Chapter 34 #2
“Arion won’t let us leave. He’d rather release beast after beast until we are torn to shreds—you can’t think he will keep that promise.
It’s just for the show of…I don’t know. Freedom?
Choice? He’s the kind of man who—” I hiss when I move and the fresh wounds pump more pain through my system.
“He will dangle the carrot in front of the beast to keep it moving. This display is sweeter for his people if there’s a chance we could win. We never will.”
Vann is quiet again, and then he moves closer. “We will. You have to believe it. You have to—”
“How long have we been here? It looked like they took you before we were sent out,” I say, cutting him off. He had been covered in bruises.
“Two days, maybe three. It’s hard to tell. No light. No guards except for feeding rounds.”
My stomach grumbles in response. Food. Something I have been deprived of for so long. What I wouldn’t give for something to fill the stretch of my stomach.
I look in the cell and see nothing.
Desperation claws at my belly. Have they not been feeding me?
The hole carries Vann’s breath. I reach out and touch the stone, half hoping he’s doing the same on the other side.
Then a bit of bread slides through the hole.
“You need to eat more,” he says gently, without malice. The tenderness is so present that I almost wish I could hear him grumble as he used to.
I close my eyes.
“Thank you.” And then I take a bite of the meager portion. It doesn’t taste bad. Quite the opposite, in fact, but it is very stale. And the lack of saliva in my mouth makes it hard to eat properly.
“You should drink,” he says. A moment later, something slides through the hole—a small tin cup, its edge wet. “I stole it when they left the door open.”
“So they haven’t been feeding you either?”
“There are other prisoners down here it seems. They don’t talk much, though.”
I take the cup carefully, swallowing in slow, painful gulps. It’s water, and it tastes like old iron.
“Thank you,” I whisper.
A low hum answers, almost like a sigh. Then, quieter, “I know I don’t deserve to have you talk to me. I shouldn’t have kissed you, I just…”
He trails off and I pause my eating to stare at the hole. “You lied to me. And then I told you not to come, but you still did. We are here because of you,” I accuse. Somehow, my eyes conjure enough moisture to burn. Despite how miserable I feel in my body, I still have the power to cry.
“I know. I never deserved something as good as you, Arlet,” he says. “The truth is that I fell in love with you. Against my better judgment—”
“What the fuck kind of answer is that? Against your better judgment? Do I really mean so little?”
“No,” he scrambles. “I have told you my past. I thought that…”
“I don’t forgive you for it.”
“I don’t expect you to.”
Silence stretches, long and fraying. I remember what happened in my bedroom the day of my wedding. I—I can’t think of that right now. It’s like I can feel my heartbeat in every part of my body, but I ignore it all as I sit there, listening to Vann’s breath.
I don’t want to move. I just sit. Listening.
In the back of my mind, Cursed One yawns.
“Do you think Mrath is dead?” I ask finally.
He pauses. “No. They would be celebrating differently if she were.”
I hate that it makes me feel better. “Good,” I mutter. “She deserves to live. After everything I learned in this place…well, I hope she finds a way to topple her brother.”
“Arion has corrupted the throne of Living Throne somehow. Mrath must break the connection to the demon god and restore the channel to Doros.”
My mind puts this new puzzle piece into place. I know the magic seemed wrong. Cursed One confirmed that he had a darkness to him.
So why does he want the Cumhacht na Cruinne if he already has a new patron of power?
Because he doesn’t want to be under Abhartach’s thumb anymore. He’s already found a way to have best of both worlds.
There is a long stretch of silence. My mind races with everything I’ve learned.
Vann exhales. Then, softly, “Arlet—”
“No.” I cut him off before I have to hear another apology. My insides are still twisting after the conversation we just finished having. “Not now.”
He doesn’t push. Just breathes.
After a while, I shift closer to the hole, curling my fingers against the edge.
After so many weeks of impersonal touches, of being controlled and chided and molded into something for Arion, my body is acutely aware of how soft and warm it was in Vann’s arms. How good it felt for him to touch me and whisper in my ear.
I am lonely. There is no other way to explain it. I don’t know if I want him.
But I know I don’t want to be alone.
“Are you still there?”
“Always,” he says.
A pause.
Then I see his hand slide partway through the opening—just enough for the tips of his fingers to reach mine. His knuckles are bruised and split. I hesitate, then hook my smallest finger around his.
He does the same. Another small, stupid thing. Familiar and dangerous all at once.
“I promise,” he murmurs.
My heart cracks in half and I see all the promises from before—the one the night before the mating ceremony, and then again when he bound me for the first time.
I feel the soft, reverent touch of his hands running over my body, hear him promising to keep me safe as he made me sweat and come apart under his hands and tongue.
Not again.
I pull my hand back before I can think better of it. The warmth of his skin lingers.
He doesn’t press.
The darkness around me goes quiet again. I let the distance between us breathe and speak as if it is natural to be so reserved around him.
I need…I need to rest anyway.