11. Barrett
BARRETT
“ Y ou don’t have to remain silent, you know,” Lucia said as she worked to sharpen one of her throwing knives. “You can talk.”
I inspected my dagger, turning the blade over. It had been two days since I’d left her in the hallway; she hadn’t stayed away for long. “What exactly do you want with me?”
She didn’t react to my question, her attention fixed on her blade held against the grindstone, her foot pumping the peddle, turning the stone as she sharpened it.
“There is nothing I want from you,” she said finally, lifting the blade to inspect it.
She’s lying. Micah’s lying. They always want something.
“I knew your father, Elias.”
I winced inwardly, my grip tightening on the hilt of my dagger.
She continued to focus on her blade. “I didn’t like him.”
The admission cut through me, nearly shattering the mask of indifference I had donned for decades. An odd quiet followed and I realized I had stopped working on my dagger, as had she. She sat up, the stone wheel rolling to a slow stop.
“He always made decisions that benefited him instead of our people,” she said, sitting back and wiping the sweat from her brow with the back of her forearm. “We fought during The Council meetings often over the most trivial of matters.”
“In your past life?” The words slipped from my lips without my permission.
Her eyes softened as she turned to me and nodded. “If you could tell me what truly happened that night, I might be able to help you.”
Something inside me recoiled the moment she pried, fear and anger flooding my system. There was a part of me that wanted to trust her, wanted to believe I could trust someone after all these decades. Another part of me couldn’t. The last time I’d opened up to someone about what happened...
She was dead.
She was dead, and I...
The wooden door leading out of the prison chambers groaned as it opened, spilling light into the dark cell, and I flinched away from it. It was the first light I’d seen in Gods knew how many days.
How long had it been since she’d taken her last breath? How long had it been since I’d heard her voice?
I love you most.
I didn’t even have her last letter, didn’t even have a portrait of her. It had all been lost, every scrap, all proof of her existence wiped from the face of this realm in a matter of moments.
“Barrett Stratos,” the guard said, his voice sharp. I didn’t spare him a look, my eyes held captive by the delicate gold chain hanging from my wrist. It was all I had left in the hollow, numb wake of what had happened.
How had it gone so badly so quickly?
“You have a visitor,” the guard said, kicking the bars before me.
“Gods, you smell terrible.” The voice was familiar and full of pity. I lifted my gaze to find Jissena, Atticus’ bonded, standing from the other side of the bars, her face full of a kind of sorrow.
I couldn’t even feel the flames surge within me at the sight of her, my magic brought to heel by the warded iron shackles on my wrists and the bars caging me in.
It felt wrong, like a violation, to be cut off from my magic.
It had always been there, even if I couldn’t use it.
It was as if they had taken away a part of me.
As if I hadn’t lost enough.
My chest swelled with fury so hot, the room should be set ablaze as I remembered all the things her bonded had done.
“What do you want?” I growled .
She nodded to the guard, taking the lantern from him before he stepped out and shut the door behind him, cutting off the light of day I’d craved for too many endless nights.
Her knees met the stone floor. I stiffened, watching her movements, but she lifted the strap of a satchel over her head and pulled a small loaf of bread and a waterskin from within it.
I swallowed at the sight of it, my stomach hollowed out from lack of food.
They’d withheld food and water, only giving me the bare minimum needed to keep me alive until my trial.
“I want to help,” she said, her voice soft, sympathetic as she held the bread and waterskin out to me.
I stumbled toward her and grabbed the waterskin before downing the water, coughing as it hit my parched throat. She settled back, resting her hands on her lap as she watched me tear into the bread and drink the water desperately.
“Why would you want to help me? Atticus is your bonded,” I said, peering at her as I bit into the bread. The lingering warmth from the oven hit my tongue, and I groaned at the taste.
“I know what your father was truly like,” she said, her voice softening. I couldn’t even bring myself to react. “I know what happened that night. Poor Calliope. She didn’t deserve that.”
“No, she didn’t.”
“I’m disgusted by what Atticus did,” she said, her voice cracking, her eyes glistening. “I overheard him speaking with one of his guards about it. If he knew I was here, I don’t want to think what he would do to me, but I can’t sit back and watch what he’s doing.”
“What’s he doing?” I asked.
“He somehow convinced The Council of a terrible lie.” My blood iced over as she spoke, her voice shaking, tears dotting her eyelashes. “He’s going to testify against you, paint you as the one responsible for your family’s deaths to clear his name of his involvement.”
My hands balled into fists. I didn’t care about Father and Mother. I’d take the responsibility for what happened to them. They deserved it...but Calliope...
Every bit of truth, every bit of what Father had done to us behind closed doors, how he had wronged so many... It would be covered up; Atticus would see to that. I had no doubts about it, and I would take the fall for him.
It should be him in this cell, rotting away, up for execution for aiding in Father’s corruption, for his abuse of power, for the abuse he had inflicted on us our entire lives.
“They won’t let you speak at the trial,” she said, and the air halted in my lungs. “Your father had too many friends in influential positions. Many have called for your immediate execution, but the laws require a trial be held with evidence presented.”
Evidence that Atticus had likely tainted.
“Atticus is a witness, but so are you,” she explained.
And yet, I would be left without a voice, without a way to defend myself, to tell them the truth of what had happened. What was the point? Atticus had far more connections than I did. I was nobody compared to him, a murderer in the eyes of many.
“If you allow me, I will speak on your behalf,” she said, her voice near pleading.
I stiffened. “Why would you do that? You said so yourself: you’re terrified of what Atticus would do to you if he learned you were even here. In speaking out in my defense, you would be placing a target on your back.”
Guilt and sadness dulled her eyes. “And if I sat back and watched you die for doing what should’ve been done a long time ago, I would deserve infinite torment in the depths of Tartarus.”
“You know what truly happened that night?” I asked, leaning against the bars.
She swallowed and nodded. “I only need you to sign this so I may testify on your behalf. I can share your side.”
“Why would they allow you to testify for me if they won’t allow me to speak? You weren’t there.”
“Because I overheard Atticus,” she said, glancing back and forth down the hall through the dungeons before pulling a folded piece of parchment from her pocket.
“I can testify not what you shared, but what Atticus did in his own words. Then, I can share your side of the story. This gives me the ability to speak on your behalf, to represent you.”
I narrowed my eyes on her before looking down at it.
Fuck, was this my only option? If what she said was true, I would be walking into a death sentence, stripped of any ability to defend myself.
It would be Atticus’ word and his word alone.
Fucking bastard. I wished he had burned with the rest of them, wished I had watched him turn to ashes for what he had done.
Jissena remained silent as I contemplated my options.
I had none.
“I did murder them,” I admitted. “My father and mother, their guards. They burned.”
“I know,” she said, her voice wavering. “And they deserve to burn a thousand times more for how much they made you suffer.”
I looked down at the piece of parchment. There wasn’t much to read. It essentially stated that I gave Jissena the ability to testify on my behalf, to speak for me, as she said it would.
“Together we could put Atticus in this cell,” I said, glancing at her, and I caught a hint of hesitation. “What would you do if he gets thrown in here and you’re left alone to deal with the fallout?”
She lifted her chin, her eyes lighting with a sort of determination. “I would sleep with a clear conscience.”
“You were given an unfair trial,” Lucia said, her silver eyes dulling as they slid from mine. “The system was manipulated, and our laws failed you. ”
To say they had failed me was an understatement. They hadn’t failed me, but they had failed Calliope. They failed Vesa, who, for all I knew, had been left to rot in the forest, her memory dishonored.
“What do you know of it?” I asked, arching a brow.
She shook her head. “Not enough. Your file had an unauthorized modification, and the more I look into it, the more things don’t add up. Portions of the file are missing.”
My grip tightened on my dagger. Of course, someone had tampered with it. I stared down at the blade in my hands, my skin heating. “You told Micah I was up for execution.”
She nodded. “When the Tabularius, Salwa, looked into it further, it wasn’t part of your original sentencing. It was added recently without authorization. Damien didn’t authorize it. He had no knowledge of it, and neither did The Council.”
When I didn’t speak, she leaned in, reaching out to rest a hand atop mine. “Who wants you dead, Barrett?”