Chapter 36
The world returned to Elara in fragments. Not the sharp, piercing pain she expected, but a dull awareness, like waking from a long, dreamless sleep.
She blinked, slowly, disoriented. There should’ve been pain—a deep, agonizing throb that came with every breath, every twitch of her muscles. She knew she’d been beaten, should have been aching from head to toe. But there was…nothing.
Nothing but the cold. The biting chill of the floor pressed against her back, sending a numbing shiver through her body.
Her eyes fluttered open, but the light wasn’t harsh, more like a distant glow seeping through her eyelids.
She blinked again, sluggish, as her hands moved instinctively to her body.
Her fingers traced over her clothes—clean.
Unfamiliar. Her skin, scrubbed, smooth, untouched by the grime and sweat of before.
Her pulse quickened, panic flaring. Someone had undressed her, washed her. Changed her. While she’d been unconscious. The thought made her sick, acid rising in her throat as her breaths came faster.
She tried to move, rolling her shoulders, shifting her weight.
Everything felt… muted.
That’s when it hit her—someone had given her something.
A tonic, maybe. Something to numb the pain.
Elara grimaced, pushing herself up.
"You’re awake."
That voice. The low, smug drawl that made her stomach turn. Her heart kicked against her ribs as her eyes shot open, blurry shapes coming into focus. She was in the throne room, laid out like a broken offering at the base of the dais. Osin stood over her.
"You were quite the sight, lying there in the dirt," he continued, amusement lacing his voice. "Though you clean up well, I must admit. We couldn't have you meeting your fate looking so disheveled. Don’t worry," Osin whispered, "I was gentle."
Elara’s teeth clenched, an ache shooting through her jaw.
Her gaze locked with Osin’s ice-blue eyes—cold and unfeeling, like the surface of a frozen lake, dangerous in its stillness.
He stood tall, dressed in pristine black, the picture of refined menace.
He was every bit the monster beneath his refined veneer—a stunning, lethal creature masquerading as a gentleman.
Her pulse thrummed against the frilly lavender fabric of her gown, its surface a sea of delicate periwinkle petals and ridiculous layers of pouf and billow.
Osin’s cold features softened into a polite smile, the kind that sent a chill racing down her spine.
"It has come to my attention that you've engaged in some unsanctioned activities in the Pit.
" He raised a pale brow. "Even developed a soft spot for those .
. . things. But what troubles me most, is that you would betray your own kind to help them. "
Osin’s grip was firm as he yanked Elara to her feet, her legs wobbling, the sudden movement sending a fresh wave of dizziness through her. Her eyes dropped to the ground, heart sinking when she saw them—soft satin slippers in place of her boots. A deliberate choice. So she couldn’t run.
He released her, stepping back with a theatrical sigh, his expression falling into an exaggerated mask of disappointment.
“It seems you’ve forgotten your place once again.
But, fear not, I've devised the perfect reminder for you.” With a casual flick of his wrist, a snap echoed through the space, and the grand iron doors flew open, unleashing a flood of Legionnaires into the room.
And there, amidst the sea of uniforms, stood Dario.
Elara's eyes widened, breath caught in her throat—no.
"You've proven yourself untrustworthy in Verdara, and now, it seems even the Pit isn't enough to contain you.
So, I pondered: What if I conscripted someone dear to you into my service?
Perhaps that might encourage a more cooperative spirit.
" His gaze swept over her, feasting on the dread he conjured.
"Judging by your reaction, it appears I was correct. "
A lump rose in her throat as she met Dario’s gaze. The warmth she once found in his soft brown eyes was gone—snuffed out, as if someone had stolen the light from them. His sandy-blonde hair looked dull, ashen against the cold gleam of the Legionnaire armor. An empty vessel encased in iron.
He looked away, his gaze skittering as if her stare burned.
Osin leaned in close to whisper in her ear.
"Imagine the games we could play, you and I, if you simply chose to behave.
" His words were velvet-coated venom as his finger traced a chilling path down her throat, pausing at the fluttering of her pulse.
She clamped her eyes shut. Imagined snapping his finger, twisting his arm, breaking his neck.
“You know," he continued, “it was Edgar who thought it wise to keep you away from the capital all this time.” Her eyes snapped open, and his grin widened. “Though now, I’m beginning to think that was a miscalculation. Years apart have made you so difficult.” He clicked his tongue. “I can’t help but wonder if the priest had a part in shaping you into this disloyal little creature. And if, that had been his plan all along. Traitors,” he mused, “they seem to be everywhere these days.”
Rumblings through the guard pulled Osin's gaze. "Ah, yes. Ivan," he greeted with an air of delight.
The Hunter stepped out from the formation of soldiers. Though he bowed his head in deference to Osin, his eyes remained fixed on Elara.
“Forgive my lapse in manners; I should give credit where it’s due.
” Osin placed a heavy hand on the Hunter’s shoulder.
“Ivan here came up with the ingenious plan to snatch the commander of the Verdaran guard right from under their noses. I thought one of the Druids might suffice, but he assured me this guard would be the one to sway you.”
The words hit her like a punch to the gut, knocking the air from her lungs, stoking the fire already raging in her chest. She glared at the Hunter.
Yes, Dario had lied. Betrayed her. The raw ache of it still fresh, but beneath the anger, there was something else.
A reluctant understanding. She had done the same to Rolfe—twisted truths and bent trust to survive.
It was a brutal world. Dog eat dog. She knew that better than anyone.
Dario, for all his faults, had done what he had to do.
And she got that. Even if it hurt. Even if the betrayal still pulsed like an open wound.
The pain didn’t go away, it never would, but she understood him in a way she wished she didn’t have to.
Elara held her breath as Dario stepped forward and, after a moment's hesitation, sank to one knee in a gesture of fealty that twisted the knife deeper in her heart.
"It is my honor to serve you, Lord Sovereign.
For the realm and the ruler." His voice carried a calm resignation, but his eyes told a different story—stormy and restless beneath the surface.
The Legionnaires shouted in unison, "By Osin's command!" their voices merging into a powerful echo that filled the chamber.
"Stand, soldier," Osin said. "I have just the assignment for you."
Elara took a small step toward Dario, her fingers twitching with the need to touch him, to pull him back from whatever edge Osin was about to shove him over.
"Now, now, pet," Osin's voice chided, gesturing dismissively toward her face. "There's no need for such theatrics. Adhere to the rules, and our dear Dario won't have to suffer."
Elara’s resolve faltered as she stole another glance at him—but he wasn’t there. Not really. His gaze slid past her, through her, as if she didn’t exist at all. As if he was already gone.
Then it hit her. Osin wasn’t just trying to break her. He would use them all. Everyone who had ever shown her kindness. Everyone she cared about. They were his leverage.
A weapon to bend her to his will.
"My lord," the Hunter said, pausing thoughtfully. "Might I suggest another incentive for the Hallowed?"
Osin raised a brow. "Go on."
"I set out for Bravell tomorrow," the Hunter murmured, inching closer to the Lord Sovereign, “and for this venture, I find myself in need of a lure."
A hint of amusement played on Osin’s lips. "Your talent for sinking to such lows never ceases to entertain." His gaze flicked to Elara. "Very well. You may use her as bait. But," he added with a wave of his hand, "no marks. I'm rather fond of that face."
Elara huddled in the farthest corner of her cell, knees drawn to her chest, arms wrapped around herself as if they could form a barrier against the hell she was trapped in.
Her fists clenched so tightly that her nails bit into her palms, tiny crescents of pain.
Hold it together, whispered the last small corner of her mind that still had fight left.
But the cracks were already showing, and everything was spilling through.
Where were they—Avis, Algernon?
Were they safe in Verdara, far from this nightmare? Or had Osin already plucked them from their lives, just as he had Dario? Her thoughts spiraled. Avis had said Dario ran—but when had Osin found him? Or had the Hunter dragged him back? Maybe even that same night. The night he’d taken her.
Gods—had Dario been in the Pit all this time?
A ragged scream escaped her clenched teeth before she could stop it. Poison—that’s what she was. A curse on anyone who got too close.
They all suffered for it, bled for it, died for it.
Her chest heaved as she clawed at her throat, desperate to tear the ache away, to scrape off the guilt that stuck to her like tar.
"Eilíara."
Her name—spoken in that deep, familiar voice—cracked through her like a lightning strike. She turned, her curls whipping around as her eyes widened. Reynnar. He was here.