Chapter 58
ChApter
Fifty-Eight
We reach the lower levels—a damp, dark corridor where the air turns colder and wetter with each step.
Moisture drips from the ceiling. The walls here are carved from rough rock, jagged and damp with moss.
The only light comes from rusted iron sconces set too far apart, leaving long stretches of darkness that swallow the floor.
The guards throw Dante and me into a cell without ceremony. Iron bars clang shut behind us with a teeth-rattling slam. Chains rattle. A heavy lock clicks into place.
I stumble and catch myself against the wall, panting, my wrists scraped and aching.
Dante is already on his knees, head bowed, one hand pressed to his shoulder.
I crawl to him, heart hammering. “Oh, gods, you’re hurt.”
“I’m fine,” he mutters, teeth clenched. But I can see the blood soaking through the fabric of his tunic, the torn skin along his shoulder where a carnoraxis must’ve gotten him. “Just bruised.”
I place my hand gently over the wound. Power swells between my fingers, flowing through to heal him. The ache inside me is constant now, like something trying to claw its way out. I press harder, pushing the energy through my palm. The bleeding slows. The angry red of the wound begins to pale.
He watches me with something quiet and terrible in his eyes. Then his expression changes. He draws me in suddenly, fingers curling around my face, calloused thumb brushing the curve of my cheek. His eyes search mine, as though he’s still not entirely convinced I’m real.
“I thought I’d lost you,” he breathes. “When I went to your rooms and you weren’t there—when no one knew where you’d gone—I thought maybe… maybe you’d run.”
I shake my head. “No. I would never.”
“I didn’t believe it. Not really. But the king—he did.
He said you’d betrayed us. He wanted to take Delasurvia by force.
I fought him. I left the capital without permission, rode to your uncle, to the Garrison, hoping you were there.
But you weren’t. And I… I couldn’t breathe.
” His voice cracks. “I couldn’t breathe knowing you might be gone. ”
I press my forehead to his, both our chests heaving. “I didn’t run. I would never run from you.”
His lips find mine, the motion slow and reverent. As though kissing me might stitch the pieces of him back together.
“I swear,” he whispers against my mouth, “I’ll make them pay for this. For touching you. For taking her. For everything.”
I back up enough to look him over, and my gaze lands on the collar gripping his throat. I search for the clasp, but I can’t open it. Frustration builds as I try to slip my fingers beneath it somehow to pry it free, but it’s simply stuck.
Dante gently grasps my hand. “It can only be removed by the one who bound it.”
He looks down at my ripped dress, then stands to remove his jacket. After pulling me to my feet, he wraps the jacket around me. I slip my arms through the sleeves, and then Dante pulls me into his embrace.
“I thought… I thought maybe there was hope for him.”
My arms squeeze him tighter. “Dante, he’s unhinged.”
He lets out a soft, mirthless laugh. “I noticed.” His mouth pulls down into a frown. “I didn’t want it to be like this. I don’t want him to be my enemy. He’s my brother. I don’t know if I can bring myself to… hate him.”
I don’t know how to respond to that, because I can feel his struggle. Dante’s biggest weakness is his heart and what he would do for the ones he loves. Even though Torbin has become something other than himself, Dante is still holding on to the brother he opened his heart to.
“Did you hear me calling you?” I ask softly, deciding to change the subject.
“I felt you,” he says, brushing a strand of hair away from my face. “Your voice was faint, but I could feel you calling for me.”
My heart thrums with the knowledge that our connection is strong enough for him to hear me, feel me, even over such a long distance.
He runs a thumb over my cheek before softly kissing me. I pull him closer, wishing our reunion didn’t have to take place in this dank, smelly cell.
His fingers brush over the bite mark on my neck, and he stiffens. “What’s this? Who did this to you?”
“He… Torbin bit me.”
His jaw hardens, his eyes narrowing. “‘Bit’ you?”
“He has fangs, Dante. The serum he takes, it’s changing him.” I place my hand on top of his.
He stares in horror at the mark, which has healed a lot quicker since Nadya used her magic. I can see the fury burning behind his glare.
Then his eyes meet mine and his gaze softens. “I won’t let him hurt you anymore. I promise.”
For a while, we simply hold each other, wondering what’s going to happen next. But my thoughts don’t slow down.
“What do you think he’s going to do to Nadya?”
“I’m not sure.” His arms tighten around me. “But we’ll find her.”
I close my eyes for a moment and let myself relax deeper in his embrace.
The feel of him gives me hope. Relief floods through me in waves so fierce, it nearly buckles my knees.
For a moment, it doesn’t matter that the dungeon stinks of mildew and blood, or that the stone beneath my feet is ice.
I’m not alone. Dante found me. He’s here, holding me together when I feel like I should be falling apart.
I bury my face against his chest, drawing strength from the steady beat of his heart, but the terror coils just as tightly inside me.
I’m sure the tsar still means to rip the magic from my veins. Something tells me this is only a pause before the ritual begins. My stomach twists at the thought of Nadya suffering somewhere above us, of Dante shackled by that cursed collar, of myself, powerless to stop what’s coming.
Footsteps echo outside, making us jump. We both turn toward the door as a key turns in the lock and the door groans open. Large guards stomp in, and in the next moment, rough hands seize us again, wrenching us forward.
“Where are you taking us?” I demand, struggling against their grip. “Where’s my friend?”
One of the guards sneers down at me, breath sour and eyes hard. “The tsar awaits you,” he says, dragging us into the hall. “In the arena.”
The sky is a muted indigo, barely touched by morning light, but the interior of the fortress pulses with a terrible glow—torches lining the corridor like burning eyes.
Their flickering light throws our shadows long and twisted across the walls.
Our wrists are bound. Dante walks beside me, silent, his head high despite the bruises and dried blood that mar his jaw and shoulder.
His hand brushes mine as we turn a corner, and though the contact is brief, it’s enough to steady me.
We emerge into the cold.
The air cuts like knives. It sinks into my lungs and curls icy fingers around my ribs.
My boots crunch over gravel and broken bone.
We’re led into the massive, open space ringed by jagged walls and towering iron torches.
The space I looked down on when the tsar made me watch the carnoraxis attack the Dulcamaran citizens.
Now that I’m down in the arena, the full impact of the place hits me.
Designed for spectacle. For horror. The ground is packed dirt, but it’s stained—dark, ugly patches in the soil where blood has seeped in so deeply, it will never be clean again.
Cages line the outer ring, each one bristling with bars and rust. From inside, the carnoraxis cry out—high, warbling whistles that fray at my nerves.
They snarl and claw at the metal, saliva stringing from their jaws, red eyes catching the firelight like coals. The sound is unbearable.
I flinch as one throws itself at the bars closest to me. They rattle under the force of it, and one of the guards lets out a harsh laugh behind me.
Dante shifts closer, muscles flexed, his body half in front of mine.
I swallow the bile rising in my throat.
At the far end of the arena, a stone, spiral staircase leads up to the balcony I once stood at, black stone, ornately carved. And at its center stands the tsar. His eyes are already on us, glittering in the firelight. There’s a coldness in his expression that makes me shiver.
To his left, Ella, the seer. Poised at his right is Osrem, his hands folded in front of his body.
Draped in her deep-crimson cloak, she wears her hood pulled forward to shadow her face.
Her silver mask gleams over her eyes, delicate and sharp, like a masquerade piece forged from blades.
She doesn’t speak. Doesn’t move. My magic recoils the moment my eyes land on her, like it remembers what she can do.
Near the cages, with spears in their hands, are the tsar’s guards. They stand beside the levers that release the cage doors, awaiting the tsar’s command.
Dante swallows hard beneath the enchanted collar, his fingers twitching at his sides. His wide eyes find mine, and his jaw hardens. He’s as unprepared for this as I am.
The tsar raises his arms, and his voice rolls out across the arena like thunder.
A hush falls over the arena. Even the growls and snarls of the carnoraxis grow quieter.
The tsar’s gaze cuts past me, settling on Dante.
His lips curl. “So. This is the boy who dares to break into my fortress. Who dares steal from me—take my daughter, my prisoner, my prize.” His voice slams through the chamber like a hammer blow.
“You thought yourself clever, slipping past my guards. Thought you could drag her from my grasp. But here you are, collared, captured. Every thief pays a price.”
My stomach drops. The room feels colder, tighter, like the walls themselves are pressing inward.
“I believed she was the key,” the tsar continues, his eyes gleaming like fire on ice. “The gods’ gift. My weapon to wield. And perhaps she is. But perhaps…” His hand drifts through the air, pointing at Dante like he’s already marked him for sacrifice. “Perhaps there is more than one key.”
The words slam into me like a blade. My chest cinches tightly, my breath shattering in my lungs.
No, no, no. Not him. Not Dante. The thought of his life twisted into the tsar’s hands makes my stomach heave.
He already took Torbin, but I’ll be damned if he takes Dante too.
Desperation claws up my throat, hot and suffocating, drowning out reason.
I can’t let this happen—I won’t let this happen.
“No,” I blurt out, the word tearing raw from my throat. “Please! He doesn’t deserve this. Let him go. I’ll do whatever you ask, I swear it.”
Dante tenses beside me.
The tsar chuckles, a sound so mirthless, it scrapes like broken glass. “You will do whatever I ask regardless.”
“Then take me!” My voice cracks. My chest burns. “I’ll marry Torbin. I’ll bind myself to him, give you my power—just release Dante!”
The tsar’s grin spreads slowly, like ink bleeding across parchment. “It appears I’ve found your weakness.” He takes a step forward and raises a brow. “It is far too late for bargains, daughter. I make the rules now. And here is what I’ve decided.”
My heart lurches violently against my ribs.
Dante doesn’t move. Doesn’t even blink.
The tsar lifts one arm, gesturing to the shadowed tunnel across the pit.
Torbin emerges. Stripped to the waist, his skin wrapped in fresh bandages, his sabre gleaming at his hip. His eyes burn with something unrecognizable, something feral. Twisted. My stomach knots so tightly, it hurts.
“You’ve participated in trials throughout most of the realms, Dante. But you’ve yet to endure mine,” the tsar proclaims, his voice reverberating through the arena. “Here is your trial. Dante and Torbin. Blade against blade. Strength against strength. The gods themselves will decide who is worthy.”
My breath stutters. My lips shape a frantic whisper. “No… no, no, no.”
“If Dante prevails,” the tsar goes on, ignoring me entirely, “Celeste will be freed. She may leave Dulcamar untouched.” His gaze slants toward Dante, cold and merciless.
“The prophecy speaks of power descending through blood. ‘Magic gifted by the gods, to a powerful descendant, must be seized.’ My seer believes you, boy, could be that descendant as well. She believes I could take you in Celeste’s place. Your strength will serve my throne.”
A chill tears down my spine. Dante’s shoulders go rigid beside me, and I can’t tell if he’s breathing at all.
“And if Torbin triumphs,” the tsar continues, his mouth twisting into a blade-sharp smile, “Celeste will remain here and become his bride. Her power will be mine to claim. If she is the chosen one, she will fulfill her destiny under my hand—whether she wills it or not.”
The ground tilts beneath me. My knees weaken. My stomach pitches. My body wants to scream, but the sound catches in my throat, jagged and raw.
“And if I refuse?” Dante calls, his voice clear, slicing through the night air.
The tsar doesn’t even blink. “Then her friend dies.”
I blink, holding my breath, and then my gaze is yanked to the left, where guards drag Nadya forward, tying her to a post driven into the ground near the carnoraxis cages. Her eyes are wide with fear, her curls wild, her movements frantic as she tries to break free.
I lurch forward. “Nadya!”
A guard grabs me, yanking me back, and I thrash in his grip.
“Don’t touch her! Don’t—”
The tsar tilts his head, studying Dante the way a predator studies prey that’s already snared.
Slowly, almost lazily, a smile spreads across his face—cold, deliberate, cruel.
His hands clasp behind his back as he begins to pace the balcony, every step echoing like a drumbeat in the vast chamber.
He stops, his gaze dropping to Nadya’s trembling form lashed to the post, and then back to Dante, his eyes glittering with satisfaction.
“Celeste’s beloved friend,” the tsar says to Dante, “will be left to the carnoraxis if you forfeit the fight. Choose, boy.”
My breath leaves me, and I fear my legs are going to give out.