28. Treachery
Chapter twenty-eight
Treachery
As we gather around the table for dinner, our bodies bruised and tired from the day’s sparring, there is a surprising lightness in the air. Ash, ever the one to stir the mood, tosses out joke after joke, spinning wild tales that have Zander and me laughing along.
It is refreshing to see both of them able to unwind, even if just for a moment. Ash has always had that carefree charm, but something shifted in Zander after today. He seems more open, more willing to let us into his space, acknowledging us for who we are.
It feels different, somehow, like a wall came down.
We pass a bottle around, filling one cup after another, letting the alcohol numb the soreness in our muscles and the lingering tension. The laughter flows freely, mixing with the buzz that begins to settle in.
We lose track of time, laughing until exhaustion finally creeps in. My head spins lightly, the world spinning a little too fast as the weight of the day catches up with us. With a final chuckle, we stumble upstairs, finding our way to our rooms, each of us eager for the sleep we’ve earned.
Sleep comes easily that night, my body surrendering to exhaustion almost immediately, but it is short-lived.
I wake suddenly, a hand pressing over my mouth with such force that no sound can escape. The darkness of the room is suffocating as I am lifted from the bed by someone I can’t see. They hold me against their chest, and I fight with everything I have, every move Zander taught me.
I kick and struggle, trying to break free. My mind races to scream, but it is useless.
In a desperate move, I manage to elbow them, hearing a soft grunt in response. But before I can react further, another figure appears in front of me, too fast for me to focus on.
Then, smack.
A punch lands with brutal force, and everything goes black.
Less than a minute. That’s how quickly it happened, and I was powerless to stop it.
I wake with a violent jolt, my head foggy, a bitter taste in my mouth, and my body cold and damp.
I can feel the rough stone beneath me, its coldness seeping into my skin.
I try to move, but the restraints on my wrists make it impossible.
Panic bubbles in my chest, but I fight to remain still, my breath shallow, trying to keep myself composed.
I force my blurry eyes open, scanning the darkness around me, looking for anything that can give me a clue as to where I am or how I can get out.
The stone walls offer no answers, only a sense of crushing confinement.
My ears strain to catch any sounds. A faint murmur echoes through the walls, voices too distant to make out.
I feel a surge of hope. Maybe Zander and Ash have found me.
Maybe they are close by, searching for a way in.
But the thought is quickly followed by dread.
Have they even noticed I am gone? Could they be in cells of their own? My mind spins with questions I can’t answer, and with every passing second, panic grips tighter, threatening to consume me.
I know how strong they are, how fiercely they fight. Even drained from the day's exhausting sparring, I know they won’t have gone down easily. The weight of the unknown, the terror of not knowing if they are even alive, is almost too much to bear.
I close my eyes tightly, trying to shut out the thoughts, the fear, but it won’t stop. What if I am alone in this?
The voices grow closer, and I quickly lay my head back down, closing my eyes, hoping they will think I am still unconscious. My heart hammers in my chest, and I force myself to breathe deeply, trying to steady my pulse. If I can just stay quiet, they might leave me alone.
Then a voice, close enough now that I can make out the words, speaks, its tone filled with a cruel amusement. “Is this her?”
“Yep, that’s her,” another voice responds. “The King’s been looking for her.”
“She doesn’t seem like much,” the first voice says, almost dismissively.
“My orders weren’t to take note of her worthiness. Only to secure her.” The second voice sounds less certain, but there is something cold and calculating in it.
“Was it only her?” the first voice asks, a note of disappointment creeping in.
“There were two other males with her, but the Prince wasn’t among them.”
My breath catches in my throat, and I freeze, praying they won’t notice I am awake. The Prince. They are talking about Oberon. I force myself to stay steady, not giving away that I am listening, that I can hear every word.
“That’s too bad,” the first voice muses. “I was hoping to bring the King proof of his treachery.”
Treachery? The word hits like a punch to the gut.
Oberon was always careful. Careful about who he trusts, careful about revealing his true identity.
He is both the rebellion’s leader and the son of a king, a dangerous balance.
He always uses a fake name when traveling, never letting anyone see his powers, his shadows.
In doing so, he is a shadow himself, careful to never give away the truth about who he really is.
The only person outside the rebellion who has ever seen him for who he truly is, who knows what he is capable of, was Toro, the male we helped through the storm.
Toro, who promised to keep Oberon’s secret as thanks for his aid.
Toro understood the fragile line Oberon is walking, the delicate balance of his position, and swore never to reveal it. It can’t have been him.
“But at least he’ll be pleased with this,” the second voice continues, a smirk evident in his tone. “It’ll buy some space in his good graces.”
The words sink in, cold and heavy. They knew I was coming. They had known. They waited until the moment when we were most vulnerable, until we let our guard down, exhausted and lulled into a false sense of safety. They struck when we were too tired, too drunk on false security to resist.
My stomach churns with the realization. This was all a trap, one designed for Oberon, yes, but I am still a prize.
A terrifying thought creeps in. I don’t know whether I am leverage to draw Oberon out or if they will simply return me to the cage he helped me escape from. Can they really do that?
The idea of being locked back in that hell is almost more than I can bear. I can't be the reason the rebellion crumbles. Even if Oberon finds me, if he is foolish enough to come looking, I can’t let him. I need to get out of this on my own. I can't rely on anyone else.
With my panic rising, I realize just how much danger I am in. I can feel the heaviness in the air, the weight of what is to come. How long can I stay unnoticed, unconscious even, before they figure out I am awake? Will they come for me now? Will they try to break me?
I swallow hard, trying to force down the fear as the pair walks off. The voices become softer as the distance between us grows.
I can’t tell how long I’ve been in this hellish place.
Time feels irrelevant here, an endless stretch of cold, dark silence.
They come once a day, tossing a hunk of bread at me, followed by a sloshed cup of water, barely enough to sustain me, just enough to keep me from dying.
Sometimes, I can hear their voices outside the bars, talking without concern for my ears.
Their words drift in and out, but I catch enough to understand the betrayal.
The mountain clans had already pledged themselves to the King before we ever arrived.
They welcomed us with a single, insidious purpose in mind. The thought of it curdles my insides.
I feel trapped, suffocating in the darkness, helpless without my magic.
My only weapon has been taken from me, locked away beneath layers of fear and pain.
As time drags on, I begin to sharpen my focus, forcing myself to confront the memories that hold my power.
The nightmares, the screams, the feeling of weakness and helplessness, each one pulling at me, dragging me into the abyss.
I’m not afraid of them anymore. No, what terrifies me now is the thought of what will happen if I don’t fight through it.
This time, I make a vow to myself: I will not be weak. I will not let them take this from me. I can feel the pull of my magic, just beyond my reach, and for the first time, I’m not afraid to chase it.
I close my eyes, shutting out everything around me.
I can feel the tremors in my chest as the weight of my memories and fears tries to drag me under.
I push them away, focusing only on the thrum inside me, the power calling me forward.
The vibrations beneath my skin are my magic, my ability to manipulate sound and frequency.
It is the pulse of the earth itself, the rhythm of the world.
Slowly, steadily, I tune into that hum, stretching out my senses to align with the natural vibrations of the stone walls around me.
The stone that imprisons me. I can feel its resonance, the subtle frequencies that hold it together, and then, I match them. I coax the vibration in the rock, weaving it with my magic, tuning it until it splinters, until the walls tremble in response.
Yes . . . yes!
The stone begins to crack. The sound is low, a deep rumble that vibrates through the air, reverberating inside my bones.
The walls groan as I push harder, focusing all my energy on the frequencies that hold them together. The vibrations are growing stronger and faster, and the pressure of my magic is threatening to bring the entire place crashing down.
A moment of relief surges through me. I’ve done it. I’ve won.
But the relief is short-lived. In the midst of my triumph, I hear footsteps, faint but unmistakable. The guards have returned.
I open my eyes just in time to see them, moving in the doorway. Before I can react, I see the gleam of a sword’s hilt, a flash of steel.
In a panic, I try to summon more of my magic, to shatter the stone, to bring the walls down entirely, but it is too late. One of the guards is already there, his sword raised high.
A sharp crack echoes through the air, a blow to my head so hard that the world spins violently before everything goes black.