There’s a creak from the door at the top of the stairs.
“Great,” I mumble as I wait for Galen to join me in my cell. Wait for him to fill me with that awful tonic and wait for the guards to haul me up the stairs. My mind drifts to my dream, of Sorin’s touch and his words.
There’s a pause on the stairs, boots coming to a heavy stop, so I tilt my head to get a better listen. It’s amazing what the body can do. Without much light, my hearing has sharpened. Whereas before my capture, I wouldn’t have noticed how many people descended the stairs, now I can easily identify that thereis onlyoneset of boots instead of two. Peculiar given Galen never visits without a guard, too cowardly to face me alone.
The steps resume as the oil lantern on the wall flicks on and into the light of the flame steps not Galen, not a guard, but…
Sorin?
My stomach somersaults, all thoughts of hunger lost. My head spins. A man with dark hair and a sharp jaw begins to take shape through the dim light. I fight the urge to grip my chest. To soothe the crack splintering through. Pulling myself to my feet, I brace my hand against the wall for support.
“Hello,” he says.
My chest deflates.
Not Sorin, but King Roman.
He stands casually on the other side of my cell, dressed in a navy top and dark leather pants. No armor, no extravagant garb, which I would have expected from the king. It’s been years since I’ve been in Valebridge, and while Roman and I never met directly, my chest tightens at all the familiarity. While the angle of his face is so similar to Sorin, it’s in Roman’s eyes that lies the biggest difference. Bright green shining beneath full, furrowed brows.
He watches me, his eyes roaming over my face then down to my shackled wrists. “Do you not bow for your king?”
Scoffing, I take an unsteady step forward. “I’ll bow to my king when I see him next.”
I inch my way to the bars of my cell, glancing upward at Roman. He’s taller than Sorin, but slimmer. His shadow incases me like an insect under a boot, but I’m not afraid of this man who claims to be the ruler of Teravie.
“Where is your partner?” I ask through gritted teeth. The voices in my head thunder loudly, their disapproval dripping with every syllable.
The king doesn’t flinch, but a small smile twitches at his lips.
His silence grates me, so I ask him another question. “What do you want?”
Several more moments of weighted silence fill the small space between us, my fingernails dig into my palms.
“You know my brother,” he finally says, more of a statement than a question.
His words catch the breath in my lungs, freezing them there. He crosses his arms, that slight smile stretching across his lips. I struggle to regain my focus. My eyes find his again, and it’s only now that I remember his age. That he and I are merely a year apart.
Nodding, I hold my gaze. “Yes, I know Sorin.”
A muscle feathers in his jaw when I mention Sorin’s name. But he’s quick to regain indifference, smoothing a few wrinkles from his tunic.
“Again I ask what is it that you want?” My stomach aches from hunger, but I ignore it, not wanting to give him the satisfaction of sitting or backing down.
He cocks his head to the side, his dark curls catching in the dim light. The same dark brown as Sorin’s, and my stomach churns. “I want to know where he is. Where hecouldbe.”
I take a step backward, my laughter causing more pain to my already screaming stomach. “You’re the king, find him yourself.” I curl my lip, eyes narrowing.
If they haven’t found Sorin, he must not be in Loxley.
All the possibilities of where Sorin and the others could be race through my mind, but Roman’s quiet laughter brings my attention back to him. Uncrossing his arms and stretching them above his head, he grips the bars.
“Well aren’t you a pretty, feral little thing.” He smirks and when a small dimple forms on his right cheek, bile rises in my throat. “Galen said you were a handful.”
“Don’t speak his name to me.” The words are venom from my tongue, and I wish for a moment I had Ruse’s teeth instead of my own. Bigger teeth, bigger bite. My legs gives out, and I drop to the floor to rest my back against the bars so that I face away from Roman. “He’s a snake and you are no better.”
Romanhmmm’sfrom behind me, his fingers tapping rhythmically against the iron bars. “Maybe that’s true,” he says. “But what good is a snake if there isn’t a mouse. And you, mouse, have something I need.”
My heartbeat quickens and my breaths become short and painful.
