Fuck.
49
Time bled together, stretched, twisted. Hours. Days. Weeks? I had no idea how long we’d been left in this cell.
Long enough that our throats were raw from thirst, that even the smallest droplets of water trickling down the stone walls had become a desperate source of relief.
Long enough that I found myself eyeing the patches of mould growing in the cracks, genuinely considering if licking them might be better than starving.
No one spoke much. Every now and then, a faint murmur of conversation would pass between us, but even that had begun to dwindle. Soldiers had arrived earlier and taken Fenric. He hadn’t returned, and I tried not to dwell on what that might mean.
I sat pressed against Linc’s side, my shoulder tucked into the hollow beneath his arm. He was trying to hide it—the way his breathing went shallow when he thought no one was watching, the way his hands trembled when he thought I couldn’t see. But I could feel the panic radiating off him in waves, the terror that ate at him every time he glanced toward the door where Fenric had been dragged through.
“He’s fine,” I whispered, the words tasting like lies even as I spoke them. “Fenric’s smart. He’ll tell them what they want to hear.”
“They’ve had him for hours.” Linc’s voice was raw, scraped hollow. His jaw worked like he was chewing glass. “Fucking hours, Isara.”
I reached for my bond with Kaelen again. I had been reaching for hours now, days, stretching my consciousness toward that familiar warmth that had become as essential as breathing. But there was nothing. Just emptiness where his voice should be, silence where his presence used to fill the hollow spaces in my chest.
The absence was worse than the thirst. Worse than the cold. It left me feeling carved out, incomplete, like someone had torn away half my soul and left the edges bleeding.
Linc’s arm tightened around my shoulders, and I could feel him fighting not to break apart completely.
“What if they—” he started, then stopped, jaw clenching so hard I heard his teeth crack.
“Don’t. Don’t go there. Don’t give them that power over you.” But even as I said it, I was imagining the same things. Fenric broken and bleeding.
The door swung open.
A blast of light flooded in, illuminating the hollowed faces of my companions, each of us looking more like prisoners than warriors now.
Nyxarian soldiers stepped inside, their expressions impassive as they surveyed us. One wore a helm in the shape of a vulture’s beak. Another smelled of rust and rot.
A rough hand seized my arm, yanking me up before I could even react. Cindrissian was dragged up beside me. He didn’t resist, didn’t even flinch.
Why us?
I wanted to think. To analyse. But I was too hungry, too weak, too exhausted for my mind to function properly.
We were hauled from the cell, our legs unsteady beneath us, dragged through the winding halls of the palace. I barely registered the twists and turns, the flickering torches, the faint hum of power embedded in the stone itself.
The guards stopped abruptly, throwing us to the ground. Pain shot through my knees, but I was too drained to react.
I raised my head just enough to see them.
Xyliria, and beside her, Ashterion. They were on their twin thrones, a contrast of chaos and stillness.
Xyliria—smirking, poised, dripping in silks and gold, watching us with the delighted cruelty of a cat playing with its food.
And Ashterion, who sat silent. His midnight-blue eyes tracked our movements, but his expression revealed nothing.
Xyliria took her time surveying us, her silken gown trailing behind her. She moved with the ease of someone who had already won, savouring the moment, drawing it out—a cat toying with cornered prey.
“Well, look at you,” she mused, her tone dripping with amusement. “How long has it been now?”
I didn’t answer. I wasn’t sure I even could. My limbs were weak, my throat raw from thirst, my body aching from days spent in a cell without food or warmth, but I refused to let it show. I wouldn’t let her see my suffering, wouldn’t let her enjoy it. I forced myself to sit straight, keeping my chin lifted.
“You must all be so hungry. So thirsty.” Her gaze landed on Cindrissian, a slow, cruel smile curving her lips. “Well, you’re in luck. You and Isara can earn food for your friends.”
