Chapter 32
ARLET
Cursed One’s voice sounds in my head. Wake up, Arlet.
The cell smells of metal and mildew. My tongue sticks to the roof of my mouth, and when I swallow, it tastes like rust. The stone is cold beneath me.
For a long time, I lie still. I feel the other presence in my soul watching and waiting for me to do something, but I just lie here in the quiet.
I don’t remember sleeping, only falling in and out of blackness with a background of sounds.
Vaguely, I am aware of the faint drip of water and the rattle of chains.
When I finally push myself up, my hands slip against the damp floor. The world swims for a moment before settling into focus. I realize I am in a chamber carved straight from rock. The walls are sweating, and I can hear the incessant high-pitched notes of moisture dripping onto the ground.
My fingers go to my throat, where the collar remains. I find the skin tender and sore. When I tug on it, it holds strong.
Damn.
Memories return from before I was dragged here. I remember the wedding. The ceremony had just finished when Vann appeared. We ran to the greenhouse together and…I saw his mating marks.
Heat floods my bones, causing me to physically sit up, panting slightly as the phantom lips of my memory bruise my own. I had given no resistance—I had leaned into his touch, grateful when his familiar calloused hands scraped over my bare skin.
And then I remember Mrath and Arion. The violence and fear that choked me.
I bring my clammy hand to my forehead, rubbing it. Everything is a mess. I came here to solve a problem, to save the people I love, and to sink into a new life that might make a modicum of change not only in Enduvida but also here in Shvathemar.
And now, Vann has ruined that for me. Again.
Something constricts in my chest. My body seeks him for safety, but my mind knows that when he finds me, ruin follows.
My stomach growls, and I wonder how long I have been without food.
A faint glow bleeds through a small hole in the wall beside me. I crawl toward it, pressing my ear close enough to hear the echo of movement from the other side. Nothing distinct about the person, only the drag of breath and the soft clink of metal. I imagine it’s another prisoner.
“Hello?” My voice scrapes out like a stone coming up my throat.
A part of me wonders if it will be Vann. Would it be cruel or kind to put me so close to him?
It would be idiotic as you already tried to run away together once, Cursed One taunts. Rest assured, the two of you will be on totally opposite sides of this prison.
I frown.
“You are right,” I murmur, still trying to look through the hole.
I am glad you woke up. Without that thing in your chest, you seem to heal very slowly.
I tilt my head to the side.
“You mean the Fuegorra?”
Yes, that. You’ve been…different without it.
I can’t disagree, but I’m surprised she’s noticed. “Different how?”
More vulnerable. I feel like there’s so much more room in here. I was starting to enjoy myself, and then it felt like you were dying.
“Were you worried about me?” I whisper. In this desolate place, it feels good to talk. The gentle vibrations soothe my dry throat as saliva coats my vocal cords.
If you die, then I lose any chance of experiencing this world again.
A pause.
For a time, at least.
“Funny. It seems the times I’ve been closest to bringing life to someone else are also the times I’ve been closest to death.”
The words slip out of me, unbidden, and suddenly, I return to the night I lost my child. There was so much blood. I was so weak.
And now this presence inside my brain tells me they are able to experience life through me.
Unease breezes through the cell, settling over me like a coating of snow.
You have a child? the thing inside of me asks.
I recoil.
“I did.”
I feel the presence watching—can practically sense the moment she realizes what I mean.
The first few times I met you upon waking in the recesses of your mind, I saw you as sickly sweet. A gag that never really satisfied my disgust. Weak, but adequate for my needs. I was there to complete a task so that I might be able to use you to live once again.
Cursed One pauses.
Now I see this sadness in you—this darkness that has existed long before I ever touched you. Where do you find your light, you strange creature?
I stare at the cell door, unsure how to answer. Silence ticks between us as I examine myself, wondering exactly what to say in response.
“Perhaps…the light comes from hope. And hope seems to walk hand in hand with love. That emotion has always found me in large and small ways. The sunshine on my face, and the undeniable soft parts of nature. In friendship.” I see the faces of Estela, of Fira, of Iryth and Svanna.
“I feel it in the fulfillment of a job well done.”
I think of my students, in their marvel and honesty and mischief. There are moments I think of weaving and creating art and how that act of creation seems to feel so much like love.
“I feel it in…” I trail off when my lips burn with the reminder of the kiss in the greenhouse. Then I change the subject. “You know, I think I have come to think of you as more friend than foe, despite our past.”
The moment between us ends almost instantly. I feel the slithering cold course through me, hiding and blocking.
You can’t charm me, Red. I have no friends. I am a damned soul, traded to a demon god so far gone into the darkness that not even the brightest star could reach me.
I pause, honestly grateful for our discussion. It feels…good not to be alone in this moment.
So who are you, then? I think this time. Hoping my question will inspire some sort of confidence between us.
I hardly remember anymore.
She doesn’t say any more.
I sit back, arms around my knees, trying not to think about how small the room feels. The door across from me is iron-barred and slick with rust. I can see another corridor through it, a slice of dim torchlight.
Time passes slowly. I don’t know how long I sit there before footsteps break the quiet. I see the head of one of the guards first as he sticks a key into the lock and grinds it open.
I hold my breath. All alone down here, what could happen? Images of torture, assault, violation run through my head. They could do anything to me under the sanction of the king.
Any kind of power I once had is gone.
Cursed One hisses. I am still here.
You really should give me your name, I say after a second.
Perhaps, once you’ve earned it, she responds. Those like me don’t part with names easily.
The soldier finishes unlocking the door and enters alongside three other guards, each wearing the silver and green colors of the Elven Dominion.
Behind them stands an officer with a scroll in one hand.
He doesn’t wear a helmet. Instead, his reddish-brown hair is gilded in the low light.
When he smiles, the look of it slides over my skin. He would enjoy making me bleed.
“By decree of King Arion,” he announces, “the disgraced human consort of no house will face the Trial of Beasts. Three trials. Three judgments. Survive, and you may earn freedom. Fail, and die.”
I blink.
There is power in names, Red.
My stomach drops. Eslina had mentioned this, but I am not strong enough to fight. Even with Cursed One’s help, this could go poorly.
“What is the Trial of Beasts?” I ask before I can stop myself.
No answer. But when one of them starts forward, I speak out again, not wanting to be touched by them.
“Where is the other one?” I ask. I don’t want to say his name, as if it’s cursed, too.
The officer tilts his head. “Who?”
“The one who was running with me.”
His grin widens. “Ah. The troll. Don’t worry—you’ll see him soon enough.”
Two of the guards seize me by the arms. The other two strip the remains of my singed and soiled wedding gown, leaving me bare. I yelp and attempt to cover my body. They toss a heap of sand-colored leather at my feet. It’s armor—thin and ceremonial.
“Dress,” the officer orders.
I glare, but my defiance lasts only until one of them reaches for me. I move fast, pulling on the armor piece by piece. The leather sticks to my skin, and it’s stiff, as if recently made.
Once I finish putting on their sandals and tying the laces, they clasp a shackle around my wrist. The other end dangles in the open space, and I hold out my other hand, waiting. They ignore me and drag me out of the cell.
I stumble behind them as they guide me through winding hallways.
“Will I be fighting beasts?” I ask, trying again as I look all around me, past dozens more cells carved out of stone, hidden from view. There is nothing that anchors me to this place. No familiar landmark that would save me from getting lost should I need to run through these walls together.
No one answers me.
My mind fills with thoughts again as they drag me along. Fear soaks over my skin like the water flowing down the damp walls of the dungeon.
Vann.
His face is a ruin of bruises and dirt. He doesn’t look at me at first, only at the floor as they fasten the other cuff to his wrist. The chain hums between us, light threading through the metal like veins of fire.
I jerk my arm away. “You have to be joking.”
The officer smiles. “The crown demands unity in judgment. Tethered fighting is a long-standing tradition. You will either win the trials, or die together, as you tried to kill the king and abandon your marriage.”
One of the guards lifts their helmet to spit at my feet.
“And what exactly are we going to be doing?” I snap.
Vann finally looks up. His voice is low, rough, almost gentle. “Don’t make this worse.”
My throat tightens with fury. “You already did.”
They ignore my question again and drag us up the rough-hewn steps, twisting toward light. The air grows hotter, thicker, filled with distant noise. At first it’s just a hum. Then I realize it’s cheering.
When we emerge into the open air, the sound hits like a storm.