Each time I answer, the band across my ribs tightens. Each time, I feel my lungs stutter and claw for air.
“You stink of falsities,” Thorne says, interrupting yet again and earning himself another annoyed glare from the elven lord. “You can lie all you like, but the king believes she conspired with you—that she distracted him. That she turned his own guards against him and provided a path for both of Mrath’s attacks.”
My blood goes cold. “She did none of those things!” I practically shout.
Castien tilts his head. “What if I told you there was proof?”
The words gut me. I jerk forward, the chains burning into my wrists. Could they have hurt her? Killed her for this “proof”?
“Where is she?”
No answer.
“Is she alive?”
Nothing.
“I think you are using her to cover up Mrath’s destruction. You want a reason to execute her.” I twist harder, the bindings digging deep, the scent of my own blood sharp in the air. “If you hurt her?—”
Thorne grabs my jaw and forces me to meet his eyes. “You’re in no position to make threats.”
I can barely breathe. My throat burns with it. “Tell me,” I choke out. “Tell me if she’s all right.”
Castien’s expression doesn’t change. He only studies me, like he’s cataloging what I am and what I’ll endure to protect her. “You should worry less about her, and more about yourself,” he says.
The soldiers drag me upright. The chains at my wrists jangle, heavy with my blood. My knees scrape against the stone as they haul me toward the door.
“Take him back,” Castien orders, voice soft, detached. “Let him think on what he’s willing to lose before tomorrow.”
They pull me through the narrow passageway, my body half-dead weight. My hands hang low, and I try to look for the small bag that was attached to my shirt.
Gone.
Fuck.
The torchlight flickers over wet stone, over iron doors and dark stains I don’t want to identify.
They shove me through the open gate of the lower cell. I hit the floor hard, the sound ringing like a cracked bell. The door slams behind me.
The torchlight fades. The only thing left is the cold and the slow, steady pulse of pain behind my eyes. Blood and bruises cover mybody, but my heart beats strong and my Fuegorra does not sing a song of pain. In fact, I can almost hear a few of those sweet, beautiful notes of matehood plucked out gently.
She’s alive. She has to be.
But the seed is gone, and I don’t know what that means for Mrath. Could she prepare another? Or have I ruined everything yet again?
Chapter 32
ARLET
Cursed One’s voice sounds in my head.Wake up, Arlet.
The cell smells of metal and mildew. My tongue sticks to the roof of my mouth, and when I swallow, it tastes like rust. The stone is cold beneath me.
For a long time, I lie still. I feel the other presence in my soul watching and waiting for me to do something, but I just lie here in the quiet. I don’t remember sleeping, only falling in and out of blackness with a background of sounds. Vaguely, I am aware of the faint drip of water and the rattle of chains.
When I finally push myself up, my hands slip against the damp floor. The world swims for a moment before settling into focus. I realize I am in a chamber carved straight from rock. The walls are sweating, and I can hear the incessant high-pitched notes of moisture dripping onto the ground.
My fingers go to my throat, where the collar remains. I find the skin tender and sore. When I tug on it, it holds strong.