Chapter Thirty-One
Elysia
There is no time in this place.
Only the steady, unwavering hum of enchantments pulsing against the bars of my enclosure. All I know is the stillness of the octagonal room, with its cold stone floor and high vaulted ceiling. I don’t remember the last time I slept. Days must have passed since I saw Enari last.
I curl tighter into myself, knees pulled to my chest, arms wrapped around them, like that might keep the rest of me from unraveling in a place meant to trap me with my thoughts.
My skin is sticky with dried sweat, the soft dress clinging to me in places where the once silky material has crusted. My body aches with a hollowness, as if everything I am has been scooped out from inside me, leaving me to echo with nothingness.
I try not to think about what day it is. How long it’s been. Whether Serenath is dead. Whether Enari made it back. Whether Rhune is breathing.
That last thought nearly undoes me. Every time it rises I push it down alongside the memories of his voice calling me Little Dove and the feel of his fingers brushing my cheek.
The door groans open for the first time since Enari left this room.
I scramble to my feet, heart hammering wildly within the confinement of my ribs.
Sorryn steps through the doorway first, followed by Adamaris, the hood of her robe draped low over her face.
My body trembles as she presses her hand to the bars, and the hum I’d grown accustomed to halts. I force myself to lift my chin as they open the door to my prison, stepping into it.
“Where are they?” I ask, voice raw from not having used it and the lack of water. “Rhune. Serenath. Enari. What did you do to them?”
Silence. Not even a flicker of reaction in their faces.
If they won’t give me information, I need to forge a path forward with the mindset that I’m in this alone for now.
“You’re breaking the laws of the Goddess,” I say, forcing strength into my words that I don’t quite feel. “I’m to choose the King. You are going against her will. Does that mean nothing to you?”
My words are pointed at Adamaris, considering she is their High Priestess and the one who should be closest and most attuned to the Goddess. Yet she claims her will as her own to twist for her desires.
For a moment, a sinking thought flickers through my mind. Could this be the Goddess’s will?
“Do not speak of our laws like you understand them,” Sorryn spits, cold amusement flickering in his eyes. “You may have been given the crown, but you are not one of her elves. You are not blessed by her.”
Adamaris steps forward, her voice soft and lined with contempt. “You may have read restricted information in that library and think your small human brain understands our world, but these are the facts: We gave you that crown, and you will do what we demand.”
I jump slightly as Sorryn tosses something forward, a glistening silver circle.
It rolls on the ground toward me before clattering to the ground at my feet.
My crown, twisted and bent.
“So tell me, my Queen,” Sorryn murmurs while drawing a small vial from his pocket. A small silver-tipped vine gleams within. He holds it between two fingers, letting the water at the base catch the light from the lone window in this tower.
The one from the royal garden.
“Do you know why this responded to you?” he asks.
I don’t answer. The truth is I don’t know, but he won’t believe me if I say that.
He answers for me after waiting a few breaths.
“The roots of these vines were planted with a single drop of blood from the most powerful Nithrin in our history. Druids planted those veins to lie dormant unless someone of the same bloodline appeared near. They never intended it as a path to power—more of a warning of sorts—but I’m not so shortsighted. ”
Dread fills my core as I blink rapidly, absorbing that information.
I can’t let them know about Vayrith.
Adamaris speaks next, her tone eerily calm as she lowers her hood. “We’ve been waiting for a sign from the Goddess that she is aligned with our mission. She delivered you to us as a new weapon. Not to worship … but to wield.”
I recoil and step back until I’m pressed against the wall, trapped as they step forward with wicked grins on their faces.
“I’m powerless,” I argue weakly. “You think I would allow myself to be trapped in this prison if I were a weapon?”
“That will change when we have our formal joining ceremony,” Sorryn says, his lips thinning to a smirk. “We’ve already sent word to the Elven Council that you wish to make your choice early.”
Something cold slithers down my spine, setting my body on full alert as Adamaris runs a hand through the back of Sorryn’s white hair and turns to admire his face. “The Nithrin Elders will take some time to placate, given their anger and pushback for you to still spend your three weeks with Zayvin.”
Hope soars within me. Zayvin.
There’s no chance he will roll over and accept this at face value. Not when everything I’ve learned points to his court suffering from the last queen’s choice being twisted.
Her focus turns to me. “It’s a good thing I know I can convince them to understand it is out of our control and in the hands of our queen, the same as the last one.”
They’ve already pulled this off once. Why did I think for a second this time would be different?
My mind whirls as I try to think of anything that will give them pause.
“The last queen died far too early,” I say, thinking back to our village’s shock at her death.
I should never have even been a candidate for another selection in my lifetime.
“You think the Elven Council won’t see through your treachery?
The Queen is supposed to be granted an extended life alongside her king. How did you explain her death?”
I’m grasping at any details I can, but as the words leave my lips, they ring true.
Why would the Queen have died so young, as if she were still a human, if the Goddess had given her blessing upon choosing Sorryn?
Sorryn’s lips curve into a smirk, as if he’s enjoying this banter. Meanwhile, Adamaris’s gaze turns thunderous.
“Tell us what you are,” she demands, crossing over to me and yanking the chains between my hands toward her. My body is jerked forward and we come face-to-face. “Tell us what lies dormant in you and we may let you keep your mind intact. You know exactly what I can do with the orb if you disobey.”
My knees begin to tremble at the memory, but this time I don’t let them break me. I won’t let them drag me down into the pits of despair.
Maybe they will break my mind at the end of this, but for now, with my mind still functioning and a desire to fight, I won’t cower at what-ifs.
I straighten my spine and snarl at her, “I don’t know anything.”
There’s a quiet pause before Sorryn steps forward and lifts his hand, drawing crackling light into his palm. I watch him morph it into several different weapons until settling on the dagger he seems so fond of.
“Back up, dear Ada,” he murmurs while staring straight into my eyes. “I wouldn’t want her blood to splatter upon you.”
I watch her disgust of me dissipate as her eyes flutter and she steps back to his side.
Pain slices through me before I even recognize that he’s sent the weapon toward me.
It starts as a burn in my cheek, slow and deliberate.
Another slice.
This time a gasp falls from my mouth as I yank my hands up to my neck on impulse. Warmth coats my hands and the shackles on them.
My knees hit the floor as the next strike bites into the front of my ankle.
I bite down hard on my lip to keep from screaming.
“I’ll ask again,” Sorryn says tightly with a forced smile. “What are you?”
I clench my jaw, refusing to give him the satisfaction of an answer or scream, even as he walks forward and the crack of his hand against my already bloodied cheek makes my head ring.
He crouches to my level, his voice suspiciously soft. “What were you researching in the library before I walked in? What tomes did you actually read?”
I don’t speak. I narrow my eyes and feel blood seeping into my mouth as I smile and answer, “Surface theory.”
His smile fades as mine grows.
I don’t have a shred of knowledge on what that meant, but I recall Serenath asking Rhune for it.
His usual mask of warmth fades as I chirp, “Almost as interesting as the one on passive affinities.”
A crack echoes again as my head snaps to the side.
Adamaris hisses something under her breath, elven words I don’t understand, but the intent in her tone is clear. She’s done with waiting for me to willingly give them information.
“Hold her,” he snaps.
Hands wrap around my arms. I try to pull away, but with my hands shackled and the amount of blood soaking my dress from the wound in my neck, it’s no use. Adamaris maneuvers herself to my back, holding me tightly against her.
“Heal her neck wound before she passes out from blood loss. I want her to be fully conscious for this.”
Prickles break out along the side of my neck, as if I can feel the stitching of my skin occurring.
It reminds me of my mother’s threadwork, and I hold onto her face and her love in my mind as I steel myself for whatever is coming next.
Sorryn steps forward again, inspecting my hands as if they’re artifacts, not a part of me.
“This doesn’t have to be complicated,” he says gently. “Tell me what you know about your bloodline and we can avoid this.”
I close my eyes and take a breath.
“I have nothing to give you.”
Crack.
My scream shatters the air before I can stop it as he bends my pinky back until it breaks. Pain shoots like lightning through my hand.
I bite down on my lip, tears springing to my eyes against my will.
Crack.
Another finger.
I scream again, and this time the sound echoes off the stone walls.
Crack.
I begin to lose my sense of time. I may tremble and sob, but I don’t speak the truth of Vayrith.
They try everything. Threats. Torture. Sweet promises of mercy. I feel none of it after hours of pain. Instead, I let myself drift to somewhere else. To when I was just a girl in my village, braiding my sister’s hair after dinner with our parents.
To when Pat and I would run through the woods, racing to our spot on the hill.
To when I watched Rhune bleed for me, his shadows lashing like wild things to protect what he thought was worth saving.
I cling to those fragments like driftwood. If there’s breath within me, there’s still a fight inside me. However faint and fragile.
My breath scrapes shallow through my throat, barely enough to fuel my chest. My fingers throb like molten iron where they’ve been shattered. I cradle them close and let my eyes drift closed for the first time since being locked away.
Healing magic pulls me from the safety of unconsciousness. It’s soft and warm, a false feeling of safety as it seeps into my skin and mends my body.
My eyes close … and they start over again.
Then again.
And again.
Sometimes it’s Sorryn who asks. Sometimes Adamaris. Sometimes neither. Just the pain and the silence that follows.
I want to scream at the pain, but my voice is gone.
Still, I haven’t told them anything.
You’re not like the last queen …
Enari’s voice echoes in the hollow of my heart where strength used to live.
I close my eyes and try to picture Rhune’s face.
Not the broken version in the dining hall. Not the still, bloodied figure I was dragged away from.
The real Rhune.
The one who called me Little Dove in my sleep like I was a treasure to protect.
Little Dove, I hear him say. Keep fighting.
A small sob escapes before I can stop it.
I don’t know if he’s alive.
I don’t know if any of them are.
“Please …” My voice cracks as I make a plea to their goddess. “If there’s any power within me, let me have it.”
Nothing answers.
No spark or divine warmth.
The faces of the women in the selection cross through my mind.
Virelle.
Lisbeth.
Thalia.
Tears trail down my cheeks as I try once more to let the Goddess hear me. “I can’t let all of them down. I can’t let their sacrifices be in vain. Please.”
The silence swallows me whole.