“And you wantmyhelp with that?”
Elara’s nails dug into her palms. “It’s important.”
Tristan sighed deeply. “The woman hates me.”
“Why?”
A smirk tugged at his mouth. “I broke off our engagement.”
Elara blinked, momentarily thrown. “Oh.”
“Yeah,” he drawled, “could be tricky. That, and you’re not exactly someone who gets out much, are you?”
“What about during Osin’s next party?”
Tristan scrunched his nose, considering. “I might be able to?—"
The door crashed open and the both of them jolted, heads whipping toward the source of the noise. Elara’s pulse spiked. Malak stood in the doorway, his breath ragged, face flushed, eyes darting around the room until they landed on her. The moment they did, his whole body seemed to deflate, the tension leaving him in one slow, heavy breath.
Behind him, two guards lingered by the door, heads bowed, shoulders stiff like they’d just been thoroughly chewed out. She didn’t need to guess why. Malak must’ve found them slacking off somewhere, panic setting in the moment he realized they weren’t where they were supposed to be. That wild, desperate look in his eyes when he’d burst in—he had expected her to be gone.
“Well, that’s my cue,” Tristan muttered, springing to his feet with a quickness that made Elara’s head spin. He grabbed his coat from the bed and turned toward her. His usual teasing smile softened, and for a moment, there was something almost genuine in his eyes.
“It was truly lovely to meet you, Elara,” he whispered. Then he stepped closer, pressing a chaste kiss to her cheek. “Give ’em hell, little saint.”
With a wink and a flair of dramatics, Tristan strode toward the door, his voice rising louder than necessary, as though he wanted the entire castle to hear. “Hope you all had a good night. The Hallowed certainly did!”
Elara’s legsgave out beneath her, knees hitting the rough stone as the guards hauled her along, their grip bruising. Every breath burned, pain ripping through her, only worse this time. Somewhere in the back of her mind, a voice whispered that the Hunter was feeling this too, every damn bit of it. She shoved that thought down fast—she wasn’t about to let guilt creep in forhim.
They didn’t say a word, didn’t even look at her as they dragged her into the cell, tossing her to the floor like she was nothing. The impact knocked the breath from her, and for a long, hazy moment she lay there, cheek pressed to the cold stone, ears ringing. Somewhere behind her, the cell door clanged shut and the wards buzzed to life. She couldn’t move. Couldn’t even lift her head.
Tears burned hot in her eyes as she willed her legs to work, to remember the drills Saria had pounded into her. But it was like she was right back at square one, every bit of progress erased.
“Fuck!” The word ripped from her.
She wanted to sob, but she dragged her palms to her eyes, pressing hard, trying to block out everything. The frustration, the pain, the helplessness. She took a slow breath, and forced herself to calm down.I can do this.Elara blinked away the tears, expecting—hoping—to see Reynnar leaning against the bars, watching her with that quiet, unshakable strength that always made her feel like she could push through anything. But when she looked, his side of the cell was empty.
Her heart stumbled, ice spreading through her veins.
Where is he?
Her teeth ground together, a low growl slipping from her lips as she dragged herself forward. Jagged stone bit into her palms and knees, but the pain only drove her harder to his cell.
Nothing. Just darkness.
Elara trembled, every nerve raw, every horrible possibility crashing over her—Reynnar broken, his body mangled and bleeding out, or worse, cold, lifeless, gone.No. She squeezed her eyes shut, forcing herself to banish those thoughts.Focus. Just breathe.She forced herself to walk through that quiet place in her mind, willed her heart to slow its frantic hammering.
Teeth clenched against the pain, she dragged herself to the cell door. “Where is Reynnar?” Her voice cracked, but the guards outside didn’t even spare her a glance. She tried again, her eyes darting around, wild, pleading with anyone who might care enough to listen. “Was he moved? Did he?—"
Her words died as one guard stopped and kicked dirt into her face. Grit slammed into her skin, needlesharp, clogging her mouth and nose. She choked, coughing as her hands shook, uselessly trying to clear it.
“Quit your sniveling!” he growled, kicking another cloud of dirt at her.
Elara flinched, her body jerking as she turned quickly, pressing her back against the iron bars. Her hands shook as she fumbled for the inside of her cloak, finding a patch clean enough to wipe the grime from her eyes. Her breath hitched, uneven.It’s fine. It’s going to be fine. Reynnar is okay.He had to be. There wasn’t room for any other possibility.
Over and over, she repeated the words, until they became a prayer, a desperate chant to keep the fear at bay. To keep her from falling apart. But whether it was exhaustion finally claiming her or some mercy from the gods, she wasn’t sure. Allshe knew was that her body gave in long before her mind found any peace.
When Elara woke, the cell was swallowed in darkness, the damp chill clinging to her skin. Every inch of her back throbbed in agony, her neck stiff, and twisted from sleeping upright against the iron bars. She shifted, wincing as the sharp pain shot through her shoulders, but she wiggled her toes, testing them, and exhaled heavily when they moved without pain—small mercies.
