Chapter Thirty-five
Madame Vera was right. The palace dungeons are a dreadful place.
My small cell is one of many in a cold, dark space that reverberates with the sounds of discomfort. Nasal drones, restless shuffles and the sporadic hack of a cough.
I ease against the coarse wall, feeling its chill seeping through my clothes and permeating my bones. A single sunbeam trickles through the barred window near the ceiling, but it provides only feeble warmth.
I can’t believe this is what my life has come to. Me, alone, wasting away in a dungeon while the High Council deliberates my fate.
It didn’t take long for them to crack my mind. Ten minutes with one of their Astro soldiers, and they knew enough about me to charge me with crimes against all three principalities. Identity theft. Treason. Maybe evenaccessory to murder – I heard two prison guards talking about the real Maeve and Wren’s bodies being discovered in Auxin Forest near the waterway. Madame Vera’s goon, Henk, must’ve finished them off after we left.
With Madame Vera and Taron both gone, having managed to escape Aurora Isle and seemingly vanish, I’m the sole traitor left to pay the price. Her plan worked, and I’m never getting out of here. Not without a miracle, at least.
A wry grin tugs at the edges of my mouth. All I can do is try to find bitter amusement in the irony of my situation.
I’m a guest of the palace – again. Elara’s and my childhood dreams have come true twice now. Only it’s not the warm reception we had in mind as little girls.
To pass the time, I chisel away at the wall with a stubborn piece of stone. It’s my way of fighting off the encroaching madness of being locked in this hellhole of a box.
The only other sound is the steadydrip, drip, dripof water from one corner of the ceiling trickling down on to the floor.
For the millionth time, I look up at the small window in the cell. I’ve scrutinized it over and over, and I know that it’s too small for even a child to squeeze through, but again I find myself considering it as a potential escape route.
I stand and start pacing again, my other favourite activity.There has to be some way out of here.
Before … well, it’s too late.
I’ve been trying to push the harsh reality away, but it’s impossible, like trying to hold back the ocean’s tide. I keepreplaying the look on Taron’s face. The tears I could’ve sworn were welling in his icy-blue eyes.
The thought haunts me – would he have gone through with it? Would he really have killed me had Madame Vera not called him off?
I think I’m scared to find out the answer. But I choose to believe that he wouldn’t have. That whatever feelings we shared … whatever it was that bonded us in the Reckoning, would’ve been strong enough to stop him.
I wrap my hands around the filth-encrusted bars of the cell and lean my head against the metal. I wonder where he is now. Whether he thinks about me. Whether he even cares what became of me. And I’m livid. At Taron for not fighting harder to get that awful woman out of his head. At myself, for not listening to him when he told me Madame Vera had no intention of bringing back Elara.
I was unreasonable, stubbornly steeping in my grief. I didn’t want to believe that my beloved sister was gone for ever. I’m struggling to believe it even now.
But even if I had listened to Taron, and we had used our wish to escape to Brim, he still wouldn’t have been free. Madame Vera would’ve tracked him down. As long as she has his soul captured within her Necroseal…
I squeeze the bars until my hands hurt. If only I had been stronger in the temple. If only I had more control over my abilities. I should’ve been faster and smarter.
Madame Vera’s hand was right there. The Necroseal was mine for the taking.
I wouldn’t have known how to help Taron even if I’d had the Necroseal, though. In the vision I saw of him lying in the ravine, he was broken and dying. It was Madame Vera claiming his soul that kept him alive long enough for his body to heal itself.
If I’d somehow managed to free his soul, how do I know that wouldn’t have killed him? These thoughts distract me from my sentence.
The best-case scenario is imprisonment for life. The worst-case scenario … I don’t even want to think about it.
How long has it been?A question I frequently ask myself. Time has been slippery ever since they tossed me into this dank cell.
If I had to guess, I’d say it’s been a week. Measured by the hollow ache in my stomach after the single meal shoved through the bars at each sunrise, and the relentless pain in my back from restless nights on the unforgivingly cold stone floor.
“I have to get out of here,” I say.
I hear a soft laugh from beyond the bars.
There’s a figure standing in the shadows. I’m not sure how long they’ve been watching me.
