Chapter 22 #2
A sharp knock broke their gaze. Saria set the salve aside and went to the door. The moment her back turned, Elara’s trembling fingers darted out, snatching the jar and slipping it into her underthings at her hip
Sweat formed on Elara's palms. The odds of her having access to a healer again were slim, and in a place like this, any advantage, no matter how small, could make all the difference. Better to be prepared, just in case.
Saria cracked the door, murmuring, “Two minutes. That’s all I can give you.”
Elara’s stomach tightened as she looked up. Avis stood in the doorway, expression composed as she nodded to Saria. But her eyes were fixed on Elara, pinning her in place.
Saria slipped out, the door closing with a soft click that rang too loud in the sudden quiet.
As Avis stepped closer, a faint trace of oíche blossoms reached Elara—delicate, sweet, painfully familiar. The scent struck deep, stirring a pang she wasn’t ready to face. Her throat tightened. It was the smell of safety once. Of softness.
“El—”
“Don’t,” Elara snapped, shoving herself off the slab. Her heart thundered, but she kept her gaze cold. “I don’t want your excuses. I know about Dario.” The name scorched her throat. “Who is the third?”
“Edgar,” Avis said, not missing a beat. She edged closer, eyes softening, brows knitting in a silent plea. “I won’t pretend I will mourn him, but you have to see—we didn’t have a choice.” Her voice stayed gentle, as if that might blunt the impact, make the knife in Elara’s back twist a little less.
Elara shut her eyes, but the memory struck anyway—Edgar’s neck snapping, sudden and final. Her eyes flew open, nausea rolling through her. “I don’t want to hear it,” she said, reaching for anger and finding only exhaustion. “I’m done playing this game.”
Avis shook her head. "If only it were that simple. The game doesn't end until you start playing it."
"What the hell does that even mean?"
"It means that pretending you’re not involved won’t save you. It means the rules were set long before you had a choice."
Elara wanted to scream, to rip the room apart, to let the fury inside her explode and consume everything in its path.
But all she could do was stand there, seething.
Avis's words were meaningless. More cryptic bullshit.
She bit the inside of her cheek, tasting blood, her fists clenched so tightly her nails dug into her palms.
Avis stepped forward cautiously. “I did what I had to. Dario did too. Edgar forced us to place the seal on you. It was before we knew you—before we understood what it would mean. Edgar... he couldn’t handle you anymore.
He was getting older, and you, Elara, were getting stronger. Too strong for him to control.”
“So you helped him cage me?” Elara’s voice was ice, sharp enough to cut. “Every time you were near me, touched me…” The ghost of Dario’s kiss pressed against her lips, the sensation lingering as if it had just happened. The pressure of his hands, the way he’d cupped her face with such tenderness.
“We did it to protect you,” Avis said. “Edgar assured us that by tempering whatever power lies within you, we were safeguarding you from a greater danger.” She paused, her hands tightening into fists at her sides. “We never sought to cause you pain.”
Elara’s chest tightened. Every memory, every touch, every word from them felt tainted now, twisted and poisoned.
The ache inside her was unbearable, a raw, burning throb that made it feel like her ribs might crack under the pressure.
She ground her teeth, forcing the words past the fury choking her. “Where is Dario?”
Her throat bobbed. “I haven’t seen him since the day you left.”
“He ran?”
Avis shook her head, her expression pained. “No. He didn’t take anything with him. He went out to find you… and he never returned.”
Elara turned on her heel, eyes squeezing shut. Was he dead? She shouldn’t feel a damn thing—she didn’t want to. But the thought of Dario lying somewhere lifeless and cold...
Gods, why did she still care?
She clenched her fists, wanting to slam her head against the wall, do anything to drown out the mess of emotions raging inside her. The anger, the hurt, the guilt—it was all too much.
“Elara, I don’t have much time.”
She pressed her palms to her eyes, breathed once, and turned—eyes narrowing on Avis.
“Stay quiet. Keep your head down. Don’t cause trouble,” Avis said, her gaze flicking toward the door, as if every second counted. “Algernon’s trying to get you out, to get you back home.”
Elara’s lips curled in a bitter smile. “That place isn't my home.”
“It is better than here,” Avis said tightly, the strain breaking through before she paused, eyes closing briefly. When she spoke again, her tone was softer but no less intense. “You cannot imagine what Osin is capable of… the things he does to those who—”
The door creaked open, and Saria stepped in, two guards shadowing her.
“Thank you for assisting, Healer Hartwell,” Saria said smoothly, her tone polite but firm. “I’ll take it from here.”
Avis dipped her head in a quick, controlled bow. “Of course,” she said, her voice steady, betraying nothing. Without another word, she turned to leave. But as she reached the doorway, she hesitated, glancing back at Elara.
Something flickered in her eyes. Another warning, maybe. Sadness, definitely. Then Avis turned away, her footsteps fading down the corridor, leaving the room colder in her absence. The faint scent of flowers still lingered, the only trace that she had been there at all.
Mother save her, she was so bloody tired of being manhandled.
Elara shoved herself upright, jaw tight as she clutched the bundle of clothes Saria had practically thrown at her. “Healer’s orders.”
By the time they reached the cell, she was hauled inside like cargo. The door slammed, iron grinding against stone as the wards flared, ether buzzing in the air like angry wasps.
She lifted her chin, eyes blazing as she memorized the guards' faces. One looked half-dead, sallow and pocked, like he’d crawled out of a sickbed.
The other, jittery as a rodent, his eyes darting everywhere.
She stored them away, adding them to the growing list of bastards who’d dared lay hands on her.
They didn’t spare her a glance as they walked away, talking amongst themselves like she wasn’t even there, their crude laughter looping down the tunnel.
Elara clutched the clothes tighter to her waist, pressing the bundle against the small jar of salve she’d hidden earlier.
If Saria had noticed the awkward bulge beneath the fabric, she hadn’t said a damn thing.
And now, as Elara sat with her heart still racing from the thrill of having smuggled it away, she couldn’t help but wonder if the healer might have simply given it to her, had she only thought to ask.
Pushing herself up from the floor, Elara placed the stack of clothes on the cot, her gaze darting around to ensure no one was watching.
She grabbed the pants first, sliding them on in one smooth motion.
They were soft, thicker than anything she’d worn in weeks—months, maybe.
With a swift yank, she peeled off the thin chemise and reached for the tunic, followed by the chunky, knitted wool sweater that carried a faint scent of rosemary and mint.
The smell pulled her to a stop.
Such a small, simple thing, yet it steadied her for a brief moment. It brought to mind her room in the Sanct—the herbs she had hung by the window, and the gentle way the sun filtered through the curtains. And for just a second, she could almost feel it again. That sense of safety.
Elara closed her eyes. She knew the Sanct had never really been safe. Not truly. Not in the way she’d wanted to believe. It had all been a lie—a fragile illusion she’d clung to before the veil over her eyes had ripped apart.
Still, for a moment, it had felt like safety, and some part of her longed for that lie.
The socks came last. Wool again. Soft and warm, and she sat down on the cot, pulling them on one by one. She could have cried at the feel of them, how they instantly heated her cold, aching feet. But as she slipped on the second sock, something hard pressed against her toes, smooth like glass.
She stopped short, then tore the sock free and dug inside until her fingers closed around something small and solid. A vial.
Her breath hitched as she uncorked it, hands shaking. Inside was a tightly rolled scrap of parchment. She unwrapped it, nearly dropping the tiny pill that slipped free.
Her eyes scanned the words hastily scrawled on the note: “Wait for the signal, they come in threes, then swallow this. Make sure you’ve got an audience when it kicks in. Don’t hold back on the theatrics.”
A shiver traced her spine as she stared at the pill. And here she’d thought the day couldn’t get worse. Elara let out a sharp breath, slid the note back into the vial with the pill, and shoved it into her pocket.
She was tugging the sock back on when a low, resonant growl sounded behind her, stopping her cold. Elara spun, locking eyes with the Fae. His gaze burned with a fierce focus as it swept over her, lingering long enough to make her skin prickle.
“Rinne tú go maith, Tank yeh.7”
A laugh burst from Elara despite everything she had just been through. She shook her head, a wry smile tugging at her lips as her hand pressed to her chest, feeling the wild dance of her heart beneath the skin. “Elara,” she named herself.
His brows drew together, a question in his gaze. She extended her hand, pointing toward him. “Reynnar?” she asked. He nodded slowly, confirming her guess.
“Eilíara?”
His attempt to mimic her name raised goosebumps on her skin, a strange thrill coursing through her heart.
“Yes.”
“Tá sé deas bualadh leat, a Eilíara.8”
His words were as incomprehensible as ever, yet the sentiment he expressed seemed to bridge the gap between their languages, and a strange, profound connection blossomed in that space.
“I’m glad to have met you, Reynnar.”
His answering smile flashed white in the dim light, the sharp tips of his fangs glinting like hidden daggers. Warmth stirred in her chest—an unexpected ember against cold stone, iron bars, and the shadow of an uncertain future.
The vial pressed against her leg as Reynnar cast her one last look before vanishing into his cell. A spark of hope flared in Elara's chest.
In this wretched place, she was not alone.