Chapter 20
With every resounding step down the winding stone staircase, it felt as though a noose was tightening around Elara's neck.
The frosty air of the Pit seeped into her bones—a chill that went beyond its deep-set location beneath the eastern stronghold or the damp stone walls weeping with frost. It felt as if Osin's malice had infused the very air, crystallizing around her and, freezing each breath in her throat.
If the biting cold hadn’t already stripped her fingers and toes of feeling, the remnants of Osin’s shadows would have finished the work.
All warmth had drained from her, leaving only the sluggish crawl of darkness through her veins, tendrils tightening as they choked the last sparks of life from her body.
Her legs trembled, threatening to buckle.
The only thing keeping her from crumpling into a heap at the bottom of the staircase was the Hunter’s unwavering grip, his hand like an iron band around her waist, holding her upright.
Ivan. Her mind whispered, the name swirling in her muddled thoughts. Such an ordinary name for a man whose reputation was anything but common.
Elara risked a glance at him, only to catch her own distorted reflection in the gleaming surface of his mask.
She quickly averted her eyes.
It was unsettling—the sudden return of a memory she hadn’t known she’d lost. Hearing his name had snapped her back to a past that had somehow slipped away.
What else had she forgotten? Ten years could blur many things, but this felt too important to have simply faded.
Not just the Hunter’s name, but the knowledge that she’d once had…
a friend, or something close to it. As close as court life allowed.
Elara held to that much. But the memory itself…
“He tripped Lord Artan’s daughter on purpose at the last gathering. Just hooked his foot around hers when no one was looking. Sent her sprawling into the mud.”
Elara’s brow knit as a dull ache pulsed at her temples. Why did it feel like there was more—an unspoken undercurrent, a shared resentment between her and that girl? As though Lord Artan’s daughter had wronged them both. The memory hovered just beyond reach.
The solid thud of the Hunter’s boots on stone snapped her back as they reached the foot of the stairs. He released her waist and strode down the narrow hall, cutting through the torchlit shadows.
Elara blinked, the world blurring before it slid back into focus. She leaned into the cold stone, eyes closing as she forced herself to breathe.
A slow exhale from the Hunter drew her attention. He’d turned, already walking back toward her.
“Can you walk?”
She pushed off the wall. “I can walk.”
His gaze swept her, unimpressed, seeing straight through the bravado to the pain beneath. If he dared to toss her over his shoulder again—
“Then keep up,” he said, already turning away.
Prick.
But what had she expected? Because he’d helped her once—years ago, when they were children—didn’t mean he cared now. Didn’t mean he’d ever help her again.
Elara drew on what little strength remained, forcing her feet forward, one step at a time. She wouldn’t stumble. Not here. Though she wondered why she still clung to scraps of pride. In the Pit, what use was dignity?
The narrow corridor widened with each reluctant step. Cells yawned from the stone on either side, the air growing colder, heavier—saturated with the quiet despair trapped behind iron-latched doors.
Wards etched into the metal pulsed with dim ether, their low hum brushing her senses as she glanced inside. Most cells stood empty. A few held figures huddled against the far walls—silent remnants of what they’d been.
Traitors. Like her.
A bitter taste filled her mouth as she glared at the Hunter’s back, silently willing him to burn beneath her stare.
He was the reason she—and countless others—were trapped in this place.
She couldn’t help wondering what the world might look like without him in it.
If Osin hadn’t chosen him as his ward, would any of this have happened? Would they have fared better?
The corridor ended at a massive gate of stone and iron, its shadow swallowing what little light remained. It reminded her of the barrier Osin had raised around the Sanct—but where that one had been gossamer-thin, this was brocade: dense, tightly woven, and utterly unyielding.
The Hunter lifted a hand. Ether sparked, and the wards fizzled out one by one, their light bleeding into the air, leaving a whisper of power that prickled across her skin. When he seized the handle and hauled the door open, a rush of blinding light poured through.
She raised a hand to shield her eyes as the glare burned through her fingers. When her vision cleared, a vast cavern unfurled before her—thousands of floating orbs casting a rich, buttery light across the expanse.
It sprawled like the roots of an ancient tree, pathways branching into countless tunnels that webbed outward in every direction.
Cells lined each path, hundreds of them, their sheer number staggering even from a distance.
Between them stood guards—towering figures in black armor that ran to their wrists, swords hanging at their sides.
One of them rushed to attention. “My Lord. Four shades have been seized and await your questioning, though—” The guards’ voice halted abruptly as he noticed Elara.
“That will be all, Theron,” the Hunter said, his tone clipped. “Report to the warden—tell him the Hallowed is secured and intended to stay here indefinitely.”
A shudder coursed through Elara, pulling an unwelcome glance from the Hunter.
“Ensure she is seen by a healer. She has a wound on her wrist that requires an anti-venom.” His eyes roved over her once more.
“And perhaps,” he paused, considering, “a dose of Pyrewarmth to stabilize her body temperature.”
The guard’s expression flickered with confusion, his mouth opening, and then snapping shut.
The Hunter's gaze narrowed. “Is there a problem?”
“No... no, sir. No problem—”
“She may be in custody, but she's still the Hallowed and will be accorded the respect due her status.”
The guard bowed, a quick dip of his head. “Of course.”
The Hunter’s hand clenched into a fist at his side. “Good. See to it.”
With another quick bow, the guard turned away, leaving space for the Hunter's lingering gaze to settle on her once more. There was a weight in that look, something unreadable yet intensely focused, before he finally turned, and strode away.
As his footsteps faded, two guards closed in, iron grips clamping onto her arms and hauling her forward.
“I can walk on my own,” she snapped, struggling against them.
The taller guard snorted, a cruel smirk curling his mouth. “Like we’d trust a mutt like you off its leash.”
Elara set her jaw as they dragged her deeper into the cavern, down another stone corridor, stopping at a cell that stood apart from the rest. It was marginally larger—a bare rectangle with nothing but a cot shoved into one corner.
The mattress was thin atop a rickety frame, its sheets crumpled and worn nearly to threads.
To the far right, iron bars ran from floor to ceiling. A single torch cast long shadows across the cell, and Elara squinted through the dim light, searching for any sign of life beyond them.
One guard shoved the door open, the hinges groaning in protest. As it swung inward, the wards flared, sparks of light skittering across the stone.
“Get in,” he grunted, thrusting her forward.
She stumbled, wincing. “Was that really necessary?” Her legs were frighteningly numb, barely holding her upright.
“Aye, that it was, girlie.”
The door began to scrape toward closing.
“Wait! I—I need to pee.”
She didn’t, of course. But if she could buy herself a moment outside the cell—one more look—she could carve the prison’s layout deeper into her memory.
Maybe she’d even spot Godfrey, if he was still trapped here.
The tallest guard stepped fully into the cell, looming over her. “Who’s stopping ya?” he challenged, brows lifting as he folded his arms.
Elara's mouth fell open, and he let out a rough chuckle, glancing pointedly between her legs as if he expected her to piss herself right there on the spot.
“Malak,” one of the guards sneered, his lips curling. “Think Osin’s little pet knows any tricks?” He gave a lewd tug at his pants, drawing howls of laughter from the others.
Elara bit the inside of her cheek, tasting blood.
The tall guard, Malak, ignored his comrade and leaned closer to her, his breath stinking of stale tobacco. “Listen up, girl. You try anything clever, speak to anyone else—I'll know. Step out of line, and you'll learn why even the rats keep their mouths shut around here.”
With a final, menacing glare, he slammed the cell door shut. Laughter faded down the corridor, leaving the echo of his threat behind.
Elara clenched her teeth as tension rolled through her. She drew in a slow breath, forcing it deep, until the cell seemed to expand with her lungs.
This was her reality now—the price of one misstep, of reaching too far.
Exhaustion crashed over her. Her eyelids drooped, anger dulling to an ache as the world smeared at the edges. She needed to lie down before she lost consciousness.
Her legs shook as she turned for the cot. She didn’t make it. The stone struck her side, cold and unforgiving.
Gods.
Her heartbeat thudded sluggishly in her ears as she lay there, cheek pressed to the floor. But just as her breath began to slow, a flicker at the edge of her vision snapped her back to life, her heart racing wildly.
Across the way, in the neighboring cell, someone stood watching her.
His sheer size was enough to hold her attention—every muscle carved with definition, even beneath the layers of grime caked on his skin.
Amber eyes, burning with a fierceness that seemed to outshine the torches, locked onto hers, unwavering.
His hair, jet-black and matted with sweat, clung to his brow, framing a chest riddled with scars.
But it wasn’t the scars or his towering frame that held her breath—it was the pointed tips of his ears, barely visible through the wild tangle of hair. Fae.
Denial surged through her, louder than the roar of blood in her ears, rejecting the sight of him.
The books she'd read about the ethereal beings spoke of elegance, maybe even a hint of fragility, likening them to the woodland sprites, not the towering monolith before her now.
His eyes were like molten gold, deep and endless, drawing her in, offering an anchor as her vision blurred. She clung to his gaze—the only fixed point in her reeling senses. But the darkness was faster, pulling her deeper into its embrace.