Chapter 23
ARLET
We are rushed out of the room, and guards bar the doors behind us. Fists begin to beat against the wood, and blood pumps through my veins.
He came for me.
Arion’s hands are all over my body, and a bit of blood still leaks from his shoulder, now well down to his elbow.
Yes, and that…man seemed to arrive with the intruders.
Women. Hundreds of them, presumably from Mrath’s Enclave.
Did those women bring…bodies? I think, horrified.
It definitely seemed like it, Cursed One responds.
The screams follow us down the corridor, echoing off marble and wood. Crimson tracks in from the ballroom and smears beneath my shoes, each step sticky and slow. Guards continue to flood in through the shattered doors, shouting orders, dragging corpses, and sealing exits.
I don’t know how long it’s been since the first explosion. Time feels broken, and I feel weak.
A dizzying sort of drunkenness comes over me every time I think of Vann’s hands on my waist.
I don’t want to be near Arion anymore, but his hands never leave my shoulders.
He keeps me close as we walk, his leather sleeve brushing mine.
I gulp down air as fast as possible, but the collar chokes me.
I pull at it, and heat sears my throat. My instinct is to pull it off, but the metal prongs holding up the gems bite deep when I try to adjust it even a little.
“Stop that,” Arion bites out behind me.
I do. The floor is slick with blood, and my gaze keeps catching on faces. Courtiers. Servants. I can’t tell them apart anymore.
One of the mirrors that lines the hallway falls from the tremors and cracks into a thousand pieces. The shards glitter like ice, and I slow my pace.
“Don’t stop. Keep. Moving,” Arion snaps.
I stumble forward. Tears begin to fall down my cheeks, soaking through the material on the mask. I want Vann to come back and find me.
The air smells of burnt wood and blood. Somewhere in the distance, another explosion shakes the palace. The chandeliers sway, scattering light across the walls and floor.
“What is going on?” I demand. “Those women—what do they want?”
He glances down at me, eyes bright with the same impossible calm he wore in the hall. “Want? They always want the same thing. To undo what was built. Ungrateful rats.”
“Are they with Mrath, then?” The words ring in my ears.
He freezes, turning back to me. “What do you know of Mrath?”
“O-Only that they helped Teo,” I stutter. It’s a strange reaction as he knows that she has worked with the trolls several times.
“Fucking bitch,” he spits, half under his breath, leading me past the bodies of guards still smoking from his magic.
“I want to help them find a new future, and they want to live in a sad past where we all die because of those damned women who abandoned us and refuse to do their job to repopulate our lands.”
I flinch. Images from my distant past, of breeding pens and whips and disgusting slop for food, return. As if it was a woman’s job to fix everything. As if it was always right to blame women and women alone for the problems of a kingdom.
Daniel, my first partner, had spoken of women like that from time to time. Suddenly, a new cold sweat slicks over my skin—my body knows what could happen next if I’m not careful.
It’s been so long since I’ve been restrained and bound up. When Vann did it, it was out of trust.
This would be a nightmare.
Can’t let it happen before Mrath strikes again.
I need to be smart if Vann is near. He could come for me at any time.
And you would go with him so easily? I have seen your thoughts—you say he betrayed you.
That makes my brain stop churning. She’s right—I left Vann because he lied to me. I came to save the Enduares, though now I know that threat was a calculated manipulation. Arion has already taken my Fuegorra. Can I even return to the caves without it?
My mind spins with the last weeks. The humiliation and fear coursing through me. Am I really ready to be a consort? To fuck Arion and give him a baby? Or would I risk my life with a man I don’t know if I can trust and run away?
“If elven women have given up on helping their own people, then we must turn to the only alternative,” Arion continues, oblivious to my thoughts. “I hope their families weep over their rotting bodies. Thick-skulled, milk-lapping idiots.”
I stop walking. “You intend to kill all of them? I think they sent you a clear enough message with the bodies. Is it war you hunger after?”
He turns, very slowly, the chain of tension between us taut. “Would you rather I let them kill you? Would that please you, to see me humiliated without yet another bride?”
I am almost positive that Mrath wouldn’t kill me.
“Like it or fucking not, I need you to give me a child soon. Perhaps it would please you, with your liberated sensibilities, to know that I need you alive. How does it feel to have that kind of power over the leader of the largest empire on the continent?”
My throat tightens. Power? The thought is laughable. It’s in that moment I see the monster even more clearly.
I cannot be with a power-hungry, cruel tyrant, especially now that I know the truth. If Vann comes—I will go. Especially since Mrath will kill him anyway and take his place and I will never have to think about this awful place ever again.
And what if Mrath doesn’t kill him? Would he turn his wrath back on your precious cave trolls?
Attempting to swallow, I consider her question. More tears slide down my cheeks, soaking my mask.
What if Vann has already been killed by one of the attackers? Or discovered by one of Arion’s men and slaughtered?
Everything is such a mess, and I don’t know. All I know is that I’m afraid, lonely, and for the first time, I wonder if I can leave this place.
I don’t know. I just don’t.
“Arion,” I say, then stop, almost shocked that I’ve allowed myself to say his name and not use an honorific.
After everything that has been drilled into my head for days on end, it feels like some great sin.
I am worried about how he will react, what he will do, but I still push on.
“Thank you for not letting them kill me.”
Opposing him only puts me in danger—and after seeing Vann, there is a part of me that desperately wants to live. I need to stop fighting and wait for…whatever the future might bring.
Arion searches my face and blinks. It doesn’t matter that there are shouts in the distance; he remains unbothered.
“You are welcome.” His tone is softer, almost kind. “It is for the best that you stop trying to understand those women—they are vermin. Just let me handle this. You’ll find it easier here if you leave the world’s tragedies to me.”
He brushes his knuckles over my cheek, gently stroking my flesh. I swallow hard.
A crashing sound of wood splintering and falling comes from behind us. We turn to see one of Mrath’s assassins burst through a side door, face smeared with soot. Her blade is raised, and I flinch back. Arion gladly holds me at his side, content to be the hero again.
But then something stirs inside of me. A power unlike anything I have ever felt brushes along my senses, soft like velvet and twice as plush. For a second, everything goes black. I can almost feel darkness and heat seeping out of my exposed skin.
Before the magic can fully come unleashed, Arion raises a hand, and the air between them ignites. Light flares, then fades. The woman is gone. Nothing left but ash drifting down like snow. My skin burns, and I feel feverish.
But after the blast of power is sent, he slouches forward, as if in pain from his use of the magic. Then he hauls me away, out of the corridor and down a flight of stairs, leading to the wing where my rooms are. Guards trail behind us, and the king limps a little as we hurry.
“Are you all right?” I’m trying to hold him up, despite still reeling from that dark magic earlier.
What was that? I wonder, looking down at my hands.
Me, her voice responds.
What?
She doesn’t answer.
Arion wipes a fleck of soot from his cuff as if it’s dust, but continues to heave. “Perfectly fine, little one.”
My stomach turns as I replay how he practically evaporated those in front of him. Even compared to the darkness itching under my skin, his display is a powerful magic I’ve never seen from any being: elf, troll, or human. “What are you?”
He smiles again, that awful, perfect calm. “A king.”
From what I know… “No elf has power like that.” King or otherwise.
He tilts his head, studying me. “My gods have always given the strongest powers to kings that sit on his throne. It is how we keep all of this intact.” He gestures around him broadly.
He clearly didn’t succeed in toppling Mrath if her women are here. And the magic he used was very close to the same magic bubbling along my skin, the one Cursed One said belonged to her.
“I wasn’t aware that Doros and Nicnevin had such power. I think they possessed more elemental magic than dark magic.” The sentence slips out before I can stop it.
His expression doesn’t change. “You’ve been reading again, haven’t you?”
Vann’s glamoured face flickers in my mind. “Forgive me—I’m just afraid.”
He steps closer, and the heat of his magic raises gooseflesh along my skin. “Power is a river, little doe. It flows where it’s earned. You should be grateful it flows through me, and not someone weaker.”
It shouldn’t flow through him at all, Cursed One says.
What do you know? I start to ask, but then the collar bites into my neck. My knees almost give out.
“Enough questions,” he says. “You need rest. You’re pale.”
“I’m fine,” I whisper, though my vision is swimming. The hollow where my Fuegorra used to be aches so fiercely I can barely breathe. They said that it would be safe for me to get rid of this, but I don’t feel strong. I feel like a leaf, blown free by the wind.
Arion drags me along anyway.
The echo of boots cuts through the hallway where we’ve stopped. I worry it’s another rebel, come to kill us, but when I turn, I see Thorne. His armor is streaked with blood, and his blade is drawn. His face, as always, is unreadable.
He stops when he sees us, drops to one knee. “Your Majesty.”
Arion doesn’t even glance at him. “Ah, yes. A welcome sight. Is it contained?”
“Mostly,” Thorne says, and I realize that he has blood in his teeth, as well as smeared across his cheek. “We’re sweeping the east hall. There are still pockets of resistance near the kitchens.”
“Burn them if you have to. We have more.”
“Yes, my king.” Thorne stands, and for the first time, his eyes flick to me.
“Actually, better yet, I will deal with matters myself. You take her back to her chambers,” Arion says. “See that she’s locked in until I call for her.”
Thorne nods once, then gestures for two guards to take position.
Arion steps closer to me. I feel the heat of him, the weight of his gaze. “Sleep, Arlet,” he says softly, then brushes a kiss to my forehead. “You did well today. I’m impressed. Remember—I can fix this. You don’t worry. Tomorrow, you’ll see what loyalty buys.”
Then he turns away, walking back through the haze and firelight as if none of it touches him.
Thorne grips my arm, firm but not cruel. “Come,” he says.
I don’t argue. My body feels wrong. My limbs are all heavy, hollow, like something important has been scooped out. Each step down the corridor leaves a faint smear of blood from my hem.
I feel guilty for those who will have to clean this up tomorrow. Cleaning blood out of fibers is impossible.
When we reach the turn that leads to my wing, almost everything is silent save me, Thorne, and the guards. My ears ring, as if I’m remembering the shouting, the explosion, and the collapse.
At the door to my chamber, Thorne pauses. His knuckles are white on the key. “Arlet. Don’t try to leave,” he says, his voice full of meaning. I look up at him.
Does he know Vann was here? Will he try to kill him? Then he passes me a small pouch. “And do not forget this. We are so close to your wedding—we can’t risk anything now.”
“What will happen with the wedding?” I ask. I realize that I haven’t eaten since the morning, and all the iron in the air is making me sway.
“I suspect there will be a meeting tomorrow. You may be called, but worry not. You will be married soon enough.”
The words bite through me. Vann was here. He had come to get me—to take me away.
“What about my attendants? I didn’t see what happened to them?”
“Don’t know, my dear.”
He turns the key, pushes me inside. Before the door closes, he gives me a sympathetic smile. “Just sleep. Stay in your rooms. Please. You are in good hands.”
Then the door is closed, and I hear the lock slide into place.
The silence that follows is complete.
The room is dark, yet a fire burns. Strange, really, that someone came to do that while the rest of the palace was under attack. My legs give out halfway to the bed. I sink to the floor beside the cold hearth, pressing a hand to my chest. The emptiness there hurts.
Then, like breath against my ear, Cursed One speaks. That was a disaster. These people have no idea what they are doing, do they? she gripes. I can’t believe Arion is the one who holds my leash.
I don’t answer.
You are exhausted. Gods, I wish they’d feed you something. I can’t just take over and give you my strength anymore. It’s almost like…
She doesn’t continue.
“Like what?” I say aloud through a burning throat.
Nothing. I am sorry about your troll. For now… Just rest.
“I wish you would tell me what you know.”
I wish I could tell you.
Great. Just like how she cannot hurt Arion or Thorne.
I lie on the floor until the world stops spinning. The collar hums against my throat, a cage with a heartbeat.
And in the distance, through the shattered quiet of the palace, I swear I can feel the faint pull of another heartbeat answering mine.
Sleep tugs at me, leaving me lonely and confused.