"She trusted you," he says, all the anger cracking to reveal the pain underneath. "She let you into her life, married you. She defended you to the council when they called for your execution. She stood beside you when everyone else called you monster. When I called you monster."
He swallows hard.
"And you betrayed her."
I see it then. I think I've always known it but I was too fucking selfish to acknowledge it.
Aelfric loves her.
"I can't lose her like I lost Aerin. I swore I wouldn't fail anyone like that again." I can see it in his face. The same helplessness I feel now.
"But I did fail her." His eye meets mine and the pain in it is bottomless. An ocean of regret and self-hatred that mirrors my own. "I let you near her. I stood by while she married you."
His grip tightens on the sword.
"I should have driven this blade through you the moment you crawled out of that well," he says.
"You should have," I agree.
His fist connects with my jaw, snapping my head to the side. Then again. And again. He's not holding back now. I don't raise my hands to defend myself.
Every strike feels deserved. I don't even bother turning away.
Good.
I welcome the pain. Let it hurt.
Let it be all I can feel.
Because this is so much simpler than the self-hatred churning in my chest.
"Damn you," he says finally, his voice hoarse from shouting.
He stops hitting me, breathing hard. His knuckles are split and bleeding. There's defeat in his voice now, exhaustion mixed with the rage. "Damn you for making her love you. Damn you for letting her believe you could be different. Damn you for proving us all right in the end."
I wish he could put me out of my misery, rip my heart out or behead me. I'd even let him set me on fire and scatter the ashes. Anything if it would bring her back.
But he just stares at me for a long moment. His chest heaves with ragged breaths. Blood drips from his knuckles.
Then he steps back, leaving the sword buried in my chest. He wipes his face with his sleeve. "You don't deserve a quick death."
He turns toward the cell door, pausing at the threshold.
"If she dies, I'll come back," he says without looking back. "Next time, I won't miss your heart. I'll take my time with you. You'll beg me for death long before I grant it. That's a promise."
He walks out. The young guard hesitates only a second before following.
Darkness settles.
I hang there, pinned to the wall by the blade through my chest.
Blood continues to seep from the wound, running down my chest to pool in the water below. The flood around me is dark with it now. My vampire healing is already trying to work around the obstruction, trying to seal the flesh around the blade.
From the other cell, Hrolf speaks quietly. "That looked like it hurt."
The dwarf drags himself to the bars between our cells, the iron ball chained to his ankle grinding across the wet stone behind him. He shoves his arm through as far as it will go. He cannot reach me.
"His sword is made of dwarven steel," he observes, almost appreciatively. "It's a good blade with solid craftsmanship. Shame to see it wasted like this."
