Chapter 39
Thirty-nine
Zellie
Dumped in my cell, my body sags haphazardly.
I’m slumped against the wall, half sitting and half lying.
Fortunately, they only bound my hands together this time, rather than above me.
My captors healed most of my wounds, save for the split cheek, courtesy of Pluto.
That and the lingering internal phantom sensations, but those never really go away.
I need to get out of here. The thought repeats on a loop in my head as I study the cords restraining my hands and suffocating my magic.
The thread is clear, pulsing with a vibrant energy and a spectrum of kaleidoscopic colors.
I’d consider it beautiful, truly, in different conditions.
The material is flexible, bending every which way I twist and pull without showing signs of wear.
No way on or off—no lock or mechanism for me to pick.
I’m not surprised, considering they fused the cord together to tie me.
Not the cord then. I glance around my tiny surroundings, despair and utter hopelessness threatening to devour me whole.
How did this go so wrong? We were careful, cautious.
Did a guard tip them off? I was so close to freedom, but I chose that stupid book over myself.
Seeing Pluto’s expressions and behavior over losing the prophecy solidifies that it was the right choice to make—one that I would choose again and again if I had to.
The prophecy. How old is this divination?
Was it foretold by someone who could predict the future?
Discovering the prophecy has led to more questions than answers.
I haven’t spent much time contemplating what it could mean, but considering I have nothing but time at the moment, I might as well examine it a bit more closely.
To restore the balance, one must dare;
To be clever, kind, and fiercely fair.
A single choice will shape the fates;
Fail, and the worlds shall bear a heavy weight.
From mortal blood and midnight eyes,
Banded with dawnfire, the Starborn will rise.
So a human of mortal blood. One that is fair, kind, and clever.
Our astrological signs have always played an important part in determining who we are—our appearance is altered to signify it at birth, for stars’ sake.
What sign fits the description? Virgos are notoriously clever, yet Libras are known for their fairness.
Both would fit the description… but the use of the word balance gives me pause.
Is it intentional? It feels deliberate. The Virgo constellation is the maiden.
Awareness prickles over my skin, awakening my senses.
Holy shit. The Libra constellation is The Scales, a symbol of balance.
A Libra with midnight eyes will hold the power to change the worlds; now we simply need to find them.
I know a Libra with dark blue eyes… what are the chances?
There’s no way, right? For the first time in what feels like weeks, possibly months, I feel a flicker of excitement.
It’s the first positive emotion I’ve felt, and I hold on to it with all my might.
The portion on dawnfire throws me—I’ve only heard of starfire.
An image of those wicked flames that had almost been my undoing flickers through my mind.
If something as mystical as that exists, then surely dawnfire is a possibility as well.
Jada certainly doesn’t possess any magic. It just feels so strangely placed…
I bet Orion could figure it out. He’s the smartest person I know.
My heart aches violently at the thought of him.
Orion. Stars, how I miss him. Why didn’t I tell him I loved him when I had the chance?
I’ll never get the opportunity now. What stopped me from telling him?
Foolish pride? Fear? He deserved to know how much I loved him, how much I cherished our bond.
Tears well in my eyes, trickling down my cheeks in earnest. So fucking stupid of me not to tell him when I had the chance.
A bowl of slop magically appears on the ground in the corner of my cell.
They’ve deemed me worthy of feeding today, it seems. I sniffle, eyeing the round metal suspiciously as my stomach makes an untimely grumble.
Sighing, I scoot across the filthy ground, careening my arms around the bowl and using my wrists to hold it in place as I attempt to lift it to my mouth.
Immediately, I regret the choice. The wet mush has a revolting flavor that is a cross between burnt oats and the acidic tang of vinegar.
What the fuck do they put in here? Gagging, I force the soggy lumps down my esophagus, praying that each bite stays down.
After four gulps, I’ve had enough. The bowl drops with a loud clang and I clamber back to my respective spot to contemplate all the choices that have led me to this moment.
I must have dozed off—a dreamless sleep, a small mercy—because I’m awakened with a kick to the ribs. I squeeze myself into a tight ball, clutching my side as I squint up to see Pluto’s face, yet again. He must be getting desperate.
“Twice in one day? To what do I owe the honor?” I remain in the fetal position, doing my best to protect my organs from his wrath.
“Tell us where to find the tome and I will free you.” I laugh but his face remains impassive. Shit, is he serious?
I swallow, the words sounding small, “Just like that?”
“Just like that.”
“Why is it so important?”
Pluto stares down at me, his hands clasped behind his back, contemplating if I’m worthy of a response. “I suppose it doesn’t truly matter if I tell you. If you don’t comply, you will meet your death here.”
I roll my eyes, doing my best to school my features into indifference, despite the plummeting feeling deep within me that coats my insides in fear and despair.
Pluto continues, “It contains a prophecy.”
Interesting. “Of?”
I’m not sure why I even bother asking. Perhaps to buy myself some time before the torture begins? To prolong the inevitable? To ignore the statement that he just made, which confirms what I’ve known all along—I will die here.
“The Legacy of the Libra.” It is a Libra! I knew it. Small victories.
“What does that mean?”
“I’ve already told you too much. Now, where is it? I will grant you your freedom and we can go back to being enemies.”
“You are my enemy now.”
“The tome, Zellie. My patience runs thin.”
“Even if I wanted to—which I don’t—I couldn’t tell you. I don’t know where it is.”
“Then tell me who was involved.”
“No.”
“Who should I start with first? Orion or Jada. Who is more important to you to save?”
My magic crests in time with my anger as I sit up, growling, “Go fuck yourself.”
He kicks me violently before I have time to prepare for it, a wrangled sob leaving my lips. “You will die here, Zellie.”
Doesn’t he know? I’m counting on it.