fun, by the way, especially when you’re hungover.
The man’s black eye looks sore. But not as sore as the deep gash running along the length of his pale cheek.
If I were a better man, I would feel guilty for losing my head last night.
But I’m not a better man.
I turn to find Bilson scowling at the prisoner. “Can you give us a few minutes alone?”
Bilson’s dark gaze snaps to mine. “You want me to leave you by yourself with a prisoner? You can’t be serious, sire.”
Do I not look serious? “That is generally what ‘alone’ means.”
Bilson’s jaw creaks beneath his stubble, but he says no more as he stalks toward the door. The prison guard locks the iron manacles around Jeston’s wrists and ankles, chaining him to the floor. I remain on the other side of the table, my thoughts racing as I wait for the guard to leave.
The prison guard comes to a stop next to me, swiping a hand across his brow. “Just so you know, sire, the lad has had quite the dose of barmite.”
Isn’t that fortuitous? When ingested, barmite acts as a truth serum. Meaning any questions I ask will be answered truthfully whether Jeston is feeling forthcoming or not.
The door closes with a heavy clang .
I fold my hands atop the table. “I trust they’re treating you well?”
Jeston blinks at me, squinting his eyes. “The food is shite, and the mattress could use an upgrade.”
Something that feels a lot like humor floods my chest. Too bad I’ve decided to hate this man on principle alone. I drum my fingers against the tabletop, arranging my features into a mask of boredom. “I’ll be sure to file your complaint with the guards.”
For a moment, I forget about the stench in this place and suck in a deep breath. My stomach lurches, and I nearly lose my breakfast right on the stones. If I vomit in front of this prick, I will never forgive myself.
It takes some effort, but eventually I clear the bile from the back of my throat. “I have questions. If you answer them to my satisfaction, then I will see what I can do regarding your sentence.”
Jeston’s laughter hinges on maniacal as his head falls back against the stones. “You expect me to believe that? You’re the reason I’m here.”
I don’t give a shit what he believes. Allette’s happiness is my only priority. “How do you know the woman from the Black Hole?”
The cut on Jeston’s cheek splits wider when he grins. Fresh blood dribbles down his chin, splattering on his dirty trousers. “Which one?” he slurs.
My hands ball into fists beneath the table. “You know damn well which one.”
His grin grows. “Oh, you mean Wynn ?”
Does this mean he doesn’t know her real name? “Yes, Wynn.” I’m sure she has a good reason for using a false one.
So she can avoid you .
My heart breaks a little more.
She won’t avoid me now, will she?
Jeston’s head lolls forward, like that of a baby whose neck is too weak to hold much of anything. “Wynn and I work together in your brother’s castle.”
They may only be friends now, but they’re going to be spending all their time together, growing closer every day, while I’m stuck in a far-off kingdom married to a woman I cannot stand. “Are you interested in pursuing her?”
His brow furrows for a split second before his eyes expand. “Oh, I understand now. You saw a pretty Tuath and thought she’d fall at your feet. But she turned you down, didn’t she? And you think I’m the reason why.” Cackling, he shakes his head. “Did it ever cross your mind that she might not want to fuck our duster prince?”
My nails bite into my scarred palms. It’s the drugs talking . He wouldn’t dare say such things to me if he were sober.
I screw my eyes shut, doing my best to rein in my anger. He is only speaking the truth, but it’s a truth I don’t want to face. Allette saw me glowing like a star last night; she knows what I’ve become. Who could blame her for not wanting someone so weak? So broken.
“Tell me, Your Highness ,” Jeston giggles to himself, “have the hallucinations started yet?”
When I open my eyes, I find him smiling up at the ceiling. “What hallucinations?”
“The hallucinations,” he repeats, as if I didn’t just say the same damn thing. “The dreams. I hear the dust makes them so fucking real.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” I have had vivid dreams of late, but that has nothing to do with the dust…does it?
Jeston snorts. “Liar.” His smile grows, a malicious, wicked thing. “You see, the problem with ingesting illegal substances is that you’re never sure exactly what they contain.” His barked laugh echoes off the stone walls, rattling my eardrums. “There have been sooooo many addicts found dead due to an unknown poison infused in recent stardust shipments.”
Did he say poison? Boris hasn’t mentioned any unusual deaths in the kingdom. Does he even know?
Jeston must be bluffing.
Only, he can’t be bluffing. With barmite in your system, you speak only the truth.
Time and again, I’ve dusted to help me through the worst years of my life. Boris begged me to quit, as did Aeron. Why didn’t I cop on and listen to them?
“You needn’t worry about me. I’m never dusting again.” Not after seeing the disappointment and devastation in my love’s eyes. I’ll be better for her. Prove that I can be the man I once was.
“Has the cough started?”
“What cough?” I’ve been coughing a little, but only when exerting myself. Surely that isn’t what he means.
Jeston’s head falls forward once more. “If it has, you won’t live to see spring.”
“How do you know?” He and I have never met before. How could he possibly know all these things?
With his head still down, he mumbles, “All those nights you spent glowing like a star are about to take their toll.”
That isn’t a fucking answer. My fist slams against the table. “How do you know, dammit!”
He doesn’t respond.
I spring to my feet and press my palm to his damp brow, forcing his head upright. His eyes roll behind closed lids, and his breaths wheeze. Dammit . How much barmite did they give him? I shake him by the shoulders. One eye opens, then the other, his pupils nothing more than pinpricks.
“Can the damage be reversed?” There must be some sort of potion or tonic to cure me. I don’t want to die—at least not now that I know Allette is alive and there is a chance for reconciliation.
“You need five doses of antidote, all taken…” His eyes roll back in his head.
“Dammit, Jeston. Wake up!” I shake and shake him until he focuses on me. “Five doses of antidote all taken when ?”
“At the same time, on the same day of the week, for five weeks. That should be enough to rid your body of the poison.”
“Should?”
Blinking one eye first, then the other, he shrugs. “The odds are far better than zero. Because that is what you have if you don’t take anything.”
“How do I get my hands on the antidote?”
“I can get it.” His lips crack when he grins. “But first, you have to let me out.”