Chapter 32 Bylur
My body ached from standing in the same position for two days, but I would not lay down in this filthy place. Like yesterday, a set of soft footsteps entered the dungeon before I could see who they belonged to.
But they definitely did not belong to the queen or her soldiers. There was a short, muffled conversation, and the footsteps came closer. I braced myself for another visit from the noble masquerading as a maid, but instead saw another imposter. One that stole my breath away.
“Auria?” I whispered. “No, that’s impossible.” Daneira must have found out about her and glamoured someone to look like her.
Exactly like her.
That much precision could only mean one thing. She had to have captured her and brought her here too. The thought of her in one of these prisons made me angry, more angry than I’d ever been. It was bad enough to see her in danger, but to know these people were using her, hurting her to get at me—
It was too much. I rushed at the bars and thrust both my hands through one of the gaps. I didn’t care that I wouldn’t be free. It didn’t matter that I was magically bound to the queen. I would not let them have Auria too.
I wrapped a hand around her throat before she’d have time to respond and pinned her back and neck to the bars between us. The goblet and plate she carried fell to the floor with echoing clangs. “What have you done with Auria? Where. Is. She?” I hissed at the Auria-look-alike.
“Bylur!” she wheezed. “It’s me. I swear it is.”
“I won’t be fooled by your magic. If I didn’t have these cuffs on, I would have smelled your glamour the moment you entered the prison.” I tightened my hold, and her breaths shortened. “Now. Tell me—”
“Bylur, please! Ask me anything. No lies. No stealing. Let me prove—”
I dropped her. How would they know of all our conversations about lying and stealing? A light-headed wave of nausea swept over me. What if it really was her?
I shook my head. Impossible. But my thoughts slogged like mud. It had been too long since I’d eaten and drunk and moved freely to think clearly.
Not-Auria stepped up to the bars and gripped them with both hands. “I’ve wanted to see your face for so long,” she whispered, “and I hate that Daneira stole you away the moment it first happened.”
What if…
But how…
Yes. How was a good question. Her story would give me something to judge. “How are you here?”
She chuckled and rubbed her throat. “You wouldn’t believe this, but I asked Dearan and Dedalus to help me. And then Brielle and Orla and Ivodar helped a lot too. And I rode your horse, North Wind.”
Her voice soothed the aches in my soul, and it just kept going in the way only she did.
“He was terrifying, but I think we’re friends now.
And I know I can’t get you out right now, but I really wanted to see you.
I have some ideas about confronting the queen that I’d like your help with too, that is, if you won’t attack me again. ”
She was real. Nobody could imitate the way she talked.
And I’d attacked her.
I slid down to my knees and gripped the bars. “Auria.” My voice came out hoarse and dry. “Forgive me. I thought they’d imprisoned you and glamoured someone to look like you. I… I’m so sorry for grabbing you.”
She dropped to her knees too and reached through the bars, not even flinching at the grime and stench around us. I clasped her hand and kissed the top of her knuckles.
She settled her other hand on my knee. “Of course I forgive you. I hate that you’re here.”
I rubbed my temples. “It feels like you’re a dream,” I said slowly, “and if I blink wrong, your glamour will fade and some horrible fae will be there to mock me.”
Her beautiful smile lifted every corner of her face, making her bright green eyes shine. Or maybe they glistened? Was she about to cry?
She shifted closer to the bars, and I enclosed her hand in both of mine. I nestled it against my chest, as close to my heart as possible, and closed my eyes.
“You don’t have to wake up,” she whispered. “I love you. And I will find a way—”
“No,” I interrupted. If this was real, she had to stop right there. “No, don’t find a way. Let me die with your love on my ears and the knowledge that you are safely away.”
I opened my eyes to make sure she heard. “I am grateful to see you one last time, but I expect to die tomorrow night.” I lifted her hand to my lips and pressed a kiss into her sweet wrist. “Please go home and live.”
She pulled my hand through the bars and kissed the knuckle of my thumb. “I love you Bylur. I think I need to go before the queen comes to check on you…”
My mind jumped to the previous night, and I didn’t hear anything else she said.
The queen had come down shortly after the guards changed.
We had to be getting close to that time now.
I disentangled my fingers from hers and touched her face.
“Go. Talk to Parcival. He’ll make sure you have everything you need for the rest of your life.
All my wealth is yours. Go before the queen comes. ”
She reached through the bars and touched my cheek.
I pressed my head into her fingers while cradling her face with my hand.
An abundance of strength rose in her, like heat rising from flames.
I closed my eyes, soaking in her touch, her love, and her strength.
It was everything. She was everything. More than enough to carry me through whatever lay ahead.
I would defy the queen. And I would do it with the joy that came from being loved.
“Oh!” She pulled her hand away, taking her sweet warmth with it, and shoved it into a pocket. “Eat this.” She handed me a peach. “I’m sorry it’s a little smashed, but at least it isn’t enchanted or poisoned like those.” She waved at the spilled goblet and chicken on the floor.
“Thank you.” I took a bite, and then another. In less than a minute, I ate the entire thing. It brought new life into my bones. Where Auria had lit up my heart, her food lit up my mind.
She stuck her hand back into the bars, expectantly. “I don’t want to leave any evidence.”
I set the pit in her fingers. “Now, go,” I repeated.
She pocketed the pit, gripped the bars like she wanted to say something, but ended up just nodding, and walking away. My last view of her was her golden hair as she disappeared down the refuse-ridden corridor.