Chapter 37
VANN
Later, in the darkness of our cells, the shadow returns. When Castien emerges, I cram myself into the hole, watching.
The shadows move before he does. The torchlight outside bends toward the bars, shrinking until it looks like the darkness is swallowing it whole.
Then he steps through—silent, deliberate, his cloak dragging shadows in his wake.
He makes the wall between Arlet and I transparent, and I wait for him to speak.
He crouches beside Arlet without a word. Her face is pale in the dim light, the skin around her ribs slick with half-dried blood.
“You look a hell of a lot better than you did yesterday,” he says. His tone is clinical, studying her.
She doesn’t look away. “I felt the power much more strongly today.”
“I noticed,” Castien murmurs. “I came to make sure there wasn’t anything that could kill you before this is over.”
He produces a rune-covered obsidian again.
“What is that?” I demand.
“My dagger. I recently had it returned to me—fear not, it is not to hurt. Years in the presence of another owner has given it better healing properties than my own magic.” Then he lifts it a little, still looking at Arlet. “May I?”
She hesitates, then nods.
I watch as he heals a few of the deeper gashes. When it touches her skin, she gasps. The sound cuts through me like a blade.
The darkness seeps into her wounds, and the bleeding slows. Her breath steadies, and relief floods through me.
“So, your power comes from a deal you’ve made with a cursed soul?” she asks as he finishes.
He looks up, then nods.
She hesitates as he stands. “Are there others like…us?”
I feel the air change. He shifts his weight back to his heels from his crouched position, one arm strung over his knee. He watches her for a moment, then nods.
“There used to be more. But I wager there are a few. Elves are strange creatures, they love a tether.”
“Like the Living Wood that tethers you all to your gods? Or the Cumhacht na Cruinne?”
Castien’s voice is very soft. “What do you know about either of those things?”
“Reading,” she retorts. “Mrath said that the elven sovereign needed the Cumhacht na Cruinne to have the most power,” she says.
“Correct,” Castien says. “But it has been lost for a long time. Several generations.”
“But my queen, Estela, found it. She gave it to Mrath, but Thorne took a part of it as a tracker and used me to transport it to Arion. They buried it in my skin,” Arlet rattles off. “But you knew this, I assume.”
Castien’s expression is measured, but I noticed the way he freezes. I click my tongue, not really sure exactly how to stop the conversation. Had he done something to make her talk so much?
“Perhaps. But then again, perhaps not.”
“Did Arion really retrieve the artifact from Mrath when he marched on the Enclave?” Arlet pushes. Bold and confident as ever. Truly, a lady of the council. Teo and Estela would be proud. Liana would be delighted.
“He thinks he did,” Castien murmurs. The calm mask cracks for the first time.
Then he leans forward. “And what of the Living Wood mark on Arion? Would you know something about that? Many believe that he truly came to trust you before the wedding, and only someone he trusted very much would’ve known where that was. Even his other wives didn’t know.”
Something acidic pools in my belly, and I find myself wondering things I have no right to ask. What had she done with Arion while she was preparing to be his bride? If she was meant to find this mark on his body, how much of him had she explored? Had he slept with her? Forced her?
Acid coats my tongue.
“No,” she says.
Relief floods through me.
The shadows tighten around Lord Castien, darker than before—like the room itself is holding its breath. And then the sound of boots shatters it.
“Guards,” I hiss, “I suggest you hide, shadow.”
Castien stands, sinking into the darkness as the wall between Arlet and me grows opaque once more. I tense, moving from the hole to the bars, wondering if they were going to bring us food, finally, after all our hard work. I can only make out not a squad, but just one man.
Thorne steps into the corridor, carrying a wooden tray. He wears a uniform, but I draw my teeth back to bare them. I haven’t seen him since the castle.
My eyes track the sword at his side, and I consider grabbing it to run him through.
“Ah,” he says dryly. “Our royal ghost makes house calls now?” Somehow, he can see Castien.
Castien’s head snaps toward him. “You shouldn’t be here.”
“I could say the same,” Thorne answers. “But I suppose we both know where our loyalties lie.”
Castien’s eyes flick between us, then back to Arlet. “We’ll speak again.” His form begins to fade. And then he’s gone. Just like that.
Thorne exhales, muttering something that sounds like a prayer and a curse all at once. Then he sets the tray down between the cells. “You’re welcome.”
The smell hits first. After days of the most meager morsels of stale loaves, fresh bread and roasted meat smells otherworldly. Food. Real food. My stomach twists with hunger, but instinct keeps my hand still.
Arlet eyes him. “I assume you are still the reason why we are in adjacent cells.”
He gives a humorless smile. “Call me a romantic. Besides, I have done what I can for those like me. Not to mention, if and when Mrath comes back again, I’m likely dead anyway. Might as well try to get in the good graces of someone who might outlive her brother.”
“Well, thank you. This is the largest meal I’ve had since coming to Shvathemar,” Arlet mutters.
I can just make out some of her dirty locks hanging between the bars.
I wish we could be closer, that I could touch her.
“Do you have any news about Mrath’s plan?
There is one trial left, and I have not seen any sign of her. Are we to die in the arena right now?”
“She still lives,” he says firmly. “But that is all I know.”
He glances back to the hallway. “You should have asked the Shadow.”
The torch flickers between us. I move to the iron bars, reach through, and pick up one of the cups from the tray, sniff it, then take a cautious sip. Weak, watered-down wine, but not poisoned. I taste the bread next, breaking off a small piece and chewing slowly before swallowing.
“It’s safe,” I say finally.
She doesn’t move at first. Then, slowly, she also comes to the front of the cell. She takes a small slice, tearing it in half.
Then Thorne stands, brushing his hands off. “As a final gesture of good will, I can let you share one cell for your last night. I suggest you pick wisely, as this may be your last night alive.”
I glance at Arlet. Neither of us speaks.
“Her cell,” I say.
Thorne nods once and unlocks the door. The sound of the latch is sharp, echoing down the corridor. “You have until first light.”
He doesn’t wait for thanks. Just walks away, shoulders slumped, muttering to himself about dying twice for the same cause.
I step inside.
Arlet is sitting on the floor, knees drawn up, eyes following me like she’s not sure if she should be glad or furious. Probably both.
“I don’t want to sleep with you,” she says.
“I won’t sleep,” I retort.
“Hmm,” she hums, voice low.
I move to the far side of the wall and sit down, close enough to hear her breathing but not enough to touch. The space between us feels charged.
She watches me and I realize she isn’t angry at all. She just looks…sad.
I think of how she looked when I went to her room. How she’d cried out when she touched herself, and it felt like I was home. There is a very real chance I will never hear those sounds again.
So I let her watch me. I want to let the time stretch.
But I wasted so much time under the mountain. I don’t want to waste the meager morsels we have left. With a bit of food in my belly and the knowledge she is well, I feel bold.
“Do you remember when we were forced to share a bed in the Sisterhood’s Enclave?” I ask, trying to cut through the tense silence.
She doesn’t answer right away.
In fact, I’m almost sure she won’t when she says, “I didn’t mind that night.”
“But you mind having me here now,” I say, attempting to draw more thoughts out of her.
She looks away. “I…”
She takes a deep breath. “I am glad not to be alone anymore.”
Something stabs through my heart. A heart that has since sped up with the nearness of her.
“I didn’t mind sleeping next to you that night either, even though I’m sure I seemed like I did.”
She glares at me. “You have a talent for fucking things up.”
I laugh softly. “Forgive me for that as well, Firelocks.”
She blinks rapidly, and something in her body language softens. I take it as an invitation to keep trying.
“So you still have the curse inside of you?” I ask. This is something that has concerned me since we were reunited.
“I don’t think I’m cursed anymore, and neither is she. Technically, she fulfilled her half of their bargain. Now she is just…a companion. A strength?”
I don’t know if I like how that sounds.
“Are you sure? What if she is manipulating you? She is loyal to Arion in some regard.”
“She is not,” she answers.
“But she is dangerous. She can take control of your body—that’s what’s been happening during the trials. Right?”
“Afraid we might kill you in your sleep?” Arlet asks, saccharine sweet.
“I would welcome death if it meant you would touch me again,” I breathe.
She freezes. I can practically feel her mind spinning. Instead of waiting for her to respond, that I might flirt once more, I continue.
“Would you say you have made friends with the demon in your mind?”
She seems grateful for the change in tone. “Yes. I would.”
“Do you plan on… letting her stay?”
She purses her lips. “I don’t know if that’s possible, despite what Lord Castien says.”
“But if it were, would you?”