Chapter
33

Britta

SOMETIME AFTER THE GUARDS RETURN ME TO my dungeon cell and I’ve fallen asleep, a door scrapes open, jarring me awake. Surely, the whole night cannot have passed. I’m too groggy to have gotten much sleep. The stairs crack and creak under the advancer’s weight, waking me a little more.

Could it be Aodren? Our connection goes taut. I drag myself to my feet, relief forming a knot in my throat. I don’t know how he made it past the guards, don’t know how he managed to make it through the castle unseen, but I’m grateful.

He holds a lantern out in front of him, blinding me with the light and making it impossible to see his features until he reaches the bottom of the stairs.

Only, it’s not Aodren.

The relief I felt is eclipsed by confusion. Where is he? Has she captured him as well? Phelia sets the lantern onto a holder and withdraws a blanket from under her cloak. Her fingers spider over the material as she turns her focus to Finn’s sleeping, huddled form. She pauses. Then shifts her attention to Gillian, who lies unconscious in the cell beside me.

Phelia glides forward like a dark angel of death, her cloak flapping out around her as she approaches Gillian’s cell. She takes out keys and opens the cell door.

“What are you doing? Leave her alone.” I rush to the bars separating us.

Her icy eyes flick to me. In a deceptively maternal move, Phelia lays the woolen blanket over Gillian. Then, reaching out with fingers that uncurl from her palm like spider legs, Phelia touches the swollen lump on my friend’s cheek.

I’m frozen, confused, and tired from the endless passage of time in this death hole. I think we’ve been here two nights. What does Phelia want?

I want to scream. There’s nothing I could do from this cell should Phelia harm Gillian. I don’t know how I bent the bars earlier. Last time I ate was the morning of Winter Feast. Was that a day ago? Perhaps two? The lack of food and sleep has weakened me. Even if I knew how I’d done it, I don’t have the energy to do it again. I’ve never felt so useless in my entire life.

“This wasn’t my decision.” Phelia’s gravelly voice is soft. Imploring. “No one is all good or all bad. I didn’t allow the guards to harm you when I returned you to your cell last night.”

Is she saying that they would have? I wonder what the guards would’ve deemed an appropriate punishment for not having located the king.

“I want you to see that you can trust me, Britta. No matter how many years pass, I am your mother.”

I was once a little girl who dreamt of nighttime kisses and bedtime stories. In those dreams, Mama held me tight before she tucked me in to bed. In those dreams, I was never alone. Stepping away from the bars, I scrub my fists against my eye sockets to erase the image.

Don’t trust her. Don’t even consider it.

The blanket, the soft-spoken words—it’s all a part of her act to reel me in. She is the master of manipulation, evident by the way she controlled the king for nearly a year with no one the wiser. She doesn’t care about me. She doesn’t want a relationship.

Phelia exits the cell and locks it, dropping the bulging ring of keys into her cape pocket. “She doesn’t have to stay here. If you were to help Lord Jamis . . .”

If. I recoil from the hook of her words while guilt and anger thrash beneath my frozen surface.

“He won’t be patient much longer.” Phelia tucks her arms into her raven cloak. “I’ve given you time to come to me of your own free will. But time is running out. It’s a simple trade. Aodren for Finn and Gillian.” Her eyes rest on Gillian. “Given rest and medicine, she’ll recover. I cannot promise the same if she remains here.”

Truth.

She withdraws my dagger from another pocket in her cloak.

“The guards took this off you.” Her pointer finger caresses the handle, her movement reverent, if not a bit distracted, like she’s lost in a memory. “Do you know the name of this blade?”

Papa’s dagger in her hands is all wrong. I have to bite my lip to stop myself from snapping at her and demanding it back. For as much as I try to keep Papa’s blade on me at all times, it’s alarming how often the weapon’s been taken away in the last three months.

Her finger moves to the tip, where she adds a little pressure to the edge until a bright spot of crimson bubbles to the surface.

“This is an Akin Blade, one of a pair. Where is its counterpart, Britta?”

I shrug. No way I’ll tell her Cohen has it.

Her expression turns sly, like a happily fed cat. “Very well. Did you know Akin Blades are made in pairs, to be used together?”

She must see my uncertain expression, because she adds, “When two Spiriters of the same blood and similar energy are in battle side by side, the Akin Blades react to one another, becoming more powerful.”

Is this why she wants me to join her? To fight by her side? My eyes linger too long on the blade.

She slips the dagger into her pocket. “You want to know more. I can see it. There’s so much I can teach you, Britta.”

She’s right. There’s so much I want to learn. But not at her hand. Not with the cost being the king’s life.

A shadow leaps behind her.

I stop myself from screaming, realizing it’s Aodren. Phelia spins around, her hand rising, wrist cocked. Aodren swings an unlit torch. But Phelia dodges it and grasps his arm. There’s a split second where his face shifts into a question. And then his back bows in an unnatural arc. A cry of pain bursts from his lips.

Dread thunders through me. I fight to wrench the bars apart, but my energy’s too frantic to use.

Desperate to distract Phelia, I yell, “Rozen! Mother!”

She whirls to me, ice-blue eyes clear with surprise. It is an age-old manipulation, one that I am shocked she fell for. She smiles, unaware of the bitterness filling my mouth.

Aodren recovers and slams the torch against the back of her head. Phelia’s expression collapses. Her body plummets to the dungeon floor.

I shake off the odd wave of guilt, shifting my attention to Aodren, who looks greenish in the dim light. Relief and shock hiccup through me until I manage to find my voice. “You—you’re here?”

He cants his head to the side and gives me a strange look. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

“I just didn’t think you had the . . .” I stop talking and shrug. Whatever I’d been about to say, I’d been wrong.

He reaches for the lock. “Where did she put the keys?”

“In her pocket.”

Aodren scavenges through Phelia’s cloak and reveals my dagger, tossing it to me, and the ring of keys. “There have to be at least fifty here.”

He kneels at my cell and inserts a key, trying to twist the lock open, only to frown and move to the next one.

“Britta, Britt.” Finn’s calling my name.

I maneuver to see him. He thrusts his hand between the bars, pointing at Phelia. “I think she’s waking up.”

Phelia’s eyes are still closed but her knee jerks. No, no, no. “Faster, Aodren.”

He flips from key to key. Tries one. Mutters. Tries another. I keep my eyes on her, hearing the metal clank and him curse.

Phelia moves again, a small twitch in her chin, and I’m so full of anxiety that it takes me a moment to realize that Aodren’s opened my cell and moved onto Gillian’s.

Once he pops her door open, he tosses me the keys. “Work on Finn’s, and I’ll pick up Miss Tierney.”

I shove key after key in Finn’s cell lock, moving my fingers as fast as I can. Aodren is at my side a moment later, Gillian in his arms. If only she was awake now, she’d be a twittering, fidgeting, happy mess. It’s not every day a lady gets carried about by the king of Malam.

Aodren’s face is whiter than mine as he takes in her many bruises. “Her pulse is strong.”

“She’ll make it,” I say, my voice shrill with false bravery as I keep working on opening the cell.

Finally, Finn’s lock clicks open. He scurries out to huddle beside me, his poor twiggy frame awkward with sluggish movement. Shivers take over his body. I use the blanket that Phelia put on Gillian to wrap around him.

“W-w-what about you?” he chatters. I wave his concern away; we have other worries. Besides, this dress has so many layers, I could be in a blizzard and still not be cold.

Phelia moans.

“K-kill her,” Finn says.

I fist my dagger, knowing it’s what should be done. And yet, my arms lock. She needs to be stopped, but I cannot. It’s not in me to end her life.

“Or lock her up,” Aodren says, his face full of understanding. “That will hold her long enough for us to escape.”

I crack a hint of a smile at his oddly positive attitude, all things considered.

Finn helps me drag her into my cell. The curved bars are what give me pause. I look at them and then squat beside Phelia, knowing she’ll find a way out of the dungeon the moment she wakes.

I don’t know what I’m capable of, but I know I have to do something. My hand goes to her wrist and nearly flies off again at the heat emanating from her scarred skin. I wrap my fingers around her arm again, imagining it’s an exercise with Enat in the woods.

The dungeon fades as Phelia’s whooshing energy steals my sole focus. Her life force is a gale wind, raging loud beneath her skin. I figure if I can push my life force into another to revitalize and heal them, then I should be able to encourage my energy to do other things.

I concentrate on my pulse and wade through our connection, sending just enough energy to mix with hers.

Then I coax the entwined energies to settle. Sleep.

My arm tingles and drowsiness drags through my muscles. Her face goes slack. Her breath moves softly through her lips. I break contact, exit her cell, and lock it behind me. Phelia doesn’t move, and I hope that means she’s fallen deeply asleep.

“Ready?”

Finn and Aodren stare at me.

It takes a second for Aodren to snap out of his trance. “That was bloody amazing.” He smiles. “I can lead us out through the hidden passageways. But we still might come across Jamis’s men. If I’m holding Gillian, I won’t be able to help fight.”

“I’ll do it.” Finn clutches the blanket and puts on a brave face. “Do you have another blade for me?”

“Take the sword from my belt.” Aodren inclines his head.

Once Finn is armed, we go ahead of Aodren and Gillian, ensuring the path is clear. We make it out of the dungeon, where two slain guards lay in the hall. I glance at the king, and he ducks, as if in shame. In this aspect, perhaps we’re more similar than I thought. Inflicting death has never been a light choice for me.

“One action does not define a man, but rather the sum of all his actions,” I whisper, finding myself repeating something Papa once said. It sounds a little inane coming from my mouth.

“Wise words.” Aodren gathers Gillian tighter to his chest. “Let’s hope the sum of my actions proves I’m more than a man who’s only brought death to his people.”