“Scheming whore!” A voice from behind struck her like lightning.
She whipped around, an arrow ready to fire, but before she could release the twine between her fingers, something hard and unforgiving met the back of her head.
Her arrow fired into nothingness, and everything blurred. Her vision was fading, and she was stumbling. Down. Down.
Collapsing.
“He warned you not to come here.” The gruff voice was familiar, but she couldn’t quite identify it as she perceived it through distorted, far away senses.
She touched the back of her head and felt warm, wet hair that stained her fingers scarlet with her blood. She could hear Nocthar making a fuss at the attacker, but there was little he could do.
“Who are you? What...what did you do?” The weak words spilled out of her mouth as the world around her faded away, dull spots like ink blots overtaking her vision.
“I just stopped you from ruining everything.” The voice was marred by her disorientation.
She fought to stand, but the ground slipped out from under her as her senses faded. She felt the hands of her attacker and used her bow to fend him off with what little strength she had left. She struck him with the end of the bow, but he pulled it from her weakening grip and tossed it aside.
Then a sharp prick in her neck. A final sting to accelerate her descent into darkness by what could’ve only been a poisoned dart.
“That should keep you quiet for now.”
“I wasn’t going to kill him…I wouldn’t kill him...” She managed to breathe out the words as everything faded once and for all. By the flickering of the fallen torch, there was just enough light to make out the face above her with the last bit of consciousness she had left. She recognized him now. It was Wryan.
35
Quiet As Death
Asterious
Asterious opened his eyes to his cheek pressed against the cold stone floor and chains shackled around his ankles. At least they’d held this time. His clothes were tattered, and his head throbbed maddeningly. The fear that he was losing himself once again pierced him like an icy dagger to the chest. All the discipline and pain he’d endured to control his emotions now seemed it had been for nothing. Because now, because of Caramyn, they were returning with a vengeance. Each night since she'd come to the Forbidden Court, they’d grown stronger. And he’d grown weaker. He could lose himself. He could losethe kingdom. He could be its very downfall if he did not regain control.
He reached for the key to the shackles, ashamed he’d had to resort to this. He wouldhaveto stop caring about her. He couldn’t be angry with her, or hurt, or even concerned. He must simply make himself feelnothing,whatever it took.
When all else fails, make it hurt worse. Until the pain makes you forget the feeling.
But now, that was much harder to do. Now he couldn’t just pick up a blade to dig into his own flesh like Wyran had taught him to do. In the war camps he could easily gash himself open whenever he felt the feelings growing too powerful. But his current condition prevented him from so much as touching even a butter knife. And he needed the pain, needed the distraction—the catalyst for numbness—more than ever.
Unlocking himself and rising to wash the night from his body, he splashed water across his face in the stone basin in the corner. The cracked mirror above it stared back at him, a reminder of the man behind the monster—behind the silvery black veins ominously claiming his body—the shattered pieces on the floor like the missing pieces of himself. He ran a hand through his black hair, brushing it back from his eyes, and then dressed in pants, a well-fit tunic, and his typical dark overcoat, ensuring he buttoned it all the way up to his neck. He couldn’t risk those newly formed creeping veins peeking through. As he reached for the handle of the great blood red door before him, he drew in a breath, leaving his demons behind with his shackles. Now it was time once more to play the part of the noble prince.
The walk through the maze of hallways in the castle still wasn’t long enough to reset his thoughts. “Morning.” He nodded to the men in the breakfast hall as he entered.
Taking a seat next to his usual four friends, he guzzled down a fresh pint of ale. “A bit early for drink, eh, Your Highness?”Tyrios nudged him, flashing his teeth. He noted Wryan’s uncharacteristic silence and watchful eye from the corner of the table, and knew he was probably still sulking over their interaction yesterday evening.
“Perhaps.” He braced his brow at the pungent taste as the drink stung his insides. “But it was…a rough night.”
“That's a bit worrisome, given we have such a big day ahead of us.” Tyrios took a bite of bread spread with some sort of orange jam. “You’re certain you’re still…controlled…enough to make this journey?”
“I’m certain I have no other choice but to try. Time is running out.” Asterious nodded, forcing himself to eat a bite of food. “Are all preparations made? Weapons? Rations?”
“Everything should be ready. It’s just a matter of you giving the order.” Wryan spoke up, leaning back in his chair.
“Which, respectfully, should be sooner rather than later.” Gariel chimed in with a nod. “There have been more reports of Sinevia burning crops to punish resistant cities. She’ll send the whole land into famine soon. The whole kingdom will be too weak to rebuild before long if we don’t—”
Asterious held up a hand to spare himself the lecture. “I’m well aware of the urgency of the matter.” He glanced between the four men. “But our best hope of reaching the Shadowblood’s sword lies locked in the tower with the girl. And, unfortunately, she’s no longer part of the plan.” When met with questioning eyes, he realized Wryan must not have shared the news amongst them.
“But if she’s a Shadowblood...why are her eyes violet instead of solid black? Why don’t her markings cover her entire body?” Riven shook his head in disbelief.
“She says her mother was a Lightborn.” Asterious sighed.
