Chapter 42 #2
“I said leave us!” I shoot the guard a stern look and he edges out of the cell.
“I’ll be right next to the door, Madam.”
I wait for him to leave and rush to Alfrie, falling to my knees beside him. “What did they do to you?”
He licks his lips, probably in desperate need of water, and his voice sounds hoarse. “Nothing that I didn’t deserve. You shouldn’t be here.”
“Neither should you.” I push myself up from the ground and call out to the guard.
“Fetch me a basin of water and a rag. And bring him something to drink.” I hurry back to Alfrie.
He’s adjusted into a sitting position with his knees pulled to his chest. He buries his face into his torn trousers with his cuffed arms draped around his bent legs.
Streaks of red cover the back of his white shirt in multiple linear patterns.
I crouch in front of him. “Tell me it wasn’t you who poisoned me. ”
He lifts his head and meets my gaze, pain and desperation clouding his beautiful eyes. “I can’t.”
I shake my head. “No. I don’t believe you. Tell me it wasn’t you.” I repeat it louder this time as though it might change his answer.
“I made the elixir. It’s my fault. You nearly died and it’s my fault.” He rests his head back to his knees. “Now, go.”
I watch him for a moment and walk back to the hallway when I hear footsteps approaching. The guard hands me what I asked for and I send him away again. I carry the basin and a jug of drinking water to Alfrie. “Drink.” I forcefully set the jug down on the dirt next to him.
He looks up at me and I’ve never seen a face so full of sorrow and guilt. “Zara. Please, just. Go.”
I purse my lips and dip the rag into the basin of water, ignoring his sad plea for me to leave and make him a martyr. “No. You made the elixir. Fine. But you would never hurt me. Right?”
He stares back at me with an intensity that strips my soul naked. “Never.”
“Good. Now drink.”
He moves to grab the jug but fumbles with his chained hands. I lean forward and lift the bottle to his dry lips, and he eagerly gulps down most of the liquid. “Thank you.”
I wring out the excess water from the rag in the basin and dab it gently to his face, wiping away the dried blood. He flinches when I clean the area under his eye then remains still until I finish. “Your shirt is filthy.” I start to unbutton the collared shirt, and he pulls away.
“Don’t.”
“Let me see.” I scoot around him on the ground so I’m kneeling behind him.
I carefully lift the hem of his shirt so I can wipe the blood away.
His spine curves awkwardly as the fabric sticks to the linear wounds splayed all over his back.
“I’m sorry.” I gently press the damp cloth to the marks and wince each time his body tenses in pain.
Whipping is such an ancient practice. I’m sickened. My stomach turns at the sight of his torn flesh layered with blood and debris from the whip’s leather. Who would do this? If King Hardin allows this to happen in his dungeons, what other barbaric tortures does he ignore?
“Am I hurting you?” I ask when his shoulders tense under my rag.
“I’ll be fine. It’s not the first time. And it won’t be the last.”
A sense of recognition forces its way into my brain. A similar situation or memory. But that’s impossible. I’ve never witnessed such violence before. Then again. Memories flood my brain, and I wince at the sting, bringing my hand to my forehead.
I’ve seen this.
“This has happened before. In Masseda.” I saw it.
I saw the whole thing. He was on his knees with whip marks.
I remember. I remember the sick sound the whip made as it tore through his skin.
I remember stopping it. I went to Leer to ask him if he knew what his father was doing.
He said. He said...that I was tired and needed to rest.
My stomach drops and I clutch my abdomen. Oh gods.
Leer glamoured me.
Alfrie doesn’t respond. He doesn’t have to. I remember everything now.
“Did you know that Leer glamoured me into forgetting what Hardin did to you?” I move in front of him.
“Yes.”
I twist the rag in my hands but try to keep a calm voice. “Is that the only time he’s done that to me?”
“I don’t know. He hasn’t told me if he did it again.” Alfrie looks at the ground. “For what it’s worth, he did it to protect you. I believe he loves you.”
I believe Leer loves me too. But using glamour magic is extreme.
Wouldn’t it be better just to have me learn the truth?
Why would Leer put his soul at risk to cover it up?
Some part of him must agree with that type of punishment.
My head aches as a million thoughts and questions race through it.
There are all these pieces that don’t seem to fit.
I’m pulled back to the present when Alfrie’s warm hand brushes against mine. He’s watching me with a mix of curiosity and apprehension. “You need to leave me and go find Leer.”
I don’t want to leave him. My fingers intertwine with his for a second then I pull my hand away. “What if I leave and something worse happens to you down here?”
“Nothing can break what’s already broken.” A tight smile forms on his mouth. “I’ll be fine.”
“I’m going to get Leer. He can get you out of here. I’ll tell them I accidentally drank too much of the medicine, hoping to sleep.” I tentatively take his hand and squeeze it. “I’ll fix this.”