When we reached the cell, the guards threw us inside, and I hit the cold stone hard. Varyth was on his feet in an instant, a low growl rumbling in his chest as he moved toward us. The guards tensed, hands going to their weapons, but Varyth ignored them.
“Isara,” he breathed, dropping to his knees beside me. His hands hovered over my body, afraid to touch me. “What did they do to you?”
I tried to speak, but my throat was raw from screaming. Instead, I shook my head, fighting back the tears that threatened to spill.
“I’ll kill them,” he snarled, low and dangerous. “I’ll tear them apart with my bare hands.”
“This is your fault,” one of the guards sneered, kicking Darian’s prone form. “Your defiance has consequences, High Lord.”
They slammed the cell door shut, leaving us in oppressive darkness once more. For a moment, the only sounds were our ragged breathing and the fading echo of metal on stone.
“Varyth,” Shaelith rasped from where she lay crumpled nearby. “Darian... he needs help.”
Varyth’s gaze darted between me and Darian’s motionless form. For a heartbeat, indecision flickered across his face. Then he moved, swift and purposeful, to Darian’s side.
“Brynelle,” he commanded, “help me turn him.”
Together, they rolled Darian onto his back. In the dim light filtering through the cell’s small window, I could see the extent of the damage.
Varyth’s eyes swept over Darian’s body, his jaw tight as he studied the jagged wounds that crisscrossed his chest, his arms, his ribs. Some were bleeding, red seeping into his already torn clothing, pooling onto the stone beneath him.
Fenric’s voice was shaky, uncertain. “Is he going to…?”
Varyth shook his head immediately. “No.” The word was firm, absolute. “They’re shallow. They won’t kill him.”
But he didn’t sound relieved.
His hands hovered over the wounds, his fingers twitching as if he could will his power back into existence, force the magic-suppressing collar to break, to mend what had been done.
Shaelith released a shaking breath, her grief and exhaustion visible in the way her shoulders slumped. “But without anything to treat them, with his magic suppressed…”
“He’s going to be in a lot of pain,” Varyth finished, rougher than stone.
A soft, ragged groan escaped Darian.
A sound like agreement.
There was nothing we could do. No bandages. No magic. No way to make it better. I swallowed hard, my throat raw, my mind reeling.
Without thinking, I reached for Darian’s hand, threading my fingers through his. His grip was weak, but when his thumb twitched against mine, I knew he was with us.
55
Iron and sweat hung in the air, mixed with the remnants of suffering. Blood was smeared against the cold stone. Some of it had dried. Some of it hadn’t.
I was propped up in the corner, my back against the rough wall, my body screaming with every breath.
Across from me,Cindrissian and Fenric had been dumped back hours ago.
Neither had spoken.
Cindrissian was impossibly still, his body resting against the opposite wall, hiscrimson eyes half-lidded, unfocused, but awake.There was an unnatural stiffness to the way he sat, his limbs arranged too carefully, like he was holding himself together by force alone.
Varyth and the others were asleep.
Or as close to sleep as they could be. Their breaths were slow—the deep, involuntary rhythm of bodies that were too battered, too weak, to do anything else.
But I couldn’t sleep.
