Chapter Twenty-Nine #4
Alaric does not even seem to feel the pain.
His damaged hands fall to his sides, twitching slightly, but his eyes never shift from the half-Titan as he tears the iron door from its frame as easily as he did the wood ones.
Alaric barely gives Vaughn time to step clear before he pushes into the cell, dropping to his knees beside a female form.
She is curled in the fetal position, legs drawn up to her chest, arms wrapped tight around her head as if protecting it from being kicked.
Soren’s breath catches in his throat. A pulse of pure despair bleeds through the bond, strong enough to overcome even the ore’s dampening effects. I reach out and grab his hand, squeezing tight in a show of wordless support.
“Arwen? Arwen, can you hear me? It’s me, love. It’s Alaric.” His bleeding hand trembles as he lifts it to cradle the side of her face.
She flinches violently beneath his light touch.
Soren’s hand tenses in mine. He’s seen it, too. His fearsome, fearless sister…flinching.
Arwen does not flinch.
My chest aches as more despair floods into me, mingling with my own.
“We’ve come to take you home.” The halting tenderness of Alaric’s whisper breaks something inside me. “I’m going to lift you. Okay? Maybe”—he sucks in a breath as he hesitates—“maybe you can wrap your arms around my neck. It’s all right if you can’t manage it. Just…try for me.”
There is the smallest sound—a tiny whimper, barely audible. Then, her arms are winding tight around his neck and he’s cradling her against his chest, his hold unbearably gentle. It is a sharp contrast to his fierce expression, to the wrath blazing from his typically mellow brown eyes.
I blink back tears as he carries Arwen from the cell.
She looks fragile. Reduced to a shadow of herself.
Her skin is pale, her body so weak she cannot even lift her head to look around at us.
I have rarely seen her in anything but flight leathers or battle-ready garb.
Yet here she is in a plain white nightgown, the kind you might wear as a little girl.
Soren skims his fingers along the side of her face, light as a butterfly’s wing. His other hand is gripping mine so hard, I’m surprised the bones remain intact.
“Arwen.”
Her eyes sliver open enough to find her brother’s.
He does not say anything else. I do not think he is capable of it.
But then, there is no need for words, not between the two of them.
Their stares hold in silent communication.
Whatever they exchange in those three seconds is enough to make a shred of strength flicker across Arwen’s pallid face.
I survey her with the eyes of a healer, looking for injuries. Finding none. Physically, she does not appear wounded. Mentally, spiritually…that remains to be seen.
“Can we get the fuck out of here now?” Vaughn looks around in distaste. “We don’t exactly have time to spare and, even if we did, this place gives me the godsdamned creeps.”
“Seconded,” I murmur. My gaze drifts to the dark cell directly across from Arwen’s.
It’s smaller than the rest. More of a cage, really, with a low ceiling and bars so thick, I’m surprised any air gets in.
I cannot see anything inside and, at first glance, assume it’s empty.
But the longer my eyes linger on it, the harder it is to look away.
Something is making the mark on my chest tingle with a foreign sensation I’ve never felt before. Not recognition, exactly, but…
Familiarity.
Alaric is already walking back in the direction we came from, murmuring to Arwen under his breath. Vaughn trails after them, Harpina at his side, Melité shadowing. When Soren moves to follow, my hand pulls him up short.
“Skylark? We need to move, there’s no—”
“Don’t you feel that?”
His mouth snaps shut and his brows draw together.
I sense his mounting confusion as I drop his hand and step closer to the cage.
My forehead stings as I bring it right up to the bars, the searing kiss of iron scorching my skin.
I ignore the pain, narrowing my eyes on the shadows beyond.
Trying to pull the occupant inside into focus.
“Hello?” I whisper. “Is someone there?”
A growl comes in answer.
It is a feral sound, like a wild wolf caught in a snare. Chills break out across my flesh and the hair at the back of my neck rises in alarm. I jolt backward several inches, pulse pounding hard.
“Soren, get the torch.”
He crouches beside me, bringing the light close to the bars. Illuminating the crouched form inside.
Not a beast at all, but…
A girl.
She looks around my age, though it is difficult to tell.
Most of her face is obscured by matted hanks of hair that have not seen a brush in gods only know how many years.
It cascades practically to her feet. She is clothed in a nightgown similar to the one Arwen is wearing, but it looks frayed with age and streaked with filth.
Her skin is nearly as dark as the shadows of her cage.
But her eyes…they glow bright, green as the new shoots that erupt from the frozen earth each spring… and swirling with unchecked power.
My heart lurches as our gazes hold.
For beneath that telltale swirl, I see only madness. Madness and…
Rage.
“Rhya, we really should—”
Soren’s words cut off sharply. Because at that moment, the ground begins to vibrate and the air begins to buzz.
The bellwether of an earthquake. As I stare in shock through the bars, as I feel the surge of maegic swelling in the air, visceral despite the deadening ore in these walls…
I know this quake will be like no other I have ever endured.
For we are standing at its epicenter.
And staring at its source.
“It’s her,” I choke out, hardly believing the words I’m about to say. “She is…She’s…the Remnant of Earth.”