Chapter 18 It’s a Shame, Really
It's a Shame, Really
In the few small places where daylight infiltrated the perpetual gloom of the Caves, it came pale and watery, too weak to warm the moss-slick floor.
The stronghold woke up in fits and starts, first with the distant rattle of cauldrons in the kitchen, then the shuffle of boots in the corridor, followed by the slow, muffled rising of voices, all too careful to avoid the bright edge of volume.
Everything in the Caves was either stone or shadow.
Alina had come to prefer the shadows, but even they offered no hiding place for her today.
She dressed quickly, barely glancing at her reflection in the chipped mirror.
Her eyes were swollen, her nose raw, and her hair tangled from a night spent turning over the same impossible thoughts until she was sick of her own mind.
The burn marks on her shoulder and arms had become intricate black lines, snaking down her arm like a tattoo.
The memory of yesterday—Seraphina’s accusations, Elara and Kael together, the wall of suspicion at every turn—had set up shop behind her ribs. Every breath stoked it back to flame.
She dreaded the mess hall but, unfortunately, she had to eat. Weary at heart, she entered, intending to hold her head high, to ignore the not-so-subtle whispers and barbs.
None came.
Absolute quiet met her as she crossed the threshold.
Not a single word was spoken as she walked over to the cauldrons to retrieve her morning bowl of porridge.
Dozens of pairs of eyes followed her every move as she went to a bench in the far corner and sat down.
She felt them pelting her skin like stones thrown.
Stiffly she took the spoon and mechanically took one mouthful of gruel.
It tasted of nothing. Her stomach was made of stone.
Her whole body flashed hot and cold. Sweat broke.
Her eyes burned. Her throat closed up. She was going to vomit.
A bench scraped. Finn dropped into the seat across from her, all elbows and grinning cheekbones, as if he hadn’t noticed the energy of a lynching mob hanging in the air.
His hair was its usual masterpiece of artful neglect, sticking up at odd angles, and the collar of his shirt was buttoned wrong.
He wore the same crooked smile as always, but today it seemed more like armor than charm.
He looked openly around the hall, making eye contact with one after the other staring at them.
“What’s with all of you lot? I know I’m handsome.
You can come pick up your autographs later.
” He grinned like a fiend until the people finally stopped staring and resumed their breakfasts.
Alina could imagine well enough what they were saying, but right now she would not dwell on that.
Truly, she could kiss Finn for the kindness. Her stomach settled reluctantly.
“Rough morning, Your Highness?” he said, pitching his voice low enough to avoid the eavesdroppers but not so low she could ignore him.
Alina tried to smile, but it came out as a grimace. “You could say that.”
Finn pulled her bowl closer, peering at it with mock horror.
“They serve this to prisoners, you know. No offense.” He scooped a spoonful, swallowed theatrically, and made a face that would have gotten a laugh out of her, once.
“Word on the stone is you’ve been busy. I’d ask what you did to be so popular, but I don’t want to get implicated. ”
She almost wished he’d stop talking, but at the same time the silence was so much worse.
She looked past his shoulder to where a knot of rebels stared openly, lips curled in a sneer.
She could have called them out, could have stood and made some grand speech about loyalty, but what would be the point?
Nobody here wanted a speech. They wanted blood.
Or, at the very least, for her to finally take the hint and disappear.
She gathered her things, ready to leave. She had to get out of here before she started to cry again. She would not give them that satisfaction.
Finn’s hand shot out, covering hers. His grip was surprisingly warm, the skin rough from work and life outdoors. “You know,” he said, voice softening, “not everyone buys what Maven is selling. Some of us still have brains in our heads.”
“Doesn’t matter,” Alina muttered. “They’ll believe it if they want to.” She tried to tug her hand away, but Finn only squeezed harder, just for a second.
“You don’t have to do this alone,” he said. “Let them talk. They’ll get bored eventually. They always do.”
Alina wrenched her hand back, nearly knocking the bowl onto the floor. “You don’t want to be seen with me,” she said with resignation. “You’ll just make things worse for yourself.”
Finn’s smile faltered. “Too late for that, princess. I already have a reputation for bad decisions.” He winked, grin widening, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “Besides, I’d rather sit with the condemned than the cowards.”
A flicker of warmth tried to ignite inside her, but she crushed it. She could not afford hope, not now. All she could do was survive.
“Thank you, Finn.” She stood up, bench screeching, and this time Finn let her go.
The walk to the door felt like crossing a firing line. As she passed, rebels scooted back from their benches, creating a subtle but unmistakable gulf of empty air. Someone in the back actually spat on the floor, just loud enough for her to hear it.
She walked faster.
The corridor outside the mess hall was blessedly empty, but the reprieve didn’t last. As she rounded the first bend, voices echoed ahead—angry and sharp, edged with the certainty of people who knew they were right.
“…telling you, Kael is blinded by her. He won’t see reason until we’re all dead.”
“He’s kept us alive this long. If you think you can do better, why don’t you lead?”
A short, bitter laugh. “I might if he keeps up with this. She’s a liability. A real one. You heard what happened at the raid.”
There was a thump, as if someone slammed a fist against the wall.
“I don’t want to die just because he can’t keep it in his pants,” the voice hissed. “She’s not worth it.”
The voices faded, replaced by the hard slap of boots moving away.
Alina stood frozen, her breath caught between her ribs. The world had shrunk down to that one sentence, echoing, hollowing her out.
There was a small alcove, and she was glad for it because it let her hide for a moment.
She pressed into it, waiting until her legs stopped trembling.
She didn’t know how long she stood there, just that by the time she moved again, her hands were numb, and the stone had pressed a rough brand into the flesh of her shoulder.
She pressed her back to the wall, eyes closed, and tried not to think about how easy it was for the world to hate you.
She was so, so tired.
The war room reeked of lamp oil, fear, and the overripe scent of men who’d run out of patience.
Kael gripped the edge of the map table; his knuckles blanched to the color of bone.
Around him, his lieutenants jostled for space, each one staking out a patch of wood with elbows and sharp voices, as if physical proximity could tilt the outcome of the day’s debate in their favor.
The great table itself was a battle scar, riddled with knife marks, blotched with spilled ink, and patched over where hot wax had eaten through to the grain.
Every square inch told a story, and every story led to the same conclusion: they were losing, bit by bit, to an enemy who never seemed to run out of men or will.
Alina stood among them, feeling like a ghost. She said nothing and nobody said anything to her. Kael didn’t even look at her. She was sick to her stomach. She should just go, leave, never come back but she was rooted to the spot.
Marcus hovered closest to Kael, his battered hand planted on the map right over the blue markers that signified the latest supply lines.
“You need to make a statement,” Marcus growled.
“If you let this”—he flailed the hand in a vague gesture, meant to encompass both the rumors and the people spreading them—”go on, you’re telling every man and woman in the Caves that you’ve lost control.
That you’re not the Kael Stormborne we signed up to follow. ”
Seraphina snorted from her place by the chimney, her arms folded tight over her chest. “He should do nothing of the kind. Public accusations give the rumors teeth. We keep it quiet, cut out the rot, and move on. You think half these people care who said what, so long as they get to eat tomorrow?”
Of course, Seraphina wouldn’t want the rumors to die.
Marcus bristled, but Seraphina’s gaze was a steel trap. She never blinked. Kael kept his eyes on the table, jaw clenched hard enough that a vein jumped in his cheek.
“Enough,” he snapped, the word knifing through the noise.
“This is the last time we talk about this in here. We have more important things than gossip and paranoia.” He swept a hand across the table, nearly knocking over the little wooden pieces that marked troop movements.
“Edmund’s men take ground every day, and we argue over who likes who?
” His words hit Alina like a fist in the stomach.
Marcus didn’t flinch. “Loyalty matters. If you don’t see that—”
“It matters less than surviving the week,” Seraphina interrupted. “Besides, the only people fanning the flames are the ones hoping for a promotion when the dust settles.”
Seraphina sounded as if she were above the rumors and the talking. How cunning she was.
Kael looked up, those beautiful eyes of his blazing. “If either of you has proof in one direction or another, bring it to me. If not, drop it. Now.”
A tense silence fell, punctuated only by the tick of a draft sneaking through under the door and the low hum of torchlight.
Then, a pounding at the door.