Chapter 12
Ellaryn’s heart barely understood how to beat anymore, barely comprehended rhythm; her fingers shook where normally they were as steel as the sharp edge of her blade.
She was in a basement, shrouded in darkness but dreaming of fresh air—of a city untarnished by the King’s hand.
Xander’s eyes seemed to make her forget where she was, forget the noose the King had looped around her neck; she was so used to it being there that imagining life without it was like living without a heart. Impossible.
Xander’s gaze intensified, blue like the oceans beyond the darkness. It was strange, seeing such profound colour in a city so void of it. Every time he blinked, it was like a bolt of lightning slicing the dark in half
“What were you doing in Magnus’ shop?” She questioned, gaze steady on his.
“I could ask you the same thing.” He said dryly, eyebrows raised.
“I asked you first.” She countered, rubbing at the chafe on her wrists.
“Could it have anything to do with this?” Ellaryn delved into her back pocket and pulled out the design for the ring Magnus had drawn.
Xander’s eyes brightened immediately. She didn’t know they could shine even more, but somehow they did.
“Where did you get that?” He reached for it, but Ellaryn held it closer to her, crossing her arms.
“What is it?”
“That’s not something that concerns you just yet,” Xander said, his stare flicking from the paper at her chest to her eyes.
“I’m guessing you’re the reason he’s found himself in the dungeon.” Ellaryn formulated aloud.
Xander shook his head. “He knew the risks.” He leaned against a dusty shelf jutting from the crumbling wall, his expression unreadable.
“I hope your conscience can handle his blood on your hands.”
“The man was already dying, Ruin.” Xander sighed. “In fact, he’s probably dead by now.”
“What?” Ellaryn frowned, the papers tightening between her fingers.
“The blight got to him.”
Something in his voice softened, and suddenly, Ellaryn remembered the cough that had followed Magnus’s maniacal laughter that night in the dungeon.
Her stomach tightened.
“He had control of his fate. He knew what he was doing,” Xander continued. “He knew what would happen when he walked those streets that day. He knew the risks, but he did it anyway.”
“Why?”
“Because he wanted change.” Xander’s gaze dropped for a moment. “He wanted his last breaths to mean something.”
Ellaryn swallowed.
“And did they?”
Xander looked at her; a small smile touched his lips.
“More than he’ll ever know.”
For a moment, neither of them spoke, letting the words hang in the damp space, until Xander straightened.
“Now…”
He flicked his fingers, and the papers vanished from Ellaryn’s hands. She blinked, and in the same instant, they appeared neatly stacked between Xander’s fingers.
“I’ll be needing these.”
Ellaryn stared at her hands in disbelief, but before she could register the magic, before she could say anything, pain detonated inside her without warning.
Her body jerked, seizing violently as needles raked through her lungs every time she dared to breathe—like swallowing shattered glass, like inhaling knives.
The King was calling her, twisting her soul from the inside out.
Her face contorted as she clutched at her chest.
Breathe, Ellaryn. Just breathe, she told herself.
The agony swelled, blotting her vision with salt-and-pepper darkness as the tang of iron flooded her mouth. It felt like the blade being driven into her chest all over again—only this time, she couldn’t black out. Her mind refused to slip away, refused to dull the edges.
This was how he found her when she hid.
She could not escape it.
Not escape him.
“Are you okay?” Xander asked, hands restless at his sides, unsure of whether to reach for her or take a step back; then, just as fast as the pain overtook her, it disappeared.
“F-Fine,” she choked out, straightening slowly.
“What happened-”
“How long was I out?” She asked him, and he furrowed his brows. “What time is it?”
He checked his watch. “It’s morning, just gone ten.”
“What?!” Ellaryn’s eyes widened with panic.
This was bad.
This was really bad.
“You kept me here all night.”
“I didn’t want to wake you; you looked so peaceful—”
“I was dead, Xander! Dead!” She shot back, pointing at him. “And now I’m probably going to die again, so thank you very much,” she huffed as she made her way towards the stairs.
“What do you mean?”
“Forget it.” She brushed him off just as pain swelled again and made her double over on the staircase.
For a heartbeat, Xander’s gaze shifted. In the short time he had known Ellaryn, he had already begun to see it—the fractures beneath her armour, the vulnerability she had buried so deeply that no one else in the city had ever reached it.
When the pain loosened its grip, she held onto the moment, to the look on his face: not fear, not revulsion, but pity softened by quiet understanding. She hated feeling small. Hated being seen like this.
And yet… a part of her was grateful.
Because for the first time in Cinders, someone knew she wasn’t intentionally a monster.
“I’ll find you.” She gasped, stumbling up the staircase.
Xander said nothing. He simply watched her leave.
Yet as Ellaryn walked away, she couldn’t shake the feeling that some of his careless conviction had followed her, sinking beneath her skin and taking root somewhere deep.
In fifteen years, she had never been late for the King.
Not once.
Fifteen years of obedience. Fifteen years of arriving when summoned, following orders without question, never giving him a reason to doubt her loyalty.
And now, for the first time, she would be late.
She knew what that meant.
She would have to face the punishment.