43. Chapter Forty-Two #2
Dell’s screams cut off abruptly, and the scents of charred flesh and smoke assaulted my senses. His body collapsed, an awful, ruined mass that made me gag.
Horror filled me. I’d killed him. My magic had killed him.
I choked on bile, half-collapsing in my own blood.
Tears tracked down my cheeks. What have I done?
Archer and I were doomed, all because I’d taken rather than saved a life.
Another thought chased that: I’m bleeding out. I’m going to die. Archer is going to die with me.
I forced myself to sit up. As long as I was alive, there was hope. A chance Archer and I could escape.
That desperate thought pushed me onward, crawling on my knees, each movement sheer agony. Only one arm was useful. I cradled my injured one against my body, pressing my fingers against the wound in my stomach in a vain attempt to staunch the flow of blood.
If only my own fire could burn me, I thought. I could have cauterized my wounds.
The world flashed in dizzying colors around me, everything indistinct and blurry and incoherent.
Until my vision focused on a magical painting of a female—one that seemed not to be for entertainment, but more like a memory forever playing on repeat, saved in time. She threw her head back and laughed, familiar emerald eyes alight with joy and wild, unbound hair curling over her shoulders.
I slammed my hand against the wall beneath it, stretching for the piece of chipped stone that sparked a memory.
If you find the chipped piece of stone in the wall under a painting of Queen Acacia, an entrance to these tunnels will open.
I’ve used it when doing research when I want to get to Archer’s rooms faster. In case you ever want to surprise him…
The wall creaked inward, dimness awaiting me.
Noises echoed somewhere in the distance, warning me that Dell’s burned body would soon be discovered.
Inch by agonizing inch, I forced my body into the tunnel, wondering morbidly if this was to become my tomb. As the door swung shut upon me and I forced myself forward a little more, I collapsed in darkness.
Archer
“It’s your father’s orders,” Grey was explaining to me quietly outside the prison cell.
They’d brought in a suspected phoenix shifter, imprisoning the male before they’d questioned or tested him.
When Grey had summoned me to the dungeons rather than joining me for another hunt in the city that morning, I’d immediately been on high alert.
Now, I felt sick. “He said we can’t take any chances, that anyone who was the slightest bit suspicious or was reported by a neighbor had to immediately be taken into custody. ”
I studied the metal bars surrounding the nearest cell.
Those were new—Grey had explained on his way down here that they’d been added to several cells meant to hold the most dangerous of prisoners.
But the influence could be felt to an extent outside the cells, meaning an extremely high number of forget-me-nots must have been infused in the bars.
Usually, one had to be touching the forget-me-nots for them to drain all memory of magic.
It was a different agony, a heavy suppression of one’s ability to wield their magic, like the memory of how to access it grew slippery, but the memory of what one’s power did remained.
In some ways, I thought it was worse—maybe less painful, but it taunted one more to remember their magic but be unable to wield it.
The forget-me-not shackles erased that entirely, a small mercy.
Since the guards had to cope with pain, their shifts were shorter now, letting them switch out more frequently.
Interesting that Father had not included me in any of the meetings that had been involved in deciding and planning this out.
“Why?” I ground out. “We can test anyone easily enough. If you remove the prisoner from this bloody cage and we get out of the dungeons, I can use my magic to know instantly if he is innocent. Just like before.”
Grey’s pallor was ashier than usual, but maybe that was the darkness of the dungeons, a trick of the torchlight playing across his complexion.
But there was no denying the pain gleaming in his dark eyes, and I didn’t think it was just from the forget-me-nots.
He was no stranger to physical pain. Sighing, he swept a hand through his close-cropped curls.
“He insisted that, with two recent escapes and our failure to track down those death-lovers yet, we must be missing something. That perhaps they’ve found a way to trick us, some sort of illusion that makes them look as if flame burns them.
” He shrugged. “He said we have to be more cautious.”
White-hot anger spiked through my body as I turned, scanning the slumped form of the chained male against the far wall of his cell.
His pain was evident in the pinch of his brows, the sweat beading on his temples.
“Grey,” I whispered, not really wanting the other guards posted down the stone passage to hear.
“Even if he is a phoenix, his magic won’t work to protect him from burning.
There’s no telling if he’s innocent down here.
It’s impossible. He’s just…sentenced to suffer.
” I swallowed. “And then what? Is he meant to be executed? This isn’t right. ”
“Supposedly, once his magic is purged in there, he’s meant to be publicly tested.
The king said it’s unlikely any phoenix trickery could survive this extensive exposure.
” Grey’s expression tightened. “Their very nature will remain, though. They’ll be able to shift, to resist fire…
to show what they really are when tested. ”
“But any additional magic or potions they may have influenced themselves with…he is hoping they will have worn off?”
Grey dipped his head in acknowledgement.
“There’s no proof they’re consuming potions. This seems like a way to prolong their suffering.” I frowned.
Grey shrugged. “He insists we need to be cautious. He can’t forget the prophecy that says one of them will destroy you…destroy the whole royal family.”
My chest tightened. He’s getting more paranoid. And crueler.
Every beat of my heart felt slow, heavy. My skin was crawling, my anxious thoughts ramping up in the presence of all these forget-me-nots. I was desperate to leave, and I could only imagine how much worse it was for the male who’d been trapped down here since last night.
“You could stop it.”
The quiet proclamation was so sudden, so soft, for a moment I wasn’t sure my friend had spoken. My eyes snapped to Grey’s. He watched me steadily.
“You have far more guards and soldiers loyal to you than the king does,” he went on, still in that soft tone. “We would stand with you, if you defy your father.”
I felt like a fool, buoyed with wild hope and dread all at once.
The passing thought had occurred to me, but I’d never believed it would succeed.
Some people believed in me, but many of our courtiers were content to lose themselves in gluttony and excess and drunkenness, I assumed they’d prefer my father’s rule than a violent coup where I demanded we protect our entire kingdom.
And despite our complicated relationship, I wasn’t particularly interested in patricide, either.
But Father was going too far. Tormenting phoenix shifters who’d done nothing worse than exist was bad enough, I knew that now.
Now, even Grey or any other guard dedicated to protecting us from the so-called fire demon threat could see it was too much.
And they’d already questioned Father’s decision to cut off aid to the rest of the kingdom.
Grey’s confident words made something blossom inside me, something that felt dangerously like hope. The things I could do for Emberglade, for the phoenixes, if he was no longer…
Pain slammed into my shoulder, so vicious and sudden that I staggered.
“Your Highness, are you all right?” Grey asked, seizing my arm to help keep me from keeling over.
Blinking away the haze that had fallen over me, I glanced over my shoulder. No one was there.
I swallowed thickly against the waves of pain emanating down my arm. When I lifted it to inspect it in the dim light, there were no visible wounds. “Do forget-me-nots start to give you physical pain in…specific spots like you’ve just been stabbed?” I asked, half-joking.
Grey stared at me, his brow furrowed in obvious concern. “Maybe you need to go lie down.”
More pain pierced my stomach, stealing my breath. It was hard to think, hard to see clearly.
Archer.
The thought came in Isoria’s voice, frantic and weak. My entire body went rigid, on high alert, as I realized that the pain I was feeling was her pain, shared through our bond. Panic seized my chest in its icy grip.
Archer. Archer.
“Forgive me, Grey,” I choked out, “I think you’re right and I need to go.”
“Do you need assistance, Your Highness?”
I waved him away. “Ensure that male isn’t mistreated. That he’s set free.”
Then I was gone, the dungeon passages a blur until I was out of the oppressive weight of their atmosphere.
And yet, that didn’t alleviate the agony, not when it was tied to Isoria and whatever she was experiencing.
Only sheer force of will and my terror for Isoria kept me going, moving at a much faster pace than should have been possible.
It’s all in your head, I thought to myself. Just pain. Not actual wounds.
Isoria, I called through the bond in my panic. What’s happened? Where are you?
No response.
I was frantic, mind spinning with panic and pain.
Umbryon’s starfire, I cursed. Please, Isoria. Answer me!