She would have collapsed if he hadn’t been holding her hair. Her entire body felt simultaneously cold and hot, feverish and poisoned. She was on the edge of fainting, but she didn’t dare show any weakness. Bard. Ballanor was really going to do it. She had one day left.
The knowledge triggered something primal in her. A deep longing to live. For the first time since Val’s imprisonment, she knew, without doubt, that she didn’t want to die.
A guard called from below, and Grendel shoved her away with one last, smug look. “I’ll see you soon, Alanna. Very, very soon.”
She stumbled to her hard cot and sat, shivering, as the sound of his boots ringing on the stone faded into the distance and the minutes slowly passed. She only dared to start breathing properly again when a distant horn blew, and she knew that Grendel was riding out. But even then, thoughts of what he was riding out to do played across her mind in a relentless reel. Images of Val dead and Keely tortured. Nim in Grendel’s power. Her own execution the next day.
Bard. It was too much. She couldn’t sit, steeped in dread, for one more second. She had to do something.
She stood up and resumed her circuit. Four paces along the bars. Five paces to the back wall. Three paces to the cot. Five paces back to the bars.
Hours passed with excruciating slowness. She had just completed yet another circuit, pushing herself forward on shaking legs, when there was a loud commotion and a Blue guard was dragged in and thrown into the cell opposite her. The dirt on his face unable to mask his look of stunned disbelief as his jailors locked the door and walked away.
But no Grendel. No Ballanor. And also no Val, or Keely, or Nim.
Where were they? What was happening? Were they dead already? Would the guards bring them to these cells or hold them somewhere else? Would she die, never seeing them again? Or would they all die together? The terror of not knowing ate at her. Her lips started to tremble, and she gave herself a hard pinch. No more crying.
Alanna stopped her circuit, leaned against the cold iron grid that made up the front wall of her prison, and looked across into the cell opposite hers.
The guard sat at the edge of his cot, head in his hands, not moving. His light brown hair was cut military short and the burnished copper of Tarasque scales flickered along his bared arms.
She recognized him as one of the more trusted of the Palace Blues—she’d seen him with Grendel many times. He had stood guard on her rooms often since Val had been imprisoned. Sometimes outside her door, sometimes securing the whole floor. It made no sense that he would be in the cells with her.
She called softly, trying to get his attention, desperate to know what was happening outside. In response, he simply turned his face away. She called again, but he ignored her, seemingly unmoved by her misery—nothing new from these Brythorian guards.
There was blood on his arms, his tunic was torn, and he looked dirty, as if he’d been in a fight. Had it been while they were arresting her friends?
She wanted to shake him. Force him to recognize her as his new queen. Make him answer her and tell her what had happened—which was ridiculous after months of doing everything she could to be as unnoticeable as possible—but he didn’t reply and there was nothing she could do to compel him to respond.
She paced until she couldn’t take one more step. Then, finally succumbing, she staggered, physically and emotionally drained almost to numbness, to the narrow cot and sat.
It was a rough canvas stretched over a wooden frame pushed into the back corner of the cell. Hard and cold. And yet, so very appealing. She wanted to lie down. Desperately. To close her eyes, just for a few moments. How long had she been walking for? How long had she been awake since Nim and Keely’s escape? So many hours.
But she couldn’t risk Grendel returning to find her asleep and vulnerable. No matter how little time she had left, she wasn’t going to give in to him. If she sat, she would go to sleep. She forced herself to stand, swaying, chin dropped to her chest, and tried to make herself take another step.
“He’s not coming back.” The rough voice jarred the silence, and she jerked up in fright.
She looked down the stone corridor. No one else was there.
Alanna made her way slowly to the bars to stare into the other cell. The imprisoned guard had lifted his head to watch her. With his strong jaw, straight nose, and intelligent eyes, he would have been extremely attractive if it weren’t for the look of utter contempt on his face as he finally deigned to speak.
“What do you mean?” She asked uncertainly.
The guard gave her a blazing look that was impossible to read, his voice stiff as he replied, “Grendel. I know he came to see you before we left this morning—I imagine he said he’d be back? You’re obviously forcing yourself to stay awake, and your constant pacing is fucking annoying. He’s not coming back, so you might as well sit and give me a moment’s peace.”
She lifted a trembling hand to her throat, swallowing against the sudden lump lodged there.
“He’s not?” She hated how weak her voice sounded. She cleared her throat and tried again more firmly. “He’s not coming back?”
“He’s dead.” The rough anger in the guard’s voice did nothing to reassure her.
“How did he die?”
“Your lover’s little sister killed him.”
“What?”
“Lanval’s sister killed him.”
