Chapter 37
VANN
Later, in the darkness of our cells, the shadow returns. When Castien emerges, I cram myself into the hole, watching.
The shadows move before he does. The torchlight outside bends toward the bars, shrinking until it looks like the darkness is swallowing it whole. Then he steps through—silent, deliberate, his cloak dragging shadows in his wake. He makes the wall between Arlet and I transparent, and I wait for him to speak.
He crouches beside Arlet without a word. Her face is pale in the dim light, the skin around her ribs slick with half-dried blood.
“You look a hell of a lot better than you did yesterday,” he says. His tone is clinical, studying her.
She doesn’t look away. “I felt the power much more strongly today.”
“I noticed,” Castien murmurs. “I came to make sure there wasn’t anything that could kill you before this is over.”
He produces a rune-covered obsidian again.
“What is that?” I demand.
“My dagger. I recently had it returned to me—fear not, it is not to hurt. Years in the presence of another owner has given it better healing properties than my own magic.” Then he lifts it a little, still looking at Arlet. “May I?”
She hesitates, then nods.
I watch as he heals a few of the deeper gashes. When it touches her skin, she gasps. The sound cuts through me like a blade.
The darkness seeps into her wounds, and the bleeding slows. Her breath steadies, and relief floods through me.
“So, your power comes from a deal you’ve made with a cursed soul?” she asks as he finishes.
He looks up, then nods.
She hesitates as he stands. “Are there others like…us?”
I feel the air change. He shifts his weight back to his heels from his crouched position, one arm strung over his knee. He watches her for a moment, then nods.
“There used to be more. But I wager there are a few. Elves are strange creatures, they love a tether.”
“Like the Living Wood that tethers you all to your gods? Or theCumhacht na Cruinne?”
Castien’s voice is very soft. “What do you know about either of those things?”
“Reading,” she retorts. “Mrath said that the elven sovereign needed theCumhacht na Cruinneto have the most power,” she says.
“Correct,” Castien says. “But it has been lost for a long time. Several generations.”
“But my queen, Estela, found it. She gave it to Mrath, but Thorne took a part of it as a tracker and used me to transport it to Arion. They buried it in my skin,” Arlet rattles off. “But you knew this, I assume.”
Castien’s expression is measured, but I noticed the way he freezes. I click my tongue, not really sure exactly how to stop the conversation. Had he done something to make her talk so much?
“Perhaps. But then again, perhaps not.”
“Did Arion really retrieve the artifact from Mrath when he marched on the Enclave?” Arlet pushes. Bold and confident as ever. Truly, a lady of the council. Teo and Estela would be proud. Liana would be delighted.
“He thinks he did,” Castien murmurs. The calm mask cracks for the first time. Then he leans forward. “And what of the LivingWood mark on Arion? Would you know something about that? Many believe that he truly came to trust you before the wedding, and only someone he trusted very much would’ve known where that was. Even his other wives didn’t know.”
Something acidic pools in my belly, and I find myself wondering things I have no right to ask. What had she done with Arion while she was preparing to be his bride? If she was meant to find this mark on his body, how much of him had she explored? Had he slept with her? Forced her?
Acid coats my tongue.