I press my lips together in a hard line.
“Fine. You can come with me to Seventh,” King Ravinger suddenly says. “But I’m leaving in an hour, with or without you. I won’t wait longer than that.”
“Alright, yes, I’ll hurry—”
“You’ll have to find your own means of travel.”
“There’s one timberwing left,” Dommik grinds out. “In the perch.”
Relief pushes through me. I’m lucky it didn’t flee when the fae arrived or get saddled up with Kaila’s entourage.
Ravinger nods, his gaze narrowing on my face. “And you can try what you will with the bridge to keep the fae out, but you won’t get in my way, is that clear?”
The underlying threat is sharp enough that I feel it jab against my skin.
I swallow hard. “Yes.”
“Fine. One hour,” he cautions before leading his timberwing away.
I share a look with Dommik and with my people, all of us shouldering this heavy silence together. Trying to bear the implications of what’s to come.
Yet despite their dread, their anger, their fear, I know this is the right path.
And after a lifetime of wrongs, it’s time I changed directions.
CHAPTER 20
AUREN TURLEY
My eyes have adjusted tothe dark.
I sit tucked in the corner of the cell with my legs crossed, back braced against the walls. Above me, the green window has gone black with the night.
I’ve discovered it’s not really a window. It’s not made of glass, but something else that refuses to break. I know—I’ve tried. I’m sure other prisoners before me have tried too. Which makes me wonder why they put it there in the first place. Probably for false hope.
I wonder if it’s made other prisoners go mad.
But that won’t happen to me. I won’t let it. Even with this feeling that writhes within my skull. Even with the things that wriggle through the tunnels in my mind.
I have to keep stopping myself from delving a finger into my ears to try to scoop the sensation out. I’ve made them raw already, scraped with my filthy nails and left to scab. I had to bite my nails down just so I’d stop scratching.
Sleep comes in tossing fits. Thinking makes my head pound. And being confined in this cell makes my eyes twitch and my teeth grind because Ihatethis feeling of being caged.
But I don’t lose control. I don’t waste my energy on more fits. I focus, as often and for as long as I can. Though sometimesI jerk awake, unsure of where I am or how long I’ve been out, confused all over again.
The three small marks gouged into the floor help me keep track of the passing time. I’m not sure it’s very accurate, but I’ve tried to make a mark every time I get food, which, admittedly, isn’t often. Apparently, traitors don’t get three meals a day, and sometimes not even one. Especially not after attacking a guard and trying to steal his sword.
But while it’s not a perfect system, I need those marks. I can’t trust my mind, and I certainly can’t trust anyone here. They say I’ve been in this cell for a long time, though I don’t think that’s true. They say I’m a traitor, but it feels likeI’mthe one who’s been betrayed.
I’m going to figure this out. And I’m going togetout.
I focus on the hunk of fleshy yellow fruit sitting in my palm. I’ve been trying to rot it for hours, but the magic doesn’t reappear. Hasn’t at all, not since that piece of bread I molded.
My eyes flick to the floor. Right next to the leg of the bed, in a neat little pile, are the bread’s blackened crumbs.
With renewed determination, I pull my attention back to the fruit, my fingers sticky and stained from its juice. “Come on…”
I stay hunched, teeth gritted, urging the magic to come up.
