Chapter 79
The cell tucked high in the boughs of Elyren swayed in the breeze. Branches cracked, the floor buckling, like it would give way and plummet to the ground at any moment.
Sebastian felt none of that.
Three days. Three days had passed since Ydros had betrayed them, declaring Mariah and her court enemies of Vatha. Three days spent in these cells high above the earth, watching the sun rise and set with mocking warmth.
Three days since he’d failed. Again. And likely for the last time.
Because for the first time in his life, he couldn’t see his way out of this one. Couldn’t see a way forward, a path to fixing this.
All he could see was the ground far below and wonder why he’d ever thought himself capable.
“Sebastian. Please talk to me.”
Ciana’s voice was a raw, aching chime in the wind. She knelt in the cell next to his, arm reached through the wooden bars. Tears tracked down her face, her eyes red, her golden hair wild.
The guilt had eaten away at Sebastian so thoroughly, he couldn’t stand to look at her. Couldn’t stand to face the biggest reminder of his failure, the biggest reason he would never, ever be able to forgive himself.
Ciana had trusted him—with everything—and just as he’d always feared, he couldn’t keep her safe.
He was disgusted with himself for it.
Sebastian tilted his head away from the other cell—away from Ciana—and looked out over the forested city. He heard her sigh, then sob, but he didn’t turn back.
Mariah had opened their bond yesterday. He’d felt that rush of consciousness, that sudden, bizarre fullness of sharing his mind with another. Mariah’s presence was hot and brilliant, filled with a magnetic energy—and beneath it all, a dangerous hunger.
His queen had tried to get him to speak. Tried to ask him what was wrong. He couldn’t do it. There was nothing she could do, not from Leuxrith. Even with her magic back, he wouldn’t let his failures further endanger his queen.
So, he’d stayed silent and had only been able to get out two words: “I’m sorry.”
He’d felt Mariah’s confusion and frustration, though she’d fought to keep it hidden. She’d eventually given up, telling him to meet them in Andburgh when they could. That she was going there to finish this.
He knew what that meant. He’d almost reached back out, warning her that it was a trap, it was always a trap—
But she was gone, and he’d only lost himself further to his failure.
“Sebastian.”
He blinked. Ciana’s voice was pitched lower this time. He allowed himself a glance, finding her leaned back against the bars separating their cells. Her eyes were closed, and exhaustion shrouded her. She picked absently at her nails, the beds cracked and bleeding.
“I just want you to know,” Ciana continued, “that I don’t regret anything. I know you blame yourself. But it’s not your fault. None of it is. If I could go back and start this entire journey over again…” She swallowed, a new tear leaking down her freckled cheek. “I wouldn’t change a thing.”
Sebastian’s chest cracked. How was she so strong, even now? How, after everything that had happened to her, was she still able to find the light and beauty in things?
How was she able to sit there and not blame him?
Sebastian drew in a breath, the air scraping down his throat and through his lungs. “Ciana,” he said, voice hoarse and cracked from disuse.
She whirled, amber eyes wide.
Sebastian swallowed. “I—”
Heavy bootsteps pummeled his words.
Guards emerged from the winding stairwell, armed and stoic. The first few went to Ciana’s cell, storming into her space. She snarled and thrashed and fought, struggling like a wildcat, but she was easily overpowered. Her hands were bound around the wrists, her body secured between the guards.
They opened Sebastian’s cell next, watching him with guarded wariness. The leader knelt, a pair of cuffs clanking in his grip.
“If you struggle,” he said gruffly, “she will pay the price for it. But if you come willingly, she will not be touched.”
Sebastian didn’t trust these men. Everyone in Vatha had betrayed them.
But he knew when he faced a losing battle. He was unarmed and outnumbered. Even if he wanted to fight back, he would lose, and Ciana would suffer for it.
He offered his wrists to the guard willingly.