Chapter 49
ACKER
The dungeon is fucking atrocious. There’s no light.
The only sound is the prisoners stalking back and forth within the tiny confines of their cells, which shakes the chains bolted into the walls.
There are only wails when the madness of their captivity becomes too great to bear.
During the summers, it’s usually as hot as an oven down here.
In winter, it’s bone-chillingly cold. No matter what season, it’s always wet.
Rain and melted ice seeps through the ground under the paved stones of the courtyard, and drips in steady rivulets down the walls of the dungeon.
And holy fuck, the smell.
Light from the oil lamp in my hand barely allows me to see more than a few feet ahead. The cells are laid out in rows, some of them have four and five men per cage. Their expletives bounce off the stone walls, creating a cacophony of hatred echoing all around me.
“—saw your father in here earlier…” one of the men taunts.
Another continues the jeering in the next cell. “Such a small man, it’d be such an easy kill.”
Yeah, I’d like to see it.
But it’s not the angry voices that bother me the most; it’s the pointed stares of the quiet ones that bore into the side of my head that have me averting my gaze. The women and, gods, the children. None younger than their teens, but still too young to be subjected to this nightmare.
My stomach roils as I maintain my steady gait, focusing on my mission. I finally lay eyes on the woman I’m looking for; Irina sits in the corner of a cell by herself, arms banded around her bent knees, head tucked into them.
“Beau,” I call, bending down to her level.
She peeks over her knees, eyes squinting against the little bit of light my lamp gives off before they’re able to adjust. Setting down the lamp, I retrieve the apple from my pocket and extend my arm through the bars toward her.
Leaning forward, she takes the fruit from my hand, still angling her head away from any onlookers from the cells beside hers.
I want to tell her something encouraging, but some of the prisoners are here by my sister’s hand, and they’d love to sell a lie if it awards them an inch of freedom.
She bites into her apple, and I know without a doubt she won’t last long if I don’t find a way to get her out.
Taking my lamp, I continue down the row of cells until I reach the end, then I take the turn onto the next row. My father will know I came to speak with Zion regardless of his warning, so as I pass one of the guards making his rounds, I dip my chin at him in a show of respect.
I find Zion in a corner cell, shackled to the wall by all four limbs. He recognizes me instantly, sitting as far forward as the chains will let him. Dried blood has matted the hair around his temple and the gash over his eye looks like it’s going to scar.
“Ace,” he says, but there’s an iciness to his voice.
Rightfully so. Guilt clogs my throat as I struggle to find the words to say.
Just as I’ve done with Irina, I’ve royally fucked everything up when it comes to him.
There’s nothing I can say that will suffice.
Not after I pleaded for his father to take a seat at the council.
Tyreek was a good man, and that’s the exact reason I petitioned so hard for him.
It’s the very same reason he’s dead right now.
“I was away,” I tell him, unable to voice the rest: that I would have prevented his father’s death if I could have. I suspect my father waited for my departure on purpose.
He doesn’t respond, eyes masked in shadow, but the anger in his gaze is felt nonetheless.
I turn the dial on the lamp, lowering the wick and its flame with it.
Removing the blade from the lowest strap on my chest, I slide it under the bars of the cell and sling it across the floor toward him.
He’s able to hide the weapon under the sole of his shoe.
I give him the same warning I did Irina. “Soon.”
He’s cautious, but gives a single nod, letting me know he understands.
He doesn’t trust me, though. Not yet.
On my way out, I slip the apple I had originally intended for Zion to a young girl in one of the first cells I saw upon entering.
He wouldn’t eat it, with how little he trusts me, out of fear of it being poisoned.
The girl is just as hesitant to take it, but the woman who I suspect is her mother grabs it quickly, hiding it from sight.
She gives me her thanks with a clipped nod, understanding the transaction needs to be quick.
The sky is fading to dark when I ascend the stairs and come face to face with Hallis. “What are you doing?” he asks.
“Don’t worry,” I say, stepping into the courtyard. It’s been cleaned, but the smell still lingers. My father always had a penchant for public executions but doing them en masse makes bile coat the back of my tongue. “My father already knows I intended to speak with Zion.”
He lets out a breath. “And?” he asks.
I shake my head. “He doesn’t trust me.”
“Your father or Zion?”
“Both.” He falls in step with me. “Were you looking for me?”
“Yes,” he says. “Your father requests your presence in the sitting room.”
Fantastic.
I stop him before the place doors. We didn’t get to talk last night, not wanting to give the soldiers outside my room too much fodder when reporting back to my father, but I need to ask, “Are you good?”
He’s taken off guard by my question before he sobers some. “I’m good, Ace. We’ll figure it out, just as we always have.”
Nodding, I slap him on the back as we part ways when we enter the palace doors.
I cut under the stairs, taking the winding hall toward my father’s sitting room, and I steel myself for what I’m walking into, stopping outside of the door when I near it.
Nothing good is going to come from this meeting.
I finger the string of mangi stones around my throat.
My father calls as soon as I step inside. “Ace.”
He’s standing among the members of the council in front of the fire.
The majority of them, anyway, minus a few.
Tyreek’s absence was to be expected, but there are more missing.
The last of the common-born men remaining on the council is Johannes, and he’s pouring himself a drink from my father’s bar cart.
When I look at him and meet his eye, he’s quick to look away.
My father waves me toward the seating area in front of the hearth. “Come, have a drink with us.”
I accept the glass of dark liquor from the maidservant, taking a tentative sip as I sink into one of the empty chairs. My back is to the room, and I can’t help but feel it was intentional. Chryse sits to the left of me and he barely spares me a passing glance.
There’s one notable absence, however. “Are we all in attendance?” I ask.
“If you’re inquiring about Wren,” he father remarks, the glass in his hand already empty. “He has been asked to step back from court proceedings for the time being.”
Lord Draken continues. “False messages were being spread across the territories that made his presence at court a little … uncomfortable.”
I cross an ankle over my knee, balancing my glass on the arm of the chair. “What kind of messages?”
“The kind I don’t take lightly,” my father says. “And the council agreed it was best he took a leave of absence. At least, until the rumors die down.”
“Is he still part of the alliance?” I ask.
“Of course,” my father declares, as if my suggestion that he might not be was silly. “He’s currently readying the battalions we have stationed closer to the city after we received reports of Evelyn and her men encroaching into our territory from the west.”
Well, shit. “Not ideal,” I say, noncommittally.
My father smirks, sharing looks with some of the other men, an inside joke passing between them that I’m not privy to.
“I actually have a present for you,” my father announces, gathering everyone’s attention.
“What is it?” I ask, deadpan. “A new crown for your favorite child?”
My father nods to Lord Draken, who stands. “You’ve gone above and beyond to help us secure Beau. She’s an important asset, and because of that sacrifice, the majority of the territories will be united once again under one law.”
This is interesting. “But…” I draw out the word, prompting my father to continue.
He grins. “But your return with your Match has set off an additional conflict in a war we were preparing to end, and that makes the council nervous.”
“As well as my own council,” Chryse interjects.
“Hm,” I hum, watching Lord Draken cross the room to the door. “You said ‘present,’ but this kind of sounds like a reprimand.” He knocks on the door—a signal.
“Oh, no,” my father says, eyes alight with something I don’t like. “You’re going to like this gift, I promise.”
Two soldiers carry a man through the door.
Or more like drag, as he’s unable to get his feet underneath him long enough to successfully walk.
A bag has been placed over his head, his clothes nondescript and threadbare, and his hands tied before him.
When the soldiers heave him to his knees in front of me, he groans in pain.
Planting my feet, I sit up, looking to my father for direction.
“Go ahead,” he says with an encouraging nod.
I reach out and grip the burlap sack with my hand, yanking it from the man’s head, and I’m met with the face of someone I’ve wanted dead since I was thirteen.
Vad.
The member of my training battalion who gave away our location to the Roison encampment.
He’s the very reason we were ambushed. All but six of us died.
Myself and five other soldiers in training, not including Vad himself.
He’s also the man who put a wooden arrow through my Match’s heart and nearly killed her.
“Well?” my father prompts.
Leaning back in my seat, I swallow the entirety of my drink. “Where’d you find him? He’s evaded me for over a decade.”