Chapter thirty-two
The holding cells were carved directly into living trees, the wood shaped by magic into small chambers with barred windows. They'd separated the group—Briar could hear Eliam's voice from somewhere above, the low rumble of threats that the guards were ignoring. Arion was in the cell beside hers, his light casting strange shadows through the wooden walls. The others were scattered throughout the structure, close enough to hear but too far to see or touch.
The cell itself was simple. A sleeping platform grown from the wood itself, covered with woven grass mats. A basin carved into one corner where water trickled constantly from somewhere above. A waste hole in the opposite corner that led to depths she didn't want to contemplate. The bars were living wood, still growing, impossible to break or burn.
Briar sat on the sleeping platform, her back against the wall, trying to stop her hands from shaking. The reality of what she'd done kept hitting her in waves. Tomorrow at midday, she would walk into a cave that had killed trained Drak warriors. Tomorrow, she would die.
"Briar." Arion's voice came through the wall, quiet and strained. "Can you hear me?"
"Yes."
"Are you..." He stopped, probably realizing how stupid it was to ask if she was alright. "We'll find a way out of this. Eliam's already trying to negotiate, offering trades, threats—"
"They won't listen." Her voice came out steadier than she felt. "I invoked their law. There's no taking it back."
Silence stretched between them. She could feel his light pulsing through the wall, agitated and desperate.
"What did Ferria tell you?" he asked suddenly. "In the safe haven, before you... before she died. You've been different since then. Distant."
Briar pressed her hand against her chest, feeling the warmth pulse in response. Should she tell him now? That he wasn't real, wasn't separate, was just a piece of Eliam walking around in his own body? What good would it do when she was going to die tomorrow anyway?
"It doesn't matter now," she said.
"Everything matters now." His voice was fierce. "If you're going to—if tomorrow—then tell me. Whatever it is, tell me."
Before she could respond, she heard footsteps approaching. Veroc appeared at her cell, carrying a tray of food and a bundle of cloth.
"Eat," he said, passing the tray through a gap in the bars. "Real food, not prisoner slop. The condemned deserve that much."
The tray held meat that smelled of herbs and smoke, roasted vegetables, flatbread still warm from baking. Her stomach turned at the sight of it.
"I'm not hungry."
"Eat anyway." His golden eyes studied her. "You'll need strength tomorrow. The cave doesn't kill quickly."
"How comforting."
He set the bundle on the floor. "Traditional clothes for the trial. They'll protect you better than what you're wearing now." He paused. "Not much better, but some."
"Why?" Briar looked up at him. "Why are you helping?"
"I'm not." His expression was unreadable. "I'm following protocol. But..." He glanced around, then leaned closer to the bars. "You saved Karse's life. Actually saved it, expecting nothing in return. That matters."
"It's why I'm going to die tomorrow."
"Yes." He didn't soften the truth. "But it still matters. Karse was my clutch-brother before he left. We were raised together, trained together. I hated him for leaving, but you gave him the chance to come home." He straightened. "The cave tests more than strength. Remember that."
He left before she could ask what he meant.
Briar forced herself to eat despite her lack of appetite. The food was good, better than anything they'd had on the road. She wondered if this was what condemned prisoners felt like eating their last meals.
After she finished, she examined the bundle Veroc had left. The clothes were Drak-made—leather pants that would actually protect her legs, a tunic of some scaled material she didn't recognize, boots that fit better than anything she'd worn since leaving home. There were even gloves, thin but tough, and a belt with loops for weapons she wouldn't be given.
She changed slowly, her body still aching from the confrontation with Ferria. The clothes fit surprisingly well, as if they'd been made for someone her size. She wondered whose they'd been, if their original owner had died in the cave she'd face tomorrow.
"Briar?" A different voice this time. Sian, from somewhere below.
"I'm here."
