“No,” she says.
Relief floods through me.
The shadows tighten around Lord Castien, darker than before—like the room itself is holding its breath. And then the sound of boots shatters it.
“Guards,” I hiss, “I suggest you hide, shadow.”
Castien stands, sinking into the darkness as the wall between Arlet and me grows opaque once more. I tense, moving from the hole to the bars, wondering if they were going to bring us food, finally, after all our hard work. I can only make out not a squad, but just one man.
Thorne steps into the corridor, carrying a wooden tray. He wears a uniform, but I draw my teeth back to bare them. I haven’t seen him since the castle.
My eyes track the sword at his side, and I consider grabbing it to run him through.
“Ah,” he says dryly. “Our royal ghost makes house calls now?” Somehow, he can see Castien.
Castien’s head snaps toward him. “You shouldn’t be here.”
“I could say the same,” Thorne answers. “But I suppose we both know where our loyalties lie.”
Castien’s eyes flick between us, then back to Arlet. “We’ll speak again.” His form begins to fade. And then he’s gone. Just like that.
Thorne exhales, muttering something that sounds like a prayer and a curse all at once. Then he sets the tray down between the cells. “You’re welcome.”
The smell hits first. After days of the most meager morsels of stale loaves, fresh bread and roasted meat smells otherworldly. Food. Real food. My stomach twists with hunger, but instinct keeps my hand still.
Arlet eyes him. “I assume you are still the reason why we are in adjacent cells.”
He gives a humorless smile. “Call me a romantic. Besides, I have done what I can for those like me. Not to mention, if and when Mrath comes back again, I’m likely dead anyway. Might as well try to get in the good graces of someone who might outlive her brother.”
“Well, thank you. This is the largest meal I’ve had since coming to Shvathemar,” Arlet mutters. I can just make out some of her dirty locks hanging between the bars. I wish we could be closer, that I could touch her. “Do you have any news about Mrath’s plan? There is one trial left, and I have not seen any sign of her. Are we to die in the arena right now?”
“She still lives,” he says firmly. “But that is all I know.”
He glances back to the hallway. “You should have asked the Shadow.”
The torch flickers between us. I move to the iron bars, reach through, and pick up one of the cups from the tray, sniff it, then take a cautious sip. Weak, watered-down wine, but not poisoned. I taste the bread next, breaking off a small piece and chewing slowly before swallowing.
“It’s safe,” I say finally.
She doesn’t move at first. Then, slowly, she also comes to the front of the cell. She takes a small slice, tearing it in half.
Then Thorne stands, brushing his hands off. “As a final gesture of good will, I can let you share one cell for your last night. I suggest you pick wisely, as this may be your last night alive.”
I glance at Arlet. Neither of us speaks.
“Her cell,” I say.
Thorne nods once and unlocks the door. The sound of the latch is sharp, echoing down the corridor. “You have until first light.”
He doesn’t wait for thanks. Just walks away, shoulders slumped, muttering to himself about dying twice for the same cause.
I step inside.
Arlet is sitting on the floor, knees drawn up, eyes following me like she’s not sure if she should be glad or furious. Probably both.
“I don’t want to sleep with you,” she says.
“I won’t sleep,” I retort.