Chapter Twenty-Seven
Joy
Ari’s grip tightened on my arm as he dragged me back into my room, his fingers digging into the tender bruises already forming there. The scents of lavender and old stone hit my nostrils—scents that should have been comforting but now were a prison closing in around me.
Brynn stood in the center of the room, dark hair loose around her shoulders, her face drawn and weary. She wore a threadbare servant’s dress in faded gray, the fabric worn thin from countless washings. Her small frame was hunched with defeat, her head bowed so low I could barely see her face. She didn’t look up when we entered, didn’t acknowledge our presence at all. The sight of her standing there, still trapped, still suffering, made my chest constrict with anguish.
“Get her cleaned up. We leave in an hour.” Ari’s voice was crisp and businesslike, as if he were ordering a servant to polish his boots instead of condemning us both to hell.
Shitshitshitshit
The curse exploded through my mind like a prayer to a god who wasn’t listening. My hands trembled as our situation crashed down on me like a collapsing building.
Darius hadn’t taken her out of here. That thought stole what little breath I had left. Damn it! He’d promised to get her to safety. But here she stood, still trapped in this nightmare with me.
Ari closed the door with deliberate care, the soft click of the latch barely audible. But to me, trapped in this suffocating room with my nerves stretched to their breaking point, it sounded like a thunderous boom that echoed through my bones. The finality of that sound made my stomach drop—we were sealed in, cut off from any hope of escape.
“Brynn,” I whispered, knowing with bone-deep certainty that the walls, ceiling, and floor had ears in this cursed place. The very stones seemed to pulse with malevolent awareness, ready to carry our secrets back to the queen.
She raised her dark eyes to mine, and I could see the guilt swimming in their depths like shadows in deep water. “Joy, I’m so sorry.” She rushed over to me, her footsteps silent on the cold stone floor. Her gentle hands guided me to sit on the edge of the bed, the mattress dipping under my weight. “There wasn’t anything I could do to get you out of the dungeon.”
Her fingers ghosted over my back with featherlight touches, assessing the damage. Even that careful examination sent fire racing along my torn flesh. “I know it hurts,” she murmured, her breath warm against my ear.
I clasped her hand desperately, my fingers trembling as they intertwined with hers. Her skin was cool and soft, a stark contrast to the rough wounds on my palms from the chains. “Listen, don’t worry about me. You’ve got to get out of here.”
“I’ve been?—”
“You’re not just a prisoner.” I cut her off, leaning closer until our foreheads almost touched. The scent of her hair—something clean and sweet like apple blossoms—filled my nostrils. “The queen’s going to find out you’re the key to the Anchoring Obsidian stone.”
Her brow furrowed in confusion, creating tiny lines across her porcelain forehead. “I don’t understand.”
“The Anchoring Obsidian stone is dying. Only royal blood can revive it. Your blood.” Each word was a nail being driven into a coffin—hers, mine, or both.
“But the queen?—”
“Isn’t the rightful heir. When she finds out, she’s?—”
The color drained from Brynn’s face so quickly I thought she might faint. Her hand went cold in mine, and I could feel the tremor that ran through her entire body. “Going to kill me.”
Silence. The only sounds were our ragged breathing and the distant echo of footsteps in the corridor outside.
“Yes. You’ve got to find a way to escape.”
Brynn let out a bitter laugh that held no humor, the sound sharp and hollow in the stone chamber. “You don’t think I have tried? It’s like I can move freely through the castle, but the moment I approach any exit...” She shook her head, her dark hair catching the dim candlelight. “There are invisible barriers, magical wards that turn me back before I even realize what’s happening.”
Invisible magical wards. Of course the queen wouldn't rely on simple locks and guards. She'd built a prison you couldn't even see until it stopped you. How was I supposed to escape something I couldn't detect until it was too late?
“Do you know Darius Acosta?” I leaned forward urgently, my fingers tightening around hers.
Her eyes widened with recognition, and she glanced nervously toward the door. “The queen’s obsession? Everyoneknows about him.” She lowered her voice to barely above a whisper. “The servants whisper about how she watches him through that terrible mirror, how she speaks of him like he already belongs to her.”
“I helped him escape.” The admission tumbled out before I could stop it.
She gasped so loudly it sounded like a small scream, her free hand flying to cover her mouth. The color that had just returned to her cheeks drained away again. “Joy…the queen—when she finds out?—”
“She already knows, and I know what she’s planning to do to me,” I cut her off. Fear turned my tongue dry, but I forced myself to continue. “But she needs me alive right now to open the portal. I’m the only one who can do it.”
“But when you do, she’ll kill you.” Tears gathered in her dark eyes like morning dew.
