Elara's heart skipped.How had she forgotten? She strained to recall the girl's name, but only fragments floated back to her—a wisp of her face, those tight strawberry blonde curls framing cruel green eyes...
The Hunter's low, rumbling voice brought her back to the present. “Yes, my lord.” His words vibrated against her back.
“The vessel seems to have tampered with her bind. Not only that, but she's been significantly aided. It seems there are rebels in Verdara who have all but escorted her straight to the traitor prince himself.”
Traitor prince?
Elara's heart skipped a beat. Her thoughts raced back to the group of rebels she’d been with. None of them had worn totems... Vredians, she had suspected, and now this only confirmed it. A prince? Could he mean Dominic?
Her mind spun, the pieces clicking together in a way that made her stomach lurch. Had Osin somehow read her mind? The thought was like ice in her veins. Acid scorched the back of her throat, her vision tilting as she swayed, fighting against therising dread that she had unwittingly exposed—and put at risk—everyonewho had helped her.
“The Hallowed must be rebound, and I want you to administer the new seal.” Osin crossed to the bookshelf behind his desk and pulled out a worn, ancient tome, its spine barely held together by fraying threads and what seemed like a whisper of ether. “I’d rather not summonherunless absolutely necessary.”
Osin extended the book to the Hunter, and Elara felt the tension coil in his body behind her. His voice was tight with caution when he finally spoke. “With all due respect, my lord, my talents are better suited to the northern border?—“
“Are you denying me?”
“Never, my lord.”
“Good,” Osin said, his voice creeping through the room like frost on glass as the Hunter reluctantly took the book from his outstretched hand.
Osin turned—his full attention settling on her. Time thinned beneath his gaze, every inch of her exposed to it, measured and found wanting.
His words fell like a tomb sealing shut.
“Take her to the Pit.”
Chapter 20
With every resounding step down the winding stone staircase, it felt as though a noose was tightening around Elara's neck. The frosty air of the Pit seeped into her bones—a chill that went beyond its deep-set location beneath the eastern stronghold or the damp stone walls weeping with frost. It felt as if Osin's malice had infused the very air, crystallizing around her and, freezing each breath in her throat.
If the biting cold hadn’t already stripped her fingers and toes of feeling, the remnants of Osin’s shadows would have finished the work. All warmth had drained from her, leaving only the sluggish crawl of darkness through her veins, tendrils tightening as they choked the last sparks of life from her body. Her legs trembled, threatening to buckle. The only thing keeping her from crumpling into a heap at the bottom of the staircase was the Hunter’s unwavering grip, his hand like an iron band around her waist, holding her upright.
Ivan. Her mind whispered, the name swirling in her muddled thoughts. Such an ordinary name for a man whose reputation was anything but common.
Elara risked a glance at him, only to catch her own distorted reflection in the gleaming surface of his mask.
She quickly averted her eyes.
It was unsettling—the sudden return of a memory she hadn’t known she’d lost. Hearing his name had snapped her back to a past that had somehow slipped away. What else had she forgotten? Ten years could blur many things, but this felt too important to have simply faded. Not just the Hunter’s name, but the knowledge that she’d once had… a friend, or something close to it. As close as court life allowed. Elara held to that much. But the memory itself…
“He tripped Lord Artan’s daughter on purpose at the last gathering. Just hooked his foot around hers when no one was looking. Sent her sprawling into the mud.”
Elara’s brow knit as a dull ache pulsed at her temples. Why did it feel like there was more—an unspoken undercurrent, a shared resentment between her and that girl? As though Lord Artan’s daughter had wronged them both. The memory hovered just beyond reach.
The solid thud of the Hunter’s boots on stone snapped her back as they reached the foot of the stairs. He released her waist and strode down the narrow hall, cutting through the torchlit shadows.
Elara blinked, the world blurring before it slid back into focus. She leaned into the cold stone, eyes closing as she forced herself to breathe.
A slow exhale from the Hunter drew her attention. He’d turned, already walking back toward her.
“Can you walk?”
She pushed off the wall. “I can walk.”
His gaze swept her, unimpressed, seeing straight through the bravado to the pain beneath. If hedaredto toss her over his shoulder again?—
“Then keep up,” he said, already turning away.
