The rune splits beneath my strike. Beyond the door lies a narrow tunnel that descends deeper into the dungeon. I move through the darkness, following the faint flicker of light ahead. The tunnel opens into a circular chamber lit by guttering torches. My heart stops when I see her.
Blaire.
She's tied to a wooden post, wrists bound above her head. Her golden hair hangs in matted tangles around her face. Even after weeks of captivity, she retains the ethereal beauty of the Maiden of Arawynn. Her traveling dress is torn and stained but she's breathing.
She's alive.
When she sees me, her crystalline blue eyes widen with a mixture of relief and terror.
"Rhianelle," she whispers, her voice hoarse from screaming or pleading or both. "You shouldn't have come. They're waiting for you. It's a trap—"
But I'm already moving, my blade flashing as it severs her bonds. She collapses against me. Her legs are too weak to support her weight. I wrap my arms around her trembling form.
"You came." Her voice is paper-thin, threaded with disbelief.
"Of course I came. It's all right. I'm here now," I murmur into her hair. "We need to go—"
But Blaire's already pulling away from me, stumbling toward the darkest corner of the cell. She crawls across the filthy floor toward something I hadn't noticed in my rush to reach her.
An orc slumps in the shadows. Multiple wounds cover his massive torso, some still seeping. He's dying.
"No, no, no," Blaire whispers, pressing her hands against the worst of his injuries. "Don't you dare leave me."
Her trembling hand touches his face, brushing aside a streak of dried blood. The way she looks at him... I've never seen Blaire look at anyone like that.
"Blaire..." I step closer, careful not to startle her.
Even through the blood and bruises that mar his features, I can see the noble bearing. The three silver earrings on his left ear and the dark script on his neck mark him as royalty.
He is Vayne Aldrath Malgoth. The third prince of Myrkheim. King Mavren's brother.
The one Blaire was secretly married to according to the book of bindings.
A soft glow flickers between her palms. Her healing grace comes in weak, faltering waves, fighting against the suppression runes carved into these walls. "The rebels can't touch me. Sacred law of the Mother protects a new bride. So they hurt him instead and made me watch."
I stare at the dying orc prince. His breathing is shallow and labored. Blood trickles from wounds that speak of prolonged torture. Blaire may not have enough strength left to save him.
But I do.
I kneel beside them and place my hands over Blaire's. "Hold him still," I tell her. "This is going to hurt."
Anastarros respond to her desperate need. This will require at least two strings. The blessings flow through Blaire, amplifying her natural abilities. The wounds on Vayne's body begin to close and the internal bleeding stops. Color slowly returns to his skin. His eyes flutter open, glazed with pain. They find her instantly.
"Blaire?"
Everything in her breaks at the sound of her name on his lips but then her face goes cold. The Arawynn Maiden's mask slams back in place.
His shaky hand rises, reaching for her face. "I thought they killed you. I told them to take me instead—"
She catches his wrist before he can touch her. "Of course you did."
His brow furrows. "I had no choice—"
"You always say that." Her voice hardens. "But you had a choice, Vayne. You chose to walk into an obvious trap."
"I was trying to save you."
"From what, exactly?" She releases his wrist like it burns her. "All you accomplished was getting tortured for three days."
