Chapter 47 #2
A chorus of affirmatives echoed through the cell, though none of us sounded particularly convincing. Cindrissian had a split lip, Lincatheron was favouring his left side, and Shaelith’s face was a mask of controlled rage as she held Brynelle close.
“Well,” Fenric said with dark humour, “this is cozy.”
The cell was barely large enough for all of us, carved from rough stone that wept moisture down the walls.
A single barred window high above let in thin streams of grey light, but it was too small and too high to offer any hope of escape.
Iron shackles hung from the walls at regular intervals, dark with old blood and rust.
“Where are we?” I whispered.
“Nyxarian dungeons,” Cindrissian answered, his usual polished facade cracked but not broken. “Deep ones, by the feel of it. They haven’t been used in centuries.”
“How long do you think we have?” Brynelle whispered, her usual brightness dimmed to a fragile flicker.
“Not long,” Varyth glanced towards the door. “She’s not the type to let prizes sit unused.”
“We need a plan,” Darian said, his face tight with frustration.
Shaelith’s hands flexed at her sides, as if expecting to summon magic that wasn’t there.
“Our magic is bound,” she said, “which means we are at a severe disadvantage.”
Silence settled over the group, each of us grappling with what that meant. We were in enemy territory, completely cut off from our power, outnumbered, outmatched. There was no telling how long they planned to keep us alive.
“Isara.” Shaelith’s voice was unusually gentle. “Your dragon, what happened to him?”
I flinched, the carefully constructed walls I’d built around that grief crumbling in an instant.
“He’s dead.” The words came out flat, emotionless. I couldn’t afford to feel it fully, not here, not now. “Ashterion killed him.”
Varyth’s arms tightened around me, and I felt rather than saw the way every person in that cell went rigid with shock and fury.
“A dragon bond,” Cindrissian breathed, his mask slipping completely. “Stars above, Isara—”
“I felt it break. In the forest. The scream when the connection severed.” Shaelith’s pale eyes found mine across the cell, and in them I saw an echo of my own devastation. “I’m sorry.”
The simple words nearly undid me. I pressed my face against Varyth’s chest, breathing in his scent like it could anchor me to something solid, something real. Because the alternative was drowning in the emptiness where Kaelen’s presence used to live.
“We’re going to make them pay for it,” Darian said, the words carrying a deadly promise. “Every gods-damned one of them.”
“First we need to get out of here,” I said, pulling back from Varyth’s embrace. My voice was steadier now, the familiar weight of planning giving me something to focus on besides the gaping wound in my chest. “We need to figure out what they want, what their plan is.”
“They want your power,” Varyth said grimly. “Xyliria made that clear enough during their little diplomatic visit.”
“But why now?” Fenric shifted against the wall, wincing as the movement aggravated his ribs. “They could have taken her months ago. Why wait until we were all together, all vulnerable?”
“Because it was never just about her,” Cindrissian said quietly, his analytical mind already working through the implications. “Think about it, they didn’t just take Isara. They took all of us. Varyth’s entire inner circle.”
A chill that had nothing to do with the temperature dropped through me as the pieces clicked into place.
“My children,” I breathed, the words barely audible.
Everything else—the pain, the cold stone, the hopelessness of our situation—fell away as a single, devastating realisation crashed over me like ice water.
Mireth and Eryx were still at the palace. Still in Varyth’s court. Still under the protection of guards who answered to the High Lord currently chained in a dungeon cell.
“Lira,” I whispered. “Oh gods, Lira.”
“What are you—” Linc stopped, his face going pale as understanding hit him. “Fuck. The children.”
“They’re alone.” Panic was clawing up my throat now, making it hard to breathe past the collar’s weight.
“Lira’s with them,” Brynelle said quickly, but I could hear the uncertainty creeping into her tone. “She’ll keep them safe.”
I shook my head, bile rising in my throat.
“You don’t understand. This was planned.
All of it—the border movement, drawing us away from the palace, splitting up our forces.
” My voice cracked as the full scope of the trap became clear.
“What if Xyliria knows about them? What if she’s already sent people to—”
“No.” Varyth’s hands framed my face. “No, Isara. Listen to me.”
But I couldn’t listen. All I could see was Mireth’s trusting smile, Eryx’s determined little face as he built his block towers. All I could imagine was soldiers in dark armour breaking down doors, my children’s screams echoing through empty corridors.
“She would have used them already,” Varyth continued, steady despite the fury burning in his eyes. “If Xyliria knew about Mireth and Eryx, she would have dangled them in front of us the moment we were captured. She’s cruel, but she’s not wasteful. Children are the perfect leverage.”
“He’s right,” Shaelith said firmly, though her knuckles were white where she gripped Brynelle’s hand. “If she knew about Mireth and Eryx, she would have used them already. Threatened them to make you compliant.”
“Unless she’s saving them for later,” Darian said grimly. “Maximum impact.”
The sound that tore from my throat was shattered.
“She doesn’t know,” Varyth said with absolute certainty, his grip on my face tightening. “Xyliria is many things, but subtle isn’t one of them. If she knew about your children, she would have paraded them in front of us the moment we arrived. She would have made you watch as she—”
“Don’t.” The word came out sharp enough to cut glass. “Don’t finish that sentence.”
“Isara.” Cindrissian’s voice was gentle. “Your children are strong. They survived crossing the Veil, survived everything that came after. And Lira is smart. She’d protect them with her life.”
I wanted to believe him. Desperately. But the fear had already taken root, spreading through my chest like poison.
“Lira’s tough,” Linc said quietly. “And she’s not defenceless. If she sensed any threat to the children, she’d get them out. Hide them. She knows every secret passage in that palace.”
“The guards—” I started.
“Are loyal to me,” Varyth finished. “And they know the children matter to you, which means they matter to me. They won’t let anything happen to Mireth and Eryx.”
He could probably hear my heart pounding against my ribs. Could smell the fear I was trying so hard to bury.
“The guards,” I said again, steadier now. “They’ll protect them.”
It was a lie. We both knew it was a lie. But it was the lie we needed right now, because falling apart wouldn’t save my children. Wouldn’t save any of us.
Varyth’s jaw worked. “Yes,” he said quietly. “They will.”
I shifted slightly, turning so I could see the others.
Shaelith had her eyes closed, but her breathing was too controlled to be sleep.
She was thinking, strategising. Cindrissian was examining the walls with the kind of focus that suggested he was looking for weaknesses, structural flaws, anything that could be exploited.
Fenric had finally stopped thrashing, though the set of his jaw made it clear it was taking everything he had to stay still. Darian was watching the door with predatory intensity, like he was cataloguing guard rotations and shift changes even from inside the cell.
Brynelle’s fingers were moving in small, precise patterns against her thigh. Without her magic, they were just gestures. But muscle memory was a powerful thing.
And Linc... Linc was staring at nothing with an expression that made my chest ache. Like he’d already calculated every possible outcome and found them all wanting.
Varyth’s arms tightened around me. “Whatever happens,” he breathed against my ear, “don’t give them anything. Don’t fight unless you have no choice. Stay alive, Isara. That’s all that matters.”