Chapter 11 #2
She laughed once—sharp, hollow. “That’s the problem: I can’t. No one ever gets close enough to find out how to destroy him. The ones who even try find worse fates than death.”
Images flashed unbidden through her mind—souls ripped screaming from bodies, entire bloodlines erased in a single night, the dungeon drains swallowing people until nothing but silence filled the empty space. ‘‘He doesn’t die. He doesn’t tire.”
The King didn’t rule by fear alone. He ruled by inevitability.
“He sees everything,” she continued, her voice tightening. “He knows everything. You can’t challenge him. You can’t surprise him. And you can’t walk away once he’s noticed you… You just can’t.”
She swallowed. “If he wants you dead, the grave is already dug.”
His mouth curved, just slightly. Not mockingly, but curiously.
“And yet,” he said, “you’re still standing, and if I heard rightly, your entire family was to be slaughtered.”
The words hit her harder than she expected.
How did he know that?
“That’s not because I’m strong,” she snapped, sharper now, the ropes biting deeper in response. She hissed, forcing herself still. “It’s because he saw someone useful. Because I obey and do as I’m told. Because I’ve learned how to survive him.”
“And you call that living?” was all he said. A simple statement comprised of just five words held enough weight to wind her.
Ellaryn looked away.
For a moment, neither of them spoke. The air between them felt taut, stretched thin as wire. She became acutely aware of how close he was, of the way his presence seemed to bend the room around him with something she didn’t know quite how to name.
“You’re wrong about one thing,” he said at last. “I’m not here to challenge him or surprise him.”
She scoffed weakly. “You just said—”
“I’m here to end him,” he interrupted her, voice calm, resolute. “There’s a difference.”
Her heart hammered painfully against her ribs.
Hope stirred again, treacherous and unwanted, only to be crushed beneath the weight of reason.
“You’ll die,” she whispered. “And when you do, he won’t stop with you. He’ll tear this city apart looking for whoever helped you. For whoever believed in you.”
His gaze softened then, just a fraction.
“Ruin,” he said, using her nickname like it was something precious rather than dangerous.
“This is not just about Cinders anymore. Velaviere is in danger. Do you really want another Kingdom to burn under his reign, knowing you could have done something about it? War is not pretty. Innocent heads will roll—babies, children—and I’m betting your hand will be the maker. ”
“Heads will roll regardless. Are you really that foolish to believe the Knights won’t stand in your way? That Scornszar won’t burn the entire city trying to scorch you? The dwellers will suffer.”
“They already suffer, Ruin.” He shot back.
“The city cannot go on like this. I have walked amongst your people; they know the risk of revolution, and yet they welcome it. They still pray at the temple. Still sing gospel behind closed doors. Still hang onto hope in a place so devoid of it. Change is coming whether you like it or not, so you must ask yourself—what side of the revolution do you want to be on?”
She clenched her fists, nails biting into her palms as his words sank their claws under her skin.
She wanted to deny. Wanted to scream at him to leave, to run, to save himself while he still could. But the words stuck, because every part of her knew he was right. Cinders was suffocating, and Velaviere would be next.
Her throat tightened.
“And if you’re wrong?” she asked hoarsely. “If you fail?”
“Then I’ll be one more ghost haunting his throne,” he said simply. “But if I’m right…”
He stepped closer, lowering himself until they were eye level despite her restraints.
“…then you won’t have to survive him anymore, and Velaviere will be safe, along with your people.”
The ropes hummed again, tighter now, reacting to the surge of emotion she could no longer suppress.
Ellaryn closed her eyes.
Hope was dangerous, but Gods help her—It was blooming anyway.
He flicked his fingers, and the ropes slackened, as if they had grown tired of holding her, unravelling under his will like obedient snakes.
She rose slowly, rubbing the raw grooves on her skin. Her eyes flicked toward the staircase—calculating, measuring.
He noticed.
“I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” he warned.
Magic shimmered at his palms. A faint glow, a crackle of power—casual, like showing her the weather. A reminder that he could end her again. And again after that.
She stilled.
“What do you want with me?” she asked.
His expression shifted, something between curiosity and resolve sharpening his features. “I want to learn more about the King, and from what I’ve heard…” He offered a dry, humourless smile. “You’re the girl to talk to.”
He took a drink from a glass of water.
The sound of it—the swallow, the clink of glass—made her throat tighten painfully. She didn’t know how long she’d been out, only that her throat felt as though it was made from shards of glass.
He noticed her gaze linger and offered the glass.
Ellaryn stepped back sharply—refusing it, refusing him, refusing the weakness gnawing at her.
She shook her head so hard her braid slapped her shoulder, pacing the cramped room like a caged thing. “I don’t know what stories you’ve heard, or who you’ve spoken to, but I can’t help you.”
“Why not?”
The sheer stupidity of the question made her laugh. Three times in one day. Unthinkable.
“Why?” Another laugh tore out of her, this one more like a crack splitting open. “Why? I don’t know if you noticed, but the King owns me. If I were to betray him—if he even suspected I was with you—”
“What?” He leaned back against the wall, arms crossing. “He’d kill you?” A scoff. “You seem pretty bad at that. Dying, I mean.”
Ellaryn stared at him, jaw dropping at his audacity. As if this whole nightmare were a joke, he could smirk his way through. As if she were some amusing contradiction he was still trying to figure out.
“I don’t die because he doesn’t let me.” Her voice went hollow, scraped-out. “And if I help you—if I conspire against him—dying will be the least of my problems… and yours.”
The air thickened, and his expression shifted. He wasn’t just watching her now—he was reading her, like a language he suddenly realised might matter.
“What would he do?” he asked, and a chill crawled down her spine.
What wouldn’t he do?
She swallowed hard, forcing steel onto her tongue. “It doesn’t matter. I can’t help you. You’ll have to save the city without me.”
“That bad, huh?” He said, but Ellaryn didn’t answer.
“Do you want this forever?”
Her breath snagged. The question wasn’t loud, wasn’t cruel, but it hit like a blade all the same.
Her mouth somehow became even drier. “What?”
“Do you want this forever… to be his pet, his toy?” he asked, stepping closer, slow and deliberate. “Do you want to kneel every time he twitches his fingers? Do you want him deciding how long your heart beats… forever?”
The word carved her more than a dagger could. It really was forever with him. It had been fifteen years already, and he had not eased up. He only worked her harder.
Forever wasn’t just forever for her; it was eternity.
“It’s not like I get a choice,” Ellaryn whispered, blinking back tears she refused to let fall.
“I’m giving you one.”
He closed the space between them until she could feel the heat of him, the quiet thunder under his skin.
“Help me.” His blue eyes traced hers.
Her heart slammed against her ribs.
“You’re asking me to betray him,” she said.
“No,” he said gently. “I’m asking you to choose yourself.”
Ellaryn closed her eyes.
For the first time, she looked at him. Truly looked.
The sharp cut of his jaw, forged like something that could cleave through lies.
The faint, sun-kissed streaks woven through his hair, softening the otherwise storm-carved edges of him.
And his eyes—Gods, those eyes—blue enough to make the world outside this basement feel real again.
Blue like a promise. Blue like the sky Cinders hadn’t seen in decades. A sky it was aching for.
Maybe he wasn’t just another danger.
Maybe he was the crack. The shift. The fracture. The quiet rebellion Cinders had been starving for.
The impossible, fleeting thing she’d almost forgotten how to name: freedom.
She had haunted the city long enough, trailing death and resurrection in her wake, a ghost moulded into the shape of a girl. She had watched lives crumble, watched hope rot, watched the King’s shadow swallow anything brave enough to shine.
But now…
Now, maybe she held a sliver of power.
Power to stop it. To break the cycle. To unweave the darkness that had gripped them all by the throat. And for the first time in years, something stirred inside her. Something almost more frightening than hope.
Not fear. Not dread.
Possibility.
A tiny, delicate spark—fragile, dangerous and intoxicating.
“Who are you?” she asked again.
This time, when his smirk lifted the corner of his mouth, it didn’t needle at her skin. It didn’t bite. It did the opposite. It warmed.
“I’m Xander,” he said with a small smile. “It’s nice to finally meet you. The real you.”
He extended his hand steadily.
Ellaryn hesitated, feeling the weight of the world in that simple gesture. And then, slowly, she let her fingers slip into his.
She shook.
A real shake.
A choice.
She was going to help him.