Before the question can be answered, the torchlight shivers again, and a shape folds out of the darkness, revealing a man cloaked in black. He steps through the gloom as if it opens for him.
His long black hair falls around his face like his long cloak falls over his all-black garb. With the wave of his hand, he throws shadows over the wall and it turns transparent.
“The Living Shadow,” Vann breathes from the other side at the same time that I say, “High Lord Castien.”
Vann presses his face to the hole, and I see his beautiful blue eyes for a moment before my attention is drawn away again. When he tries to crawl to me, he is stopped by the now-fuzzy separation of stone.
Castien looks just as feral as he did the day I met him with Arion. His darkness, likely a reflection of his faraway court built on the power of secrets and brutality, seeps into every available inch of air.
“Anything you do to her, I swear on the gods above and below, I will do to you,” Vann says, voice firm and terrifying.
Castien’s eyes glint, but more interestingly, Cursed One wakes up fully.
Him again,she thinks. But it’s not an accusation. It’s almost reverent.
I force myself upright as much as possible with my weak body and wounds. “Why are you here?”
His gaze slides over me. “It seems we have friends in common.”
My brows furrow. Arion?
Or…perhaps his daughter, Vesilane, had taken over the position of my lady’s maid—only for a short time, but she had been incredibly kind to me.
“Your daughter?” I ask.
“No.” He doesn’t move, but he also doesn’t elaborate. “I watched the trial of the beasts. You see, like many others, I fully expected that both of you would live through this first spectacle. What fun would the games be if you didn’t?”
I frown.
“But then I realized something peculiar as you fought. You are frail. Yet, at one point you held yourself like a warrior. You aren’t a warrior, are you?”
I bite my lip.
He continues, “And then, a bit later, I noticed something leaking out of you. You, little flame, are bleeding power.”
“I don’t have powers,” I spit back.
“How can you be so sure?” he retorts.
“What do you want?” Vann asks, but both of us ignore him.
I swallow, noticing that my throat feels a little less full of daggers. “Some humans do when they get their Fuegorra; I sure as hell did not. I am also not one of the blessed brujas with their own power.”
He hums. “This didn’t seem like troll magic, nor some aberration of human physiology.”
“Any magic in my body was the divine magic from the Fuegorra. And Arion made sure to have that cut out.”
Castien moves back and forth carefully.
“That was also acting as a seal,” Castien says. “When they cut it out, they didn’t steal any magic. They freed another kind to flow through you.”
Vann growls low. “She just told you she doesn’t have any power. I suggest you start explaining instead of speaking in riddles, elf.”
Castien doesn’t even glance his way. “You can feel it, can’t you, human? There’s something inside of you—even I have heard rumors that Arion had to go to drastic lengths to get you here. Some say he mingled with the Dark God. A demon, perhaps. Tell me I’m wrong.”
Vann says nothing, and I don’t know what to say. He wanted his daughter to be my lady-in-waiting, and she clearly was with Mrath. Is he with Mrath, too?
“Why don’t you ask Arion?” I manage.