Chapter 23
“Ellaryn.”
The voice was small, fragile, but it reached her through iron and stone all the same.
She exhaled slowly before answering. “Yes, Sailen,” she murmured, each breath a careful negotiation. Her body ached as though it had been dismantled and stitched back together by unsteady hands—pieces misplaced, others missing entirely.
Breathing hurt. A weight pressed heavy against her chest, phantom and cruel, like the King’s hand still cupped around her lungs, squeezing.
“Are you okay?” he asked again.
The question she had lied about more times than she could count.
“I’m alright,” she said simply, between winces. The cold crept deeper now, rattling her bones. At least the heat had disappeared. Xander’s fire had finally burned itself out.
No embers. Just pain. Relentless, bone-deep pain.
“Are you really going to get us out of here?”
Hope threaded his words, thin but luminous. She couldn’t see him, but she knew it was there, burning stubbornly in his eyes.
“I’m going to try,” she whispered into the wall.
When she leaned closer, pressing her ear to the stone, she heard his teeth clacking softly. “Are you cold?” she asked. “What happened to my cloak?”
There was a pause.
“The knights took it,” Sailen said at last, his voice cracking. “They thought I stole it.”
Ellaryn shut her eyes.
“Did they hurt you?” she asked quietly, nails biting into her palms.
Silence.
That was answer enough.
“Which knight?” she asked, her jaw tightening so hard she thought it might break.
“I don’t know,” he murmured. She could picture him slumped against the wall—small, shaking, trying to be brave for her. The cold clinging to every word and rage flared sharp and bright in her chest. She wanted to kill whoever had touched him. Wanted to bare her teeth and tear the city apart for it.
“What did they look like?” she pressed, desperate to give her fury a shape.
“I don’t know,” Sailen repeated.
He was protecting her. Even now. Especially now.
“Okay,” she said softly, letting it go. For him.
But the urge remained—hot and vicious. She wanted to wrap him in her arms, to warm him, to wash the fear from his skin. To carry him out of this place and never let the King touch either of them again.
She wanted it so badly her chest ached with more than just the healing wounds that covered her.
Ellaryn knew she would sleep here tonight and possibly the night after that.
The King always condemned her to the cells once he was finished with her.
He preferred her this way—left alone with what he’d done, forced to let the cold and the dark settle into her bones while her body tried, and failed, to recover.
The Defiers had dragged her from the King’s playroom—his word for it, spoken once with a smile—as though she were already something spent. That was where he broke her into compliance, where obedience was carved into her with blades, with power, with relentless patience.
The playroom was a storey above the cells. Close enough that Sailen would have heard her wails through the stone and iron between them. The thought sat heavily in her chest.
The shackles greeted her again, familiar as old wounds.
Here, she was meant to remember.
To learn.
Her mind was less focused on what the King had tried to teach her in obedience, but on Xander. She was supposed to be meeting him tonight. One step closer to finding the source of the King’s magic.
One step closer to destroying it.
She had woken shackled to the cell wall, unaware of how much time had passed but thankful that her punishment was over. Time usually slipped away when the beatings grew particularly brutal. She would remain dead longer each time, as though it became harder for her to come back.
But, to her dismay, she always did.
The cells were as impregnable as the shadow wall that sealed Cinders from the world, and Ellaryn’s body felt as though it stood one careless breath away from breaking entirely.
The cold had settled deep into her bones and refused to leave.
She sat shivering, eyes swollen and bruised, her cheeks still burning with the echo of the King’s knuckles.
Crusted blood pulled tight across her chest where blades had slipped between her ribs and kissed her heart.
The skin there itched as it healed—slowly, stubbornly—new scars rising red and raw beneath the grime.
The bleeding had stopped, at least. And though the wounds were closing, the pain—faithful as ever—would linger long after, trailing her like a shadow she could not outrun.
She curled in on herself, breath shallow, knowing that tonight the plan would have to wait.
Knowing that every delay gave the King more time.
And time, in Cinders, was never kind.
* * *
Sleep claimed her only in fragments. Each time a nightmare tore her from it, her body jerked hard enough to make the shackles clang against the stone. The sound echoed too loudly in the dark, a reminder that she was not alone, even when no one was there.
Every waking took longer than the last. The dark pressed closer, heavier, until it felt as though it had weight. She squeezed her eyes shut, willing the shadows away, but they bent and curled behind her lids, reshaping themselves the moment she dared to look again.
She lay still, breath shallow, heart thudding.
The ache in Ellaryn’s chest was relentless, a constant thread she could not untangle. Around her, the low snoring of other prisoners punctured the silence, rough and grating like stone scraping stone. It broke up the emptiness, but offered no comfort.
She had told Sailen another story earlier, her voice soft and careful, and eventually he had fallen silent. She knew he was asleep—finally—when he stopped responding.
Now it was only her and her thoughts, coiled and sharp in the dark.
She forced herself to lie still, to will her mind away from the edges where grief and fear lurked.
She had broken too many times today, screamed until her lungs ached, and her throat burned raw.
She had bled for it, sweated for it, and now she refused to cry any more.
Pressing her hands against the cold stone, she hoped the dull weight of it would steady her. Hoped the dark would swallow her fully so she could rest, if only for a few stolen minutes.
But when Ellaryn opened her eyes, the darkness seemed to thrum.
For a heartbeat, she swore she saw movement—something shifting, sliding just beyond her vision.
Her chest tightened, pain shooting through her.
One of her ribs was broken—she knew that much—the searing agony flared every time she moved, heat radiating from the blackened bruise spreading across her side.
The iron manacles bit into her wrists, cold and unyielding. She couldn’t run. She couldn’t hide. Every instinct screamed at her to flee, but the chains held her fast.
There was someone there.
The air thickened, pressing against her skin, and the shadows in the corners of the cell seemed to bend toward her, waiting. Every nerve in her body coiled, and for a moment, she thought she might scream, but the sound caught in her throat.
“Ruin.”
A voice, familiar and low, whispered through the dark.
Ellaryn jerked back, the chains clanging harshly against the icy stone.
“It’s me… Xander,” he murmured, moving carefully, almost like she was a cornered animal.
“What the fuck are you doing here?” she hissed, anger spiking through the fear. “You need to leave—now.” Her voice cracked on the last word, betraying how close to breaking she still was.
“I was looking for you.” He said simply.
“Why?” Ellaryn questioned, her head pounding with every word.
“You didn’t turn up, I… I just wanted to see if you were okay,” he whispered. Though the cell was pitch black, she felt the air shift as he carefully settled beside her.
“I’m okay… You can go now,” she cut him off, forcing calm into her tone, though nerves seeped into every word.
“Are you?” His voice softened, edged with concern. It was as though he could see through the darkness—through her scars, through the weight she carried.
She stayed silent. He exhaled slowly.
“How did you even find me down here?” she asked, her voice barely more than a breath.
“When I did the process on you, I… added a small enchantment,” he admitted.
“You’re tracking me?” Ellaryn said, astonished.
“That makes it sound worse than it is,” Xander said quickly. “It only tells me if you’re in danger… or if something’s wrong. I needed a way to find you if the bond ever reacted badly.”
“Right,” she said with a sigh, wincing at the small movement.
Xander stiffened slightly at the sound. “It… er, flagged up earlier,” he admitted. “What happened?”
“Nothing I couldn’t handle,” Ellaryn said, between breaths. “You should go before someone notices,” she whispered, voice soft but firm.
“You’re hurt.” His hand brushed hers, barely grazing, yet it carried a warmth that made her chest twist. “I can heal you… if you’ll let me.”
She shook her head, and immediately regretted it. Pain detonated through her chest, unbearable. She clutched her side.
“No… the King will know,” Ellaryn muttered through gritted teeth. “He likes me like this. In pain. It’s supposed to teach me a lesson.” She let go of her head, forcing herself upright. “Would hate to spoil the fun in his punishment.”
He stared at her, eyes soft with sympathy.
“Let me at least take some of the pain,” he said, voice low, his gaze lingering on her.
Then, as if he noticed the uncertainty on her face. “The King won’t know.” He reassured.
“You can do that?” Ellaryn asked, surprised.
Xander nodded and held out his hand. She hesitated, only for a heartbeat, then took it.
He closed his eyes and breathed an incantation. Then warmth spread through her. Not invasive but comfortable. The agony in her chest dulled, retreating to the background. She could still feel it, but it no longer consumed her.
Xander let go of her hand gently and took a few steps back.
“Are you… okay?” she asked, concern lacing her voice.
“I’m fine,” he said, straightening, forcing the words out smoothly. “Are you?”
Ellaryn nodded, her gaze locked on his. “Where does it go?” she asked, awe in her tone. “The pain?”
“I don’t know.” He shook his head, his eyes just twinkling as he stretched a smile on his face. “I like to think it goes to someone more deserving.” He finished, and she held his stare.
Someone more deserving?
How could he possibly think there could be someone more deserving of pain than her? She was a killer. Served sentences in blood.
But he was looking at her like something that deserved saving.
Even so, she was thankful for the relief. “Thank you,” she whispered. “But now you have to go.”
“Okay,” he said softly, nodding.
Her throat tightened as she forced the next words out. “But… there’s a boy in the cell next door. Don’t wake him, but… can you… heal him too?”
Her voice cracked on the last word, raw with worry. Pride didn’t matter. Bargaining didn’t matter. All that mattered was the thought of him—Sailen—hurting.
She wanted to ask Xander to take him far away, out of the King’s reach, but she couldn’t risk it.
If the King discovered he was gone, there would be more raids, more blood, and an even greater chance of Xander being found.
This was the least she could do. She had given him her cloak, and now he had paid for it.
“Please,” she whispered again, small and desperate.
“Alright,” he said, his voice steady, gentle, unwavering. And then, just like that, he was gone, leaving behind only the faint, lingering warmth of his presence and a silence so heavy it pressed into her chest.