Chapter 12
Chapter Twelve
Malakai
My chest tightened, the bars of the iron cage rattling. But they held.
“I don’t have a brother,” I spat.
“Malakai…” Ophelia stepped toward me, reaching for my arm, but I shook off her touch, striding for the stained-glass windows of the temple, the blues washing the city streets out with a drowning haze.
I didn’t look at Ophelia. I didn’t look at Tolek.
How were they acting like this was normal?
Your brother is here. Fucking Tolek. He said it as if it meant nothing, when those few words drove deep into the cracked foundation I’d been rebuilding within myself.
They tore it up one shoddily placed brick at a time, until they were weighing down my shoulders, crushing me.
Ophelia and Tolek muttered behind me, but I couldn’t hear what they were saying. In truth, I didn’t care. They were likely talking about me. About…him. About what he was doing here, what it meant for the Engrossian threat, what it meant for us.
I was curious, but I was more furious than anything. A ray of light reflected off the glass, a blinding white spot on life outside these walls. How often I’d walked these streets in recent weeks, musing over my lingering questions.
Wondering how my father had kept so many secrets.
And now, after I’d decided to force away all my feelings on his actions, one of those secrets was thrown into my path.
Ophelia’s and Tol’s voices continued in hushed tones. Irritation prickled my skin—I wanted them to stop.
“I’ll see him,” I announced, clenching my fists. Their whispered conversation ceased. “Let’s go.”
I strode from the temple before they could respond.
Tolek led us through the Sacred Quarter and into the palace, Ophelia a step behind him, but no one dared speak. Our boots echoed against marble floors, down grand staircases, and into the bowels of the building—the cells.
Good, I thought. Barrett and everything he stood for belonged imprisoned.
“Cypherion and Jezebel are standing guard,” Tol said, fingers brushing the family dagger at his hip. “We had to send Santorina in.”
“Why?” Ophelia asked. Mystlight gilded her profile and slid through the waves of her hair when she looked up at him.
Tolek smirked over his shoulder at me. “He didn’t like when we wouldn’t grant him an audience. He nearly impaled himself on our fence trying to climb it.”
I tried to stifle my laugh at the image. Ophelia narrowed her eyes at me.
“What?” I asked.
“Nothing.”
“Listen.” Tolek turned at the top of the final staircase into the cells. He clasped his hands behind his back and looked between us, choosing his words carefully. Ophelia nodded, and he focused on me. “I’m not going to pretend I understand how you feel, Mali, but we shouldn’t be too hostile.”
“What?” I seethed. If Tolek Vincienzo thought he could instruct me on how to act—what did he know of these matters? His life wasn’t as complex as mine.
“Doesn’t it strike you as odd that he’s here?” Tolek inclined his head.
I chewed the inside of my cheek to keep from snapping. “It’s suspicious.”
“Perhaps.” He nodded, but there were opinions he was holding back. “But we need to find out why.”
“He’s right,” Ophelia added, gaze flickering between the dagger at my waist and my scowl. “There’s a smarter way to approach this than attacking him.”
I took a deep breath, looking up at the ceiling. The stone and iron furnishings were oppressive, my scars burning with the memories of my own prison, but there was a familiarity about it.
“We’ll see.”
That foundation within me crumbled further with each step down the final set of stairs, but I fought it—made an exceptional effort to build up my own base.
Goosebumps rose along my arms. It was a stark difference to the volcanic cell I’d lived in for two years, but the same stain hung in the air, like this place was used to blood and the hands of those who drew it.
Like it had seen so much of it that the stench permanently clung to the slick stone walls—forever a reminder.
Rina was exiting the cell as we approached, an apron tied around her waist. Crimson stained the pockets.
“You went in alone?” I whispered once the thin wooden door was closed. It didn’t seem to be very sturdy—how careless of whoever selected this room.
“I can take care of myself,” she affirmed, but her voice softened when she took in my expression. “He didn’t attempt anything.”
“He’s chained, but he’s been cooperative,” Cypherion said, and Jezebel nodded.
“Of course, he has.” I shrugged. “He’s injured and under our jurisdiction. He’d be a fool to attack or attempt escape until he’s healed.”
Cyph frowned at me. “It doesn’t seem he’s here to attack at all. He wants to talk.”
“And in there?” I dismissed that opinion and flicked my gaze to the second door over Cyph’s shoulder.
“His consort,” he answered. “They arrived together.”
“Though, that one was smart enough not to follow his prince over the fence,” Jezebel added.
A consort. A weakness.
“If either of them tries anything, we know where to strike.” I secretly wished for the chance.
“We should question them and then decide what actions are necessary.” Cyph spoke diplomatically, but if it came to it, I believed he’d be by my side while giving the heir what he deserved.
“We need to be strategic,” Ophelia said, placing a hand on my arm. I raised my brows at her, and she scoffed. “Trust me, Malakai, I’d be the first to get revenge for everything done to you, but we don’t know that he’s like his mother or father.”
“Everything done to us,” I corrected. “We’ve all been hurt and that man in there is a symbol of it.”
Ophelia nodded. “I’d love nothing more than to run a spear through Kakias’s son. But personal vendettas aside, having him as our prisoner gives us leverage against her.”
I didn’t put it past the queen to shrug off her son’s disappearance, the cruel conqueror that she was, but I sighed and grumbled, “I’ll behave.”
“No fatal injuries,” Ophelia whispered.
“Nothing I have to stitch up,” Santorina corrected. She wiped the last of his blood from her hands. I didn’t know why it surprised me that it was as red as ours.
“Minor stabbings, then.” Jezebel grinned, looking around at us.
“Whoever gets the best shot in wins,” Tolek said.
“Cursed Spirits save us,” Cypherion exhaled.
“Only if provoked,” Ophelia commanded.
The mask of the Revered slipped over her features, and the energy shifted.
The aura of vengeance still hovered, but the light was siphoned from it.
Dark desires, vendettas, and strategies twirled behind her magenta eyes.
Every step, every breath she took, was laced with power as she lifted a hand to the door and threw it open.
Ophelia was incredible as she strode into the room, every soft side of herself disappearing beneath that mask. I didn’t know how she did it.
The others filed in before me. Hands within reach of our weapons, we crammed ourselves inside. Even Rina crowded into the corner, likely to ensure none of us reopened the wound she had stitched.
Despite the fact that the cell held little furniture, it was uncomfortable for four warriors thrumming with power, a healer, a prisoner, and myself. Disposing of the prisoner would free up some space.
He hadn’t been allowed great comforts—I smiled at that.
The chill from the hallway was worse here.
That would be even more uncomfortable for the Engrossian than for us, given that his lands were humid, the air weighing on you with sticky warmth.
The tang of blood was rich. Stale, like it was older than just his wounds.
I pressed against the closed door behind Tolek and Cypherion, but Barrett’s slimy voice was loud, “A full guard? I’m honored you find me to be such a threat.”
“Prince Barrett,” Ophelia clipped.
“Revered Ophelia Alabath. I only wish to talk.”
Her name on his lips had me clenching my fist. It was like he was taking what belonged to me, when his existence had already claimed so much of my life.
My own cell flashed before my eyes, slick with pain and hate. I shrank back against the door, trying to breathe normally. I am not the prisoner, I reminded myself. He cannot take anything else from me.
“If you only wish to talk,” Ophelia said, “why hop the fence?”
“I needed to get your attention somehow after being denied entrance. These dramatics are surely unnecessary.”
My fingers grazed the plain dagger on my belt. Perhaps it would finally find a home in the prince’s chest. At the thought, I stood to my full height and banished all memories of my own imprisonment.
He would not take anything else from me.
“The dramatics,” I threw the word back at the prince, “are likely to stop me from killing you immediately.” Tol and Cyph shifted, and I locked eyes with the Engrossian heir. “Though I doubt they’ll try too hard to hold me back.”
My heart nearly stopped when he met my glare. My father’s eyes—my eyes—stared back at me.
“Hello, brother,” he cooed.
“Don’t call me that,” I growled.
I stepped forward, standing behind Ophelia, Tol and Cyph close to my sides.
It was only their support and pure, undiluted rage keeping me upright.
Because the man before me shared more of my father than even I did.
He was a warped version, pale skin and a cruel mouth, a slightly pointed jaw and higher cheekbones, but looking into his dark green eyes—Lucidius was there.
The guilt I had been suppressing since my father’s death snapped free, rising up in me, threatening to drown me.
He was dead because of my friends.
He was dead, and I missed the man I thought he was.
He had done horrible things, yet I was sad because he had not wanted me. A piece of me wished he had. A larger piece of me was so fucking grateful he was gone.
“He was not a good father to me either, you know,” Barrett muttered.
I clenched my jaw.
He’s dead. He didn’t want me. He’s dead.
I promised Ophelia no fatal injuries, but dammit, that promise was stretching thin.
“You say another word to him, and I’ll slice out your tongue myself, Your Royal Highness.” It was the voice of the Revered, but it tangled with a saccharine animosity only Ophelia could muster.
Tolek watched her with a smile, adding, “I’ll hold down his shoulders for you.”
Barrett’s eyes swept over my friend twice, and he fucking grinned. “I’d rather enjoy that.”
“Flirting, pretty boy?” Tolek quirked a brow.
“Perhaps you should take your chance now, Tol. If he doesn’t cut the jokes, he won’t be as pretty by the time he leaves this room,” Cypherion said. Though they jested, their voices were as lethal as the weapons they carried.
“It’s an honor to earn the attention of royalty, Tol,” Jezebel drawled, mocking the title.
Barrett was unfazed by the threats and jokes. He leaned back against the wall, stretching his legs out on his cot. “You must be the younger Alabath.” He observed Jezebel. “We never had the pleasure of being introduced.”
“The pleasure is all yours.” She smirked.
“I can assure you that in this moment, it’s not.” The prince raised his wrists, chains clanking against each other. The sound made me flinch. “But I can think of uses for these in which pleasure might be shared between us.”
Jezebel rolled her eyes, crossing her arms, but Tolek, Cypherion, and I all tensed, a low growl rumbling through me.
“Relax, boys,” Barrett said, dropping the act finally. “I truly do wish to talk. Besides, I’m a committed man and would never do anything to jeopardize that.” A flash of nerves passed through his eyes at the mention of his consort, likely wondering if harm had already come to him.
“Beyond flirting with my guard, why are you here?” Ophelia asked.
Barrett reclined against the wall, shifting the pillow behind his back, rifling his dark hair. Even that simple movement reminded me of my father. My heart thumped in its cage, but I told it to shut the fuck up.
He cannot take anything else from me.
“Barrett,” Ophelia warned when he didn’t respond. He was burning toward the end of her patience. I almost felt sorry for the bastard at what he’d find there. “Shall I allow Cypherion to persuade you to talk?”
Cyph angled his body, every blade visible. Whatever this prince had to share must be very valuable if he was toying with us this much.
Barrett sighed. “That won’t be necessary. I’m here to share information on my mother.”