Chapter Fifteen
Tor
To say that none of this had gone the way Tor expected would be the grossest understatement in the history of ever.
He leaned his head back against rough stone and closed his eyes.
He’d known intellectually it might not go well.
He’d realized weeks ago that his brother wouldn’t be impressed with Tor’s attempt to circumvent his orders, but never in his worst nightmares had it crossed his mind that Varex could truly believe for even a single second that Tor would conspire against him.
Even in the remotest unlikelihood that Tor would ever conspire against the High King, he would never conspire against his brother. How could Varex not know that?
And yet, here they were. Tor had thought things strained between them. Instead, he’d found them shattered utterly, to the point that Varex had bound his magic and thrown him in the dungeon.
The dungeon! Tor huffed an aggrieved breath and shifted a little, trying to find a more comfortable position on his pallet on the stone floor.
He supposed he should count himself lucky he wasn’t shackled to the wall.
There were iron rings protruding at intervals where that could be done.
As children, he and Varex had played here after the war ended.
Ada had joined them sometimes, too, and they’d delighted in tying one another up and locking the doors, because that had made the elaborate rescues they concocted all the more daring.
They’d never been afraid, not even before they Manifested, because they’d known no harm could come to them.
Now, Tor should have been strong enough to break out, should have had access to his shield and his avatar, both of which could have been used offensively against the bars that were trapping him.
Instead, he was as powerless as an Unremarkable, an aching, hollow void where his magic was supposed to be.
He rubbed at his chest, but of course that was useless.
This hole was deep inside him and untouchable.
Only the ruler to whom you pledged your Fealty had the power to bind your magic.
For obvious reasons—not so obvious anymore?
—it had never occurred to Tor that it was a fate that could befall him.
It burned, a hot spark of anger and incomprehension in Tor, because if this was his fate, it infuriated him that it was for this reason. Twelve people had died because of Tor, a terrible drunken mistake, and yet he was being punished now when he’d saved thousands of lives?
It felt like the world had flipped on its head, and Tor didn’t understand anything. But everything else was continuing on, and it was only Tor who’d managed to destroy most of the important relationships in his life in one fell blow.
Varex believed Tor could commit treason against him.
Poor Rin had to undergo Terila’s wrath in a desperate attempt to stop a nonsensical war.
And Tor had hurt the one person he’d never meant to hurt. His terrible words hadn’t even swayed his brother, they had just gutted Pel.
Tor could still see the look on Pel’s face—it was blazoned in his memory—and it made shame and guilt surge in Tor’s gut.
He couldn’t even blame the man for walking away.
Tor knew what Pel feared, after all, and he’d blurted out his hateful truth without any explanation because he’d been so busy dealing with his own drama, he hadn’t realized how it would sound to Pel.
He’d flat-out stated that he’d gone to Tond to find the most inappropriate prince he could think of.
Part of Tor clung to the hope that surely, surely Pel wouldn’t believe that was still true. But Tor had said it, and it was the reason he’d gone. And because Tor was the biggest ass in the world, he hadn’t taken the time to explain that it wasn’t the reason he’d stayed…
They’d done so much together, Tor had told Pel things he’d never told anyone, and yet—
Terila. Pel’s father. Even his siblings and whatever was going on in their weird, mostly one-sided feud…
Tor swore out loud, but it didn’t make him feel any better.
He should have kept his mouth shut in the throne room. He’d known how things were going at that point. He’d seen the expressions on all of their faces. But he’d still foolishly believed that if only he could explain, if only he could get his brother to listen…!
As if Varex hadn’t stopped listening years ago.
If Tor had only kept his mouth shut, he might not have lost Pel.
Then he frowned. But if he hadn’t lost Pel, what would have happened next? Would Pel even now be in the cell next to him? Might Varex have seriously considered that Pel had been his co-conspirator in the world’s most nonsensical plot?
Instead, Varex had let Pel go, seeming to think that Tor had used Pel like a pawn.
Maybe this was the best thing that could have happened to Pel.
Tor wouldn’t ever wish that hurt on the man, but it had got him out of the castle…
and it had revealed a truth that Tor should no doubt have confessed before they’d started anything serious.
His gut squirmed, and he grimaced. He’d really managed to convince himself that it didn’t matter, that the only people who knew the full scope of the plan were Ada and Rin, and he could have sworn them to secrecy.
In retrospect, expecting the two people he was closest to to keep this secret from someone he hoped they’d become the best of friends with wasn’t his wisest moment. But it was becoming increasingly obvious that Tor wasn’t having a lot of wise moments these days.
So it felt like his heart had been ripped out of his chest, adding to that howling void.
He no doubt deserved that. He’d messed with Pel’s feelings, even if he hadn’t meant to.
He’d started playing a game that not everyone had known was being played.
He’d thought he could keep everything under control.
He’d been so incredibly wrong.
Everything had spun out of control, and Tor was left with nothing.
Possibly literally nothing if his brother actually decided Tor had committed treason.
He blew out a stuttering breath. Surely, they weren’t actually there yet.
It had been tense in the throne room, and tempers had flared.
When everyone calmed down, he hoped that he could explain more rationally.
Maybe Beluna, Cavun, and Denil would be willing to testify to what had happened on the mountain.
It sounded like Forex had either made details up completely or found some guards who were willing to lie about what had happened.
Tor would fight for the truth, but if the cost of saving all those people was Tor’s life…
He swallowed thickly. Well, if that was the cost, he would pay it.
Even sitting here now, locked in a cell that was a lot smaller than he remembered from childhood, he was filled with certainty that he couldn’t have done anything differently.
And no matter how upset Pel was with Tor, he’d still advocate for those children; Tor knew that, too.
Pel could continue to explain everything to Varex, who would probably prevent Forex from doing anything drastic.
There was nothing Tor regretted about the last few months—except for the lie to Pel that had started everything.
He was desperately glad the man was away and safe, but he would forever regret that he’d made the man think everything between them had been fake.
With the beautiful clarity of hindsight, Tor could see that he should really have insisted on talking to Varex at the beginning.
What if he’d dismounted and asked his brother for a quick chat the morning he left?
Or what if he’d gone to Vayrin and simply told Terila he was uninterested?
He’d been worried that he’d be trapped, but it wasn’t like someone could be bonded against their will.
He could have simply refused. Instead, he’d tried to be clever, and he’d hurt the one man who least deserved to be hurt.
If Tor had never come up with the idea, he’d never have even met Pel properly—but it was becoming very clear that would probably be better for Pel.
He sighed. But if he hadn’t been there, everyone might have died up that mountain, and Tor couldn’t wish that, not even to save Pel the pain of Tor’s terribly ill-judged actions.
Groaning, Tor admitted that he’d done everything wrong, as per usual.
He’d known they needed to address what had happened in the mountains in the throne room, but he hadn’t even introduced Pel.
Might he have been able to turn the discussion at least a little if they’d started with politeness instead of immediate accusations?
Might Pel have felt more valued if Tor hadn’t practically forgotten about him?
Yes, it had been an extreme situation, but Tor should have done better.
He’d made the mistake of thinking that he could simply explain what had really happened before moving on to his true priority, which was introducing Pel to his brother.
Tor had missed far too much about how badly their relationship had deteriorated. Because Tor was a fool.
He tilted his head back further so he could stare up at the stone ceiling.
They were completely underground here, and of course this area had no crystal lights—nor any Extraordinary who could light them, not anymore.
A conventional lamp burned on a hook in the hallway, far enough away to cast only a dim glow.
Tor supposed he should be grateful they hadn’t left him in pitch darkness.
The setting fit his mood, which was something, he supposed.
He was questioning all the decisions his past self had made.
He could have confessed to Pel when he had the chance, but no, Tor had tried to be clever again, had tried to hide when he should have laid himself bare. Did he never learn his lesson?
And now here he was, hollow and cold and stuck in a dungeon.
Maybe the goddess really did deliver direct, harsh justice when she was moved to do so.