Chapter Three
The slight heel of my black leather boots sounded across the stone floor as I made my way, step by step, down the damp spiral staircase.
Click click click.
That was the only noise I could focus on as it filled the space around me while I hurried down all forty-two cobbled steps.
Once I arrived at the large, mostly empty, open room at the bottom of the staircase, I paused briefly, fishing a ring of keys out of the pocket of my navy overcoat.
The silver threaded coat was so long it nearly reached my ankles, but I didn’t mind so much.
It was attire like this I’d seen Father wear so often during formal appearances, and even to simple meetings at times.
After all, it was his shoes I was trying to fill.
I made my way down the main corridor that acted as an artery to the dungeons below Gatlyn Castle, branching off in different directions. As I walked, I rubbed the edge of each key until I felt the groves of the one I was looking for against the pad of my thumb.
Having turned into the west-branching corridor, I quickly arrived in front of the cell door I had been seeking out without truly realizing it. I had found myself doing that often lately—ending up at this cell, trying to get answers to questions I had no hope of solving on my own.
Not allowing myself to hesitate more than a moment, I shoved the key into the hole in the cell door and flicked it open.
Sweeping into the small room, the foul odor always seemed to hit my senses first. Naturally, as a Northerner, my eyes rapidly adjusted to the dim light, making out the fae male’s shape in the corner of the room.
When the prisoner seemed to let my presence go unnoticed, I ripped an unlit torch from the wall and called to the power that felt like pure fury in my veins. Blowing onto the end of the torch, fire sprouted and grew from where my breath had touched.
The sudden light drew the fae prisoner from his slumber.
“Dimitri,” he breathed raggedly, dragging himself into a sitting position as his chains rattled with the motion.
With the alychite chains around his ankle being bolted to the floor, the male couldn’t reach my side of the small, rectangular room—at least not without cutting off his foot first.
The alychite really wasn’t necessary with this prisoner, from what I understood. He had no zirilium, according to the accounts, and from what I had gathered myself over the past few weeks—almost a month now.
Alychite was one of the most valuable minerals the North was home to. With its ability to cut off a wielder from their zirilium just by maintaining contact, it had been used for decades by my father to help maintain his control.
I glanced at the dark, heavy mineral in a rare moment of genuine curiosity. It was a wonder that the earth below naturally produced such a material. As if it always needed a way to keep us fae in check, just in case.
Fortunately for me, myself and those who had come before me mastered it before it could master us.
The prisoner slowly rose to his feet, his body stiff as he shielded his eyes against the torchlight.
By looking at only his mud-colored hair, he could almost pass as clean; it was the white streak covered in dirt and sweat that fell into his face which gave away just how filthy he’d become in his time down here.
“Ezra,” I responded, my voice flat, with a practiced sort of coldness to it.
Stepping farther into the room, I stopped next to the small table in the corner that housed a pile of different blades and other small devices. Shuffling through the various tools, my gaze snagged on a short, curved blade that reminded me of the crescent moon in my family’s crest.
Selecting that blade for today’s session, I realized it also somewhat resembled the claws of Ziana—my griffin—especially with the nearly black hilt that matched her feathers and fur.
“So,” I said, turning back to face the prisoner, “you already know what information I want. You could make this much easier on yourself and tell me now.” I slowly stepped closer to him.
To his credit, he didn’t cower. He leaned his back against the wall, as if already fed up with the situation he had found himself in.
“I’ll say it the same way I’ve said it before—I’d rather die,” he said, his voice scratchy from screaming, but still unwavering.
Without missing a beat, my spare hand flew out and gripped his throat, pinning him in place against the wall. His hands attempted to claw at my arm, but his fingernails were just barely covering his nail beds again; they’d taken weeks to fully grow back.
Angling the claw-like blade in my hand an inch away from his eye, I said softly, “Maybe today you’ll get your wish.”
For the past few weeks, I’d been trying to pry out of him any weaknesses of the South’s that I could exploit. Anything I could use to win this war and conquer them once and for all.
To my surprise, it was like he’d become a different person than who I’d heard about while here below the castle. I’d heard he was of the softest of the South’s Valwain, and I figured that meant he’d be of the easiest to break. But despite some of my best efforts, he still hadn’t given in.
Yet.
Baring my teeth at him, I took a step back, releasing him from my grip. His hands touched the now tender skin of his throat and winced.
Stalking back to the table, I placed the curved blade back onto the pile and ran a hand through my snow-white hair.
“Let’s try something new,” I suggested, turning back to the prisoner.
I called to the newfound embers of my soul, stoking them with the rage I felt at this individual, at this Ezra. He represented everything I had been taught to hate—as well as the people that turned my own twin against me—and against our father, too. Against our nation.
And Father’s life had been the price.
But besides that, Aviva hadn’t just betrayed Father with her acts of defiance—she’d betrayed me, too. She might not have left Hollis willingly, but she’d chosen to stay away all this time.
Or at least, that was what they wanted me to believe.
I knew my twin—I knew nothing would stop her from coming home, if she could help it.
I just needed to figure out what had happened—what had changed.
Using the anger I felt bubbling beneath my skin, sweat beaded on my forehead as I focused that energy in my hand, curling it into a fist.
The moment my hand ignited in flames, I met the male’s eyes, and he had the decency to look fearful for once.
I took a step closer to him. “This time, I want to know what you and your Valwain did to my sister.”
“Did to her?” he asked, as though he was truly clueless.
“What did you do to cause her to change so much, so fast? Was it another elixir—something that messed with her head? Did you torture her into being on your side? Into not coming home?” I asked, my flame growing stronger alongside my anger.
“What? Dimitri, no. She made her own choices—she put herself first for once. We didn’t force her into anything. If you’d recall, it was your father that forced Aviva into things she didn’t want to do.”
Prowling closer, my flames burning bright enough to see the color of his light brown eyes, I whispered, “Liar.”
Faster than the prisoner could even process, I pulled my arm back and sent it sailing straight into the side of his ribs.
A vicious crack rung out at the same time a scream ripped from his throat, and he was thrown to the floor by the force of the punch. His dirty, sliced up shirt was being eaten away by small, residual flames stuck to it, but I didn’t offer even a wing-beat of relief.
Pouncing on him, fist still alight with deep orange flames, I gripped him by the collar and continued to let the punches fly.
Over and over, I released my pent-up anger, hit by hit, until it started to die out. The moment my fury dissolved into embers once again, my flames banked, then winked out, leaving us in near darkness.
Frustrated that I couldn’t even control a simple flame, I blindly threw another perfect punch—this time to his face—but he barely made a sound. It wasn’t until this moment that I realized he had slipped into unconsciousness.
Releasing him swiftly, almost in disgust, I groaned in frustration. My hands caught in my hair, tugging at the roots as I retreated step by step to the other side of the cell.
Finally seeing the damage I’d done, eyes adjusting to the dim light, I realized I should feel something more than I did. I knew Aviva would expect me to.
And yet I didn’t.
His clothes were barely held together by threads at this point, having been charred off or, in some places, melted to his skin.
The bruises had risen to the surface almost instantly, his skin mottled in black and blue along the left side of his body, where my fist had made contact the most. His eye was in the process of swelling shut where I’d hit him last, his body reacting to the damage even when he wasn’t conscious to.
The stone of the wall dug into my back and wings as I slid to the ground, my hands still tugging viciously at my hair.
Taking a breath so deep it almost hurt, I focused on that energy in my veins. It seemed to have calmed substantially after being given an outlet.
Interesting, I noted.
A soft knock sounded on the metal door next to me, but I didn’t budge. There was only one other fae that had a key to this specific cell, anyways. Plus, nobody else would be stupid enough to venture this far into the dungeons.
“Enter,” I said, my voice sounding distant and hollow in my ears.
I listened as he unlocked the door and slid it open, stepping into the room with a leather bag that was bursting at the seams with trokav supplies.
Hugo, who almost tripped over my extended leg when he stepped into the small cell, gasped when the smell of burned skin and flesh hit his nose. His white wings flared slightly in alarm, but his eyes were locked onto the unconscious form on the other side of the space.