Chapter 60
Carys
Sleep never finds me. I lay awake in the small bed in the corner of the cell. The mattress is so hard that I might as well sleep on the floor, but at least it’s dry.
Drip, drip, drip.
I roll onto my side, my back facing the wall, and try not to focus on the infuriating sound.
Being left here with my own thoughts is torture within itself.
This morning—at least I think it was this morning—a servant lit a few more oil lanterns in the brackets on the walls.
It leaves the cell a little brighter, enabling me to gauge my surroundings.
There is just this one cell with a bed and chamber pot. A. Chamber. Pot.
I shudder.
Welcome to the Zenith; Iywan’s words echo in my head. The Zenith. I’ve never heard about whatever that is. All I know is that I want nothing to do with it.
Outside the cell, a long walkway leads to a metal door.
For the longest while, I stare at the door. What more could possibly happen? How is my mother faring up there? How are Durvla, Alys, and Tiernan managing? Are they safe? Maybe Durvla has reunited with her brother.
I hope for their safety, all while hating myself for being wildly jealous of them.
“Oh, Princess. Wake up.”
I jump up so quickly that my head spins.
Lowri is smiling down at me, fresh clothing in her arms. “Time to change out of those clothes.”
There are a couple of guards outside of my cell. One is a younger lad who I vaguely recognize, with a pale, bald head. I don’t recognize the other, but she’s tall and lanky, with a dark complexion and boredom on her face.
I turn back to Lowri. “What if I say no?”
“Then Lieutenant Bronn and Cadet Aela will step in.” Only then do I notice the shackles in Lieutenant Bronn’s hands.
I start to remove my dress, ungracefully unlacing the bodice and letting it fall to the ground.
The hem crunches in my hands from the dried blood.
I shove down the nausea and hold my breath to escape the stench.
I could use a bath, but there’s no water in sight despite the incessant dripping, so I snatch the fresh clothing from Lowri and glower at her.
“I trusted you.” My voice is a mere whisper as I stare at the Skinchanger. I climb into the too-big trousers and pull the strings as tight as I can.
Lowri shrugs. “I know.”
I fumble with the ties, making a knot as my stiff fingers won’t allow for a bow.
After dragging the tunic over my head, I pull my braid out of the clothing and push it back over my shoulder.
Like my hands and the dress I’ve just removed, my hair has taken on its share of blood.
I try my hardest not to cringe. Ellynne did such a good job styling it, and now her blood is all over her handiwork.
I close my eyes and breathe through the memory of Ellynne dead in my bed.
“It’s easy to trust someone who you think is beneath you, isn’t it?” Lowri asks, and my eyes fly open.
“I never treated you as subservient.”
“You claim to be so accepting, to treat your servants like equals, yet you send for us at any given time of the night. For your pleasure.” Something sparks in her eyes and my stomach turns.
Oh gods, I’ve almost forgotten that she’s also Eefa.
It suddenly makes sense now—Lowri’s constant tardiness, her reluctance to join us for meals in the dining hall.
Lowri, however, always looked away from me during dressings—this monster is quite the actress.
“Did Ellynne know?”
Lowri scrunches her nose. “Of course not. That bitch was more loyal to you than she’s ever been to me. She let our father send me away to that cruel duke in Darragh. Even when I sent her letters telling her how miserable I was, she didn’t seem to care. She told me to tough it out.”
My hands pause on the laces of the tunic. That doesn’t sound like Ellynne at all.
“When my powers manifested, I kept it a secret. To protect her. Yet she left me there with that cruel man. She deserved what she got.”
Her voice is so harsh, so cold. Nothing like the Lowri I thought I knew. “But she got you your position here.”
“I got myself my position here. I created my alter, Eefa. From a portrait hanging in my husband’s house, if you’ll believe that. I asked Ellynne to vouch for me, Lowri, after I murdered my husband and stashed his gold.”
No wonder it had been so easy for her to kill Ellynne. It wasn’t the first time she’d done such a thing.
“I’d already joined the Zenith, so worming my way into Paramount with Master Iywan practically in power was simple. Ellynne didn’t question my sudden appearance here. She accepted it because she felt guilty about failing me as an older sister.”
Gods … I shudder as I imagine Ellynne’s reaction when her own sister attacked her.
And there’s the mention of the Zenith again. I draw in a breath to ask about it, but Lowri speaks again.
“Briony will be here soon, but keep this in mind: if you try anything, it’s not just the guards who won’t hesitate to hurt you.” Her focus darts down to the metal band on my wrist and then back to my face, a sneer of satisfaction on her lips.
A chill runs through me.
“You’re no pampered princess down here.”
With that, she marches off, leaving me to my own thoughts again.
I examine the bracelet closer—there are symbols etched into the metal.
There is no definitive clasp or place to unlock it.
Then it dawns on me: these are runes. But what for?
It’s unlikely to be a dampener—why would Lowri go through the trouble of removing the one I already wore?
My heart constricts at the possibility that it could be an amplifier like in the tale of the Lightweaver, Osha, who went in search of something to strengthen her powers.
I’m reminded of the blaze that took out my brother.
At the monstrosity I was as a little girl with no control of my powers.
No different than I am now. I clutch my manacled wrist against my churning stomach and begin pacing the cell, my bare feet sticking to the damp floor with each step.
The sound of boots stops me from pacing. I turn as Briony approaches with Lieutenant Bronn and Cadet Aela again. Unlike the Lowri I thought I knew, Briony is no different than when I’d always been so quick to dismiss her. The guards carry high-backed chairs that appear to be from a dining set.
Briony draws closer, the ruby of my amulet around her neck winking at me. The rage that fills me is so swift, I’m rendered breathless. “Give me back my necklace,” I hiss.
“I can’t do that, Your Highness. You put this on, and the result will be catastrophic.”
“What the fuck are you getting at?” I demand.
The guards place the chairs facing each other and retreat silently.
“All in due time,” Briony says sweetly.
I stare down my nose at her. “I’ve never trusted you.”
“You’re very clever then. Now, sit.”
“I don’t answer to the likes of you.” I fold my arms across my chest and remain rooted to my spot.
Briony points toward the ceiling “Up there, you are the heir to the throne.” She points at the floor. “Down here, I am the High Priestess of Lugda, and you do answer to the likes of me. For your own good. Please. Sit.”
High Priestess … The title still baffles me. We stare at each other for what feels like eons, the tension thick in the air.
Drip, drip, drip.
At last, I huff out a breath and plop into one of the chairs. Briony takes a seat in front of me, her knees touching mine. “Alright,” she says airily. “Show me what you’ve got.”
“I’m sorry, what?”
“Summon your flamewielding.”
I stare down at my hands, still discolored from the dried blood I’ve scrubbed off. “I don’t know how to … do it on purpose.” But if I did, perhaps I can get out of here.
“Reach deep inside yourself and feel for your powers. Then envision yourself physically drawing it out.” She holds her hand up and a small ball of pale blue light forms in the palm of her hand.
I try not to appear alarmed or even impressed, but the smile on her face tells me that I’ve failed at that. “Your turn,” she says.
“You aren’t afraid I’ll scorch your pathetic arse?”
“You couldn’t even if you tried.” She’s so sure of herself that it gives me pause. “We don’t have all day, Your Highness.”
I hold my palm up just as she showed me, and I close my eyes. Focusing deep within my being, I find something warm and foreign, yet familiar. As I reach for it, uncontrolled infernos and screams fill my mind, and repulsion drives the warmth away. I clench my fist as cold creeps into my bones again.
“Hmm …” Briony stares down at my fist and then back up at my face, lightly tapping her thin lips. “Try again.”
“No.”
She sighs. “If you’re not successful with this method, we’ll have to move on to less gentle approaches.”
“Try me.”
She raises a fine brow and makes a small sound in the back of her throat. “I’ll give you one more chance. What do you say?”
I glare at her. “Kiss. My. Arse.”
Another tight smile. “Suit yourself.” She pushes her chair back and calls for the guards. “Take her.”
My chest knots as the guards barge into my cell, one grabbing me, the other shackling my hands behind my back. The shackle on my right hand presses over the wristband underneath, and the metal bites into my skin. I draw in a sharp breath.
“Walk,” Briony says, nudging my back before stepping around me to walk ahead.
The guards trail us as Briony takes the lead, the small magical light in her palm illuminating our way through the twists and turns of the tunnel.
I try to make sense of the directions, to commit them to memory, but by the time we enter another chamber, I’ve forgotten every turn.
Briony flicks her hand toward the walls, and a ball of magelight illuminates a couple of small glass lamps.
The space is barely large enough to fit the four of us.
It’s even colder than my cell, and the stink of urine and fear makes my throat spasm.
An armchair sits in the center, its metal legs nailed to the stone floor.
The walls are drab grey, and one side has a metal rack filled with weapons.
I quickly turn away from them as I’m shoved into the chair.
My manacles are removed long enough only for my forearms to be strapped into a metal contraption on the arms of the chair, my palms facing up.
My ankles are next, immobilized by chains around the base of the chair.
On instinct, I tug against the bonds, my heart pounding in my ears, my stomach twisting into knots. The guards step away, standing on either side of the door, while Briony crouches and stares into my eyes. “What did you discover in The Book of Agryna?”
I don’t so much as blink.
She sighs like I’m a minor annoyance and straightens so she’s towering over me. “You won’t cooperate for training. You won’t answer questions. What will you answer to?”
Ironically, I don’t have an answer to that, so I keep staring at her. I don’t know what they’re going to do to me if I continue to show defiance, but I fear telling them about The Book of Agryna will put more people than just me in danger.
“Send for Iywan,” Briony says.
My muscles tense and her sandy brown hair sways as she walks toward the door.
She takes the place of Cadet Aela, who steps out of the small space.
Time ticks by for an eternity before footsteps approach.
Briony moves aside for Cadet Aela to reclaim her place, and Iywan enters with his hands behind his back.
The royal advisor broach is still pinned against the breast pocket of his robe. What an insult.
“You’re not worthy of your title, royal advisor. What would my mother say to you if she knew what you were up to?”
“I’m doing what she didn’t have the courage to do,” he says plainly. “To actually teach you how to access your power. All you have to do is give us some answers.”
“I don’t know anything.”
He pulls a book out from behind his back and the gold symbol in the worn leather cover glints in the magelight. The Book of Agryna. My pulse scurries as Iywan opens the book to a page I’ve earmarked and holds it up in front of my face.
The passage reads: The daughter of Agryna and Ehlach shall stand resolute and restore balance to the realm.
It’s quite vague really. But a handwritten note in the margins of a different page implies that the prophecy is incomplete, and the mythos of Enidwen redacted—it redirects the reader to the full text found in The Song of Moonlight.
A book I’ve never seen or even heard of.
“Read.” There’s no room for argument in Iywan’s voice.
“I can’t.”
“Don’t lie to me. You’ve been reading in the Ancient Tongue without even knowing it all this time.”
I bite the inside of my cheek. Of course he had to have been there for that discovery. I lift my chin a little higher. I will not be reduced to meekness.
“Read it!”
I scowl at him, then focus on the symbols that should logically be foreign to me. The words naturally infiltrate my mind and pour from my lips—a series of rolled consonants and guttural vowels that are so satisfying to utter. How’s that for reading the passage, Iywan?
I barely register his raised hand before pain flares in my cheek.
He shakes his hand out, clearly pained, and I catch a glimpse of the large ring on his finger.
I start to lift my hand to my throbbing face, but I’m still bound to this godsdamned chair.
I stare back with all the defiance I can muster.
“One more chance,” Iywan says.
“Fuck you.”
The next slap, I should’ve seen coming.
This time bright spots pulse in my vision and incoherent speech reaches my ears as multiple footsteps grow more distant. There’s a slam, and the room plunges into near darkness, save for the oddly flickering magelight left behind.