Chapter 15 Darian
Darian
There’s no guard outside the prison tonight, but I pick up the low thrum of voices as I descend the steps down toward Lyra’s cell.
Pausing at the beginning of the narrow passage that leads past the cells and curves ahead of me to lead around the corner, I tilt my head to listen.
The box in my hands is an excuse more than anything else. I’m finding myself increasingly curious about this Lightbringer. Especially after getting a glimpse inside her mind.
Empty, I had said to the Council. Empty-headed little Lightbringer.
But she and I both know that’s not quite true. And after yet another sleepless night, waking up over and over again, clawing at sweat-soaked sheets and attempting to stifle the sobbing sounds in my throat, here I am once more.
It’s not her nightmares that interest me most, but the gaps around them.
I’ve never seen a mind like it. As if she’d carved off small pieces of her psyche to offer anyone who came looking while keeping the deepest parts of herself tucked away, far from my eyes.
Most minds—particularly with knowledge of a dreamwalker creeping through them—are full of panic, veering wildly between random thought and offering glimpses of everything they’re trying to keep hidden.
They can’t help but think about exactly what they know they shouldn’t be thinking about.
But not her.
She gave me enough to validate parts of her story. Enough to tug at my conscience, to want to help her. Lyra offered only what she wanted to, and not a glimpse more.
And so here I am, to look again before I speak to Eres and Kaelen. If he’ll even speak to me. The tight band round my chest that grows tighter with each passing day presses a little deeper.
But I need her to be asleep first, and it seems that she is not.
The two youths watching her make no attempt to lower their voices, nor listen for anyone approaching. When I’ve heard enough, I stroll toward them, turning the corner with a whistle that they don’t even notice since they’re too wrapped up in taunting her to pay any attention to their surroundings.
Sloppy. Eldritch would have them on latrine duties for a month.
They’re unfortunate that I’ve found them instead.
With both of their faces pressed up against the iron bars, their arms dangling through and swords left carelessly against the back wall, it’s Lyra that sees me first. Her eyes burn in the dim light.
When I looked into her mind at the Council meeting, her irises had flickered and jumped, a ring of glorious flame.
Tonight, I see only glowing fragments of orange and red, the dying embers of a hearth fire.
Lyra doesn’t move from where she sits on her cot, legs crossed beneath her and back straight. Although she mentioned receiving military training.
Every small detail I collect only makes me more curious. And none of them seem to add up to what I would have expected from a Lightbringer.
Crumbs of a story, and nothing more.
And they still haven’t noticed me. Placing the box down on the ground, I step up behind them. One, dark-haired and taller than his friend, gestures with a lazy hand. “Go on, then, witch. Eat.”
My eyes lower in the space between them. Her meal has been tossed across the filthy floor directly in front of the bars, the wooden bowl empty and upright beside the two assigned to guard her.
Only one evidences the smallest shred of self-preservation. His back stiffens, a half-turn of his head showing the bread he has clutched in his hand, a bite taken out of it. “What—”
My hands slam down on the back of their necks, shoving their faces into the bars. Ignoring the panicked scrabbling of their hands, I lean forward, pushing my face between them. “Does this form part of your assigned duty, soldiers?”
My hands tighten, my pulse growing faster as I yank them back before shoving their faces forward again, pulling groans from their throats. “Who gave you instructions to mistreat someone under our care?”
They’re barely old enough to be called soldiers. But a taunting child makes a cruel adult, and fuck knows that the world is cruel enough without them adding to it.
When everything else is stripped away, all we have left is our humanity. The words sound just like his, and an ache appears in my throat as I shake them for an answer.
“Nobody,” the shorter chokes out. “I’m sorry—”
His words cut off on a low moan. Both of them begin to shake beneath my grip.
“Please.” The shorter one begs. “Give it back.”
The other says nothing at all. His breathing stutters, but his hands grip the bars, not attempting to push me off. I turn my attention back to the blubbering one. “Give what back?”
“My sight.” Half-cry, half-sob. “I’m sorry.”
I release him, letting him stumble away as he chokes on air and rubs at his face as if checking that I’ve truly restored his vision instead of tearing through his mind. I point at him, and he shrivels. “Stand there. Do not move.”
When I release the second boy, restoring his vision, he doesn’t turn around. But his hands grip the bars so tightly that his knuckles have bleached. “Look at me, soldier. What’s your name?”
He pushes himself away from the bars and turns, the movement quick. The boy glowers at me with dark brown eyes—eyes that I recognize, and I step back before I can stop myself.
“Wes,” he grits out. “Weslyn Tenebris.”
Fuck.
He lifts his chin, lip curling as he addresses me without looking away. His eyes are tight, his tone cutting. “Yeah. My brother was Owen Tenebris.”
I know.
He’s the double of his brother. Exactly as Owen had been.
Gangly. Tall, with a messy shock of dark hair that I suspect doesn’t fit within Eldritch’s rules.
But there’s a fury in this boy that I never saw in my friend.
Owen never lost a smile when he could share one.
The band in my chest grows tight again, so tight that I almost lean forward.
“I know who you are. I’m sorry that you lost him. ”
The anger wavers, replaced by something deeper. More pained, and more vicious as Weslyn stares at me. “Are you really sorry?”
His hand slams back against the bars, so hard it sounds painful.
“My brother is dead because of her. Everyone in my family—all of them, dead, and I was the one to light the offerings at the Gloam for Owen because there was nobody else left. She sits here with his blood on her hands, and we’re supposed to be protecting her?
After everything the witches have done, she can simply walk into Umbraxis and demand protection when she hasn’t earned it? ”
“Weslyn,” I try to keep my voice gentle. “She didn’t kill Owen.”
Weslyn’s words begin to tremble. He blinks away the shimmer. “One of them did. And they all hate us. Every single one of them. And you—you dare to judge me for it when Raedyn Veyr was the one who led my brother into their trap?”
The barb lands exactly as he intended, but I don’t let him see a flicker of it. I swallow my own pain down to give him the space to air his own. “My father didn’t intend for anyone to die. He made a grave error of judgment, and it cost him his life.”
The opposite. And yet every day I’m left to pay the price for his actions.
“Not just his, though, was it?” Wet dampens Weslyn’s cheeks. He’s still just a boy. A scared, angry boy. “He took the rest of them with him because he was trying to save his own skin. He took Owen with him.”
“And what would Owen say if he saw you now?” It hurts to say it. “Would he be proud? I never saw him treat anyone with anything less than respect, and certainly not someone who couldn’t fight back.”
Weslyn’s face shifts, and twists. “Don’t you talk about him like you knew him.”
“I did know him, and well. We trained together, and we served together. He was my friend.” I keep my voice steady. But I don’t stop. “And I know that he would be disappointed in this, Weslyn. This pettiness dishonors his memory. And you dishonor yourself.”
His jaw works, but he only looks away, his eyes still shining.
I clear my throat and address them both. “Go to Eldritch. He should be in the hall now. Tell him I’ve relieved you of duty and to send someone else to take over from me at midnight. And you will tell him exactly why, or I will.”
Wes’s eyes widen. “But—,”
“That is an order from a Council member, whether you like it or not. You don’t get a pass for this. Owen would have marched you there himself. Go,” I say roughly. “Now. And think about what I said.”
Weslyn’s brows push down into a deep frown before he shoves past me, his fists clenched. His friend picks up their swords before chasing after him, giving me a wide berth.
The silence stretches out long after the sound of their footsteps has disappeared.
“What happened?”
The low, lyrical words break through the cacophony in my head. “What makes you think something happened?”
When I look up, Lyra hasn’t moved. She only tilts her head. “The soldiers in the medical bay. That. And I have ears. Hard not to eavesdrop when I’m in here.”
I reach for the keys where they hang on a rusty metal hook embedded in the wall. Truthfully, we rarely need to hold someone in the cells. People seem less focused on criminality when survival is at stake.
The last person in here, as far as I can recall, was me.
And she has no idea. The thought is surprisingly freeing—that there’s at least one person left within these walls who doesn’t look at me as though I’m dirt to be wiped away from the bottom of their shoe.
How ironic that she’s a Lightbringer.
Swinging the door open, I step inside and place the box on the table. “There’s some extra food in there. I apologize for their behavior.”
“It’s fine. I’m not hungry.” Lyra purses her lips, studying me. “Are you here to read me again?”
I turn to look at her. “You don’t sound surprised.”
“It’s what I would do. Go ahead.”