Chapter 33
thirty-three
Since they took me prisoner, I felt the magic brewing inside.
It was strange—the rumble of it returning to something tangible and useful.
I’d never noticed this before, as there wasn’t much of a chance to.
Whenever it coalesced, I’d had my hands and mind full, but now I was trapped in a mostly silent tavern of people who despised me and refused to acknowledge my existence.
I counted myself lucky they gave me a bucket of filthy water, but I doubted it was from a place of kindness. It was closer to not wanting me dead on the floor.
After all, the only reason I breathed was the price on my head. And Arlein never wasted a moment rubbing that in.
The passing of time was difficult. Day turned to night, and with it came countless shadows I despised. They reminded me of him. Mocking me, with their tangible stillness. I loathed that.
The darkness brought out quiet cries and whimpers, not from me but from the residents of our shoddy, makeshift home. For me, it only brought anger and despair I refused to acknowledge. I desperately wanted to rap on the walls and beg the shadows for aid.
But he wouldn’t answer, and I couldn’t face that.
So I let sleep take me in small spurts until the sun woke me once again.
My stomach matched it with increasing growls, now eclipsing whatever magic roved in my chest. I’d never wanted for food over the river, he never let me go without.
And before that, I’d been in a castle, only going without whenever I chose.
But now that choice was gone. I didn’t dare ask for anything, let alone a goddamn meal when they had nothing.
So as the sun continued to rise and painted upstairs in the cruel crimson of dawn, I stared at the shivs on the counter and considered my options. I could grab one, but I hadn’t eaten in days and would be too weak to take down more than a few people.
That left only lumen, but I wasn’t sure how to use it against all of them. I’d have to wait for an opening or when the opportunity presented itself. There wasn’t time for that.
At best, my options were limited, and at worst, nil.
As I inspected every corner of the tavern, the wind changed, bringing the acrid scent of death. During the day, the sun heated the streets and warmed the half-frozen bodies. At the most unfortunate of times, the breeze would waft it in, bringing everyone to tears.
And as the sun traced its way across the sky, moving the shadows but never twisting them, a vicious argument came from downstairs.
I tiptoed down, the wood creaking beneath me, as I held to a corner and hunkered. The peasants beneath scurried like poison-sick rats and fought bare fisted until they spat crimson at the walls. There was screaming—so much screaming I clawed at my ears and begged it to cease.
But it didn’t until someone held up the cause of the commotion: a small, moldy piece of bread. His fingers shook, as Arlein came behind him and strung her arm around his throat until his face turned white as Eltide’s abyss. Then, quick as lightning, she plunged a whittled weapon into his eye.
He screamed.
I screamed.
His face wept like a bastard as he collapsed to the floor. I rushed to help, but Tennith shot out an arm at the foot of the stairs.
“This will get you killed.”
When I struggled, he released me, but by the time I approached, the man had stopped moving, stopped writhing, stopped breathing. He was gone.
Someone else’s blood dripped down Arlein’s fingers as she stuffed the bread into her mouth. She grimaced, trying to chew what had to be closer to a rock than a loaf, and sputtered.
“You killed him over bread,” I breathed.
“I killed him over life—my life. Something you wouldn’t understand, with your cushy life in the castle. You’re lucky I don’t kill you now!”
“Then do it!” I screamed. “Hurry up and kill me already but don’t you dare act like I’ve been through nothing. I’ve been through hell!”
Something twisted on her features, the shifting of malice or pain. “You don’t know what hell is. Did you know it’s illegal to hunt? You and your crown call it poaching.”
She asked a question, but didn’t wait for a response, pressing on as she strode over the dead body and shoved me back. I stumbled and fell, grappling for the rotting bar, but I found no purchase, only splinters. She wanted nothing besides my silence.
“My husband hunted in the thin, reedy forests near the wall. They grow on the outskirts of the cornstalks, thick with brambles and thorns. There are a few small holes in the wall, where the roots tunneled through the stone, making itty bitty gap… Enough for a rabbit or other small game to slip through and eat the crops, and enough to feed us for a week.”
A hare to last a week? My father would eat one in a single sitting before a full meal. My throat dried. I didn’t think they were eating full-course meals down here, but Arlein had a stall. She was one of the most well off in the Underquarter—and she survived on a hare for a week.
My head spun, but grabbing the floorboards did nothing to stop it.
“I’m so sorry—”
“Your apologies do nothing, just like the throne’s decrees when we starved.
If you’re caught poaching, death will come swiftly.
If not, you’ll be torn to shreds by the brambles.
But Alistair would go anyway, see if he could bring us home anything.
His clothes would be shredded, and his skin too.
I’d pick those thorns out for hours, and tell him we didn’t need it, but he knew I was lying, and he’d go back out the next moonrise. ”
“And hunt a hare.”
“And shoot one if we were lucky.” She sniffled. “He was good to me. So I hope you’ll understand why I can’t seem to care for your problems when they lit him like a torch and made me watch.”
Against my will, his face flooded my mind, and the image of them lighting him on fire. Words to describe that horror didn’t exist. So I rose, and forced my face not to break, to stonewall in the way I would when Hrothgir talked down to me, or my mother had me lashed.
“You killed someone over food. You can’t kill people. When you murder, you become no better than them, lighting your husband on fire.”
“How dare you talk down to me? We’re starving!” she spat, tearing at the buttons of her filthy blouse. It revealed a horror: her flesh clung onto every bone, revealing her sternum as if she were a skeleton herself. Her face had always been gaunt, but I didn’t expect it to be that bad.
I gasped.
“This is what it’s like not having a castle to wander back to, or prepared meals to fall into. Since you left, and they murdered Alistar, our food is gone. The guards eat and bully us into this small hovel, so our death has a date!”
“Then I’ll get you food. Anything to stop you from tearing each other apart.”
She laughed. “The guards have been hunting you for months, they’ll rip you to shreds!”
“Let them,” I yelled. “Let them tear me into fucking two, but I won’t lay down and die, and I won’t let you become monsters.”
The room grew silent. Everyone stared, and I felt them boring into me. I’d called a full tavern of starving people—with weapons—monsters.
She raised her palms in acquiescence. “Fine. Done. Get the fuck out of our tavern, and let us die in peace. But I’m not convinced those guards won’t kill you on sight, you’re not going without a mark.
Because when those Knights rip off your rags to hang your corpse, I want them to see my husband’s name. ”
“What?” I breathed.
“You may leave, if I carve Alistair’s name into you, and not a moment sooner. You and the bloody crown will wear his memory for all of eternity.”
The hair across my body went to attention, and my skin slickened until it pooled in my boots.
“Having doubts?”
Yes.
“No,” I replied, fighting against my suddenly parched mouth.
She wanted to carve her husband’s name into my flesh. The only feeling that came was a resounding no. I’d already had one name branded into my skin and soul with that damned pact, to do it again was unthinkable.
But I had to get out of here, in one piece with a beating heart. That second part got further away with every passing second. But the alternative… no. I couldn’t. I wouldn’t scar my body and wear another man’s name for eternity.
Lying in the corner and dying was an option, all the while watching these people starve, and fight to the death over scraps of food hidden beneath furniture. If the hunger didn’t cease, I worried they’d begin eating each other.
So I pressed my hand into the gnarled and pointed wood of the bar, where the edge had worn into the idea of a dagger. Blood wept down my hand, fast and warm, but I felt none of it. Only the anguish inside.
I only managed to speak because of a single question that lashed into me like Hrothgir’s whip. It rang in my ears to the time of my heartbeat.
If I had the chance, would I carve Deldren’s name into Arthvur’s spine?
I knew the answer quicker than my own name, though it tasted of ash.
“Okay. Carve his name.”