LUNA
The air in the mines is thick with sweat, damp stone, and something sharper. Rusted iron, old blood. It’s a scent that has long since faded into the background for most who live down here. But not for me. I’m reminded how little I visit the lowliest of my people.
Torches flicker low along the walls, casting long, skeletal shadows across the jagged rock. Thorne walks behind me as we let the echo of our footsteps mix with the ghostly voices of the mines. Even from a distance, I can hear the low murmur of voices, the occasional cough or groan of pain.
As we round the corner to the cells, the stench worsens. But I’m quick to smooth the wrinkle of my nose.
The burlap sack swings gently against my leg, the fresh bread inside still warm enough to release its yeasty aroma, a sharp contrast to the putrid air surrounding us. I keep my expression neutral and my posture rigid as we approach the Dregs' holding cell.
The Dregs fall silent the moment my silhouette appears in the doorway.
I step to the side and allow Thorne to open the door with the key hung around his neck.
As it swings open, I step inside, my eyes sweeping over the room. The Dregs who are left standing drop to the ground with their arms obediently stretched in front of them.
"I have something for you." My voice bounces off rock as I pull the loaf from the burlap sack. The smell of fresh bread wafts through the cell, and I watch as heads look up and nostrils flare. My eyes pause on a man who licks his cracked lips.
"But first, I need information." I tuck the bread away with apples I had to go into town to retrieve. Yeast nurtured with my own hands. Never in my life would I have thought I’d go to such lengths for degenerates.
I try not to think of what that means.
Only when every starved man has eyed the bag do I continue. "I’m looking for a shell necklace. Small, dull, and chipped. Strung on a leather cord." My voice is perfectly level, as if it’s meaningless contraband I’m after. The worst mistake would be giving away its … emotional importance.
Even as my chest tightens in the silence, I resist the urge to shift my feet. I must be a statue. "Who knows where it is?"
Five quick heartbeats pass before the cells erupt into chaos.
"Cliff!" one Dreg shouts in a voice crackling with desperation.
"It's Cliff! He's got it!" another echoes, and soon a chorus of voices fills the cell, all shouting the same name.
I scan the room. "Is Cliff here?"
There's a commotion in the back corner. I spot movement as a skeletal man begins to stand, but before he can fully rise, another Dreg tackles him to the ground.
They grapple in the filth, a tangle of bony limbs and ragged clothes.
A third man dives into the fray, yanking at Cliff's shoe while others join, clawing and scratching like animals.
I watch the display of human desperation with practiced detachment. In the beginning, it was difficult not to sneer. It’s been years since I’ve had to remind myself these pigs are useful.
Finally, a Dreg emerges from the pile, clutching something in his dirt-encrusted hand.
He rushes toward me, head bowed so low his forehead nearly touches his knees.
He extends his hand, palm up, revealing the necklace.
Sawyer's necklace. The shell has been snapped in two places to create a sharp tip, a mediocre weapon. Though the crusted blood tainting the dull color suggests it’s been useful.
"Your Grace," he whispers, his voice trembling. "Please."
I drop the burlap sack at my feet, the apples tumbling out alongside the loaf of bread. Immediately, the Dregs scramble. They snarl and claw at each other, fighting over every morsel with savage intensity.
The useful one’s outstretched hand shakes with impatience, but to his credit, he doesn’t abandon me for the food. I pull a spare apple from my pocket and lightly toss it at his chest. He catches it with a whine while I take the offered necklace, careful not to let my fingers brush against his skin.
The shell is filthy and broken, but cool against my palm. Sawyer isn’t a man who requires perfection. He’s one of the only men I know who don’t.
I curl my fingers around the shell and close my eyes against the shudder that knocks something loose in my chest—relief, I think, because I don’t dare consider more.
When Thorne’s hand rests on my shoulder, I back out of the cell.
I hand the necklace off to Thorne without comment, but as our eyes meet, he must see inside of me because an understanding passes between us.
"I'll make sure he gets it," Thorne says quietly, tucking the necklace safely away.
The sounds of the feeding frenzy behind us grow more frantic as we turn to leave. At the clang of the cell door, a ragged voice calls out: "Did he ask you to increase our rations?"
I turn my head halfway. A Dreg stands near the bars, braver than the others, his eyes feverish with hope.
"I saved Sawyer’s life," he continues, just a little too bold. A little too problematic. "That's worth more than a necklace, isn't it? Your Grace?"
I don’t respond. Because I don’t dare consider what Sawyer’s life is worth. And because whatever lies or false promises he made to ensure his survival are his own—grateful as I am for his clever tongue.
I turn to Thorne. "Wait for me outside?"
Creases form on either side of his lips as he frowns so deep, I’m sick with a moment of regret. If only I hadn’t let my loyalty stray. If only I could reach out to him without risk of looking weak to the Dregs…
Later. I’ll tell him I love him, that I’ve always loved him. And that I forgive him. Even if none of it is true.
When seconds pass, I give up waiting for Thorne’s response and start toward Aiden's cell, pushing thoughts of Thorne and Sawyer aside. Yet even as I walk away, I feel the ghost of the necklace against my palm, a tangible reminder of the man I won’t be able to give a proper goodbye to.
In the prisoner quarters of the mines, cramped in the only occupied cell, Aiden’s head lolls like a man close to death. Bruises line his face and cover the arms that dangle from chains secured above his head.
He doesn’t flinch as I open the cell, doesn’t even stir as my shadow cuts his face in half. It’s only when his half-hooded eyes roll up that he looks like a man with life left to live.
“Your Grace,” he croaks with a burst of energy that gives his neck enough strength to pick his head up. When he shifts, the chain rattles violently.
I crouch in front of him and place my hand on his—thankfully clothed—knee. His shirt has been ripped beyond use. “Be still, my friend.”
I go to take off my coat but pause at the pain that fractures his voice.
“I’m sorry.” His eyes clench shut, nose wrinkling. “I’m so sorry, Your Grace. I failed you.”
“No.” I lean forward. “You did not fail me. I failed you. I should’ve made your path seamless, and instead—”
“The girl fell in a pit.” He opens his eyes with a shaky exhale. “I tried to get her to calm down, but a spear pierced her leg, and she just kept screaming.”
You should’ve abandoned her.
You should’ve killed her. Found a large rock and hurled it at her head.
You are one of mine. She is nothing.
Speaking this would help nothing, but a scream is held behind my teeth. It lies so heavily on my throat, I struggle for breath.
“Aiden, listen carefully,” I whisper past the pressure.
“This is my fault. I let my weakness for Sawyer Hansley influence my decision-making.” I wheeze in a breath that isn’t deep enough for what I’m about to admit, both to Aiden and to myself.
“I knew if I killed either girl, he would think of me differently. I was afraid he wouldn’t be able to forgive me, and because of that, I betrayed my own people and sentenced a worthy Keeper, a cherished mate, a loving father, and my friend to death.
Do not apologize to me. I’m not worthy of your loyalty nor your forgiveness. ”
I bow my head for him and lean forward on my knees, palms pressing into the dirt floor.
“Head Keeper…”
I flinch. My fingertips start to numb, and I press them more firmly against the unforgiving earth. A punishment of sorts.
I can’t help but think about Liberty. And how I should’ve had her killed. And how I should still have her killed.
That should be my very last order. My last attempt to do right by my people. Liberty being free is asking for trouble, whether that be the police, her husband, or others.
And yet…
I swallow, my eyes closing. “While I do not ask for your forgiveness, I want you to know I’ll be requesting that the Chief Elder allow my final words to echo throughout the Shadow Sanctum.
I’m going to use them to proclaim your innocence.
Everyone will know you died because of your unshakable loyalty and unflinching determination to do what you feel is right.
Some may find you to be a traitor, but those who hear me will know you were the ultimate warrior willing to die for even an unworthy leader. ”
“They’re executing you too?” Aiden asks, his voice low. Afraid. “But… how do they know you were involved? I told them nothing, Your Grace. I said…” Aiden groans as the chain rattles. “I said the girl and I were in love. That we were escaping together.”
I raise my head only to be struck with another wave of guilt as I face his desperation. Still loyal to a fault. To the wrong person.
“How do they know?” With the way the wrinkles smooth from his dirty, bruised face, I suspect he knows the answer. So I don’t give it. “You told them, didn’t you?”
“Not yet. I’ll be speaking to the Chief Elder once I leave you.”
“Don’t.” He hauls himself up by the chains, straightening his back. “I don’t care what you think you’ve done. You can’t tell him.”
“I have to," I frown. “I’m a traitor, Aiden. I won’t be able to live with myself if—”
“Stop it,” he snaps. More forcefully than I’ve ever heard him. I rear back. “Just stop it. You’re being weak.”
My eyes widen and cold suddenly nips at my cheeks. It’s as if he struck me.