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Opal
The prince was silent when I arrived, and if not for the fact that under the firelight, I could see his chest rise and fall, I’d fear him dead.
I peered around the walls, light flaring from my fingers and skirting over damp rock. A door sat on the far side of the narrow dungeon, various torture devices lining the wall behind Bron, and on the one closest to me upon a rusted hook was a set of keys.
Hearing their jangle, Bron stirred, his eyes still too swollen to see who was here. He grunted, then released a wheezed exhale loaded with defeat. I paused mere feet from him, studying the damage to his torso, wondering how much longer he’d live if those wounds weren’t tended to, and then I saw the scars.
They’d been healing him. They’d been healing him to keep him alive. To keep giving him more agonizing pain.
A flicker of affection warmed my chest at the knowledge Dade had done this, in part at least, for me. To avenge me.
I couldn’t let that stop me from doing what I had to do. If the prince was here, if he died, then who knew what would become of the human royals’ plans. We couldn’t risk them and my mother joining forces in that way, regardless of whatever armies they might gather from across the seas.
The thought of those forces marching upon this land, decimating it in the way the blood king had done to so many patches of our own, caused my gut to curl and my heart to drop. Vordane, its peace, and its shocking normality was not its ruler, yet its occupants all had blood on their hands.
The blood of i
It had to end. All of it.
I unlocked the shackles from the prince, and he fell to the ground with a groan that made me freeze and glance around. My heartbeat thundered in my ears, almost loud enough to drown out Bron’s mumbling.
When I was as sure as I could be that no one was coming, I lowered to the ground and slid various keys into the chains holding the gag in his mouth until one finally clicked, and the hideous headpiece fell to the bloodstained stone.
“Come on,” I whispered, tugging at his arm while he rotated his jaw with a wince. “It’s now or never.”
“Opal?” he croaked, one eye opening just enough to confirm it was me. “Stars, you’re alive.”
I tried not to be offended nor waste more time and hauled him to his feet. “Move.”
He finally listened, standing on trembling legs. After a few wobbles that almost sent us both crashing into the ground, he found enough balance to stumble toward the doorway that led into the darkness. “Hold the wall,” I instructed, then told him to wait when we reached the end of the cold hall that would take us back into the Keep.
It was a gamble, but I had to believe it would pay off—that we’d both make it out of this alive. We waited, Bron’s breathing a steady whistle, his weight heavy as it leaned into my side. I blocked it out and focused on catching any sounds on the other side of the door.
Nothing save for the occasional creak and groan of the ancient fortress.
“Okay.” I willed open the door. “Quiet as you can, okay? And quick.”
Bron nodded, and I half dragged him out into the glowing hall. In the dead of night, the sconces were dimly lit, but that they were lit at all wasn’t something we could afford.
I snuffed each one out as we neared them until we crossed the grand foyer before the stairs. We stumbled through a brisk walk to the other side, past the library and those eerie statues that had seen generation after generation of Volkahns and stars only knew what ma
The doors leading outside weren’t locked. No sentries stood upon the terrace.
“Not normal,” Bron mumbled. “Not normal, is it?” he said again when I didn’t answer.
It wasn’t, and though I shouldn’t have needed to confirm that, I still nodded. “We don’t have the time to worry.” We kept moving. Through the gardens, a pail of carrots overturned in our haste, passed the stables beyond, and into the shrubs that grew thicker as we slowed behind the training pens.
Bron bent at the knees, breathing heavy, wheezing enough that I knew he was stopping himself from coughing. “Where are you taking me?”
I was tempted to roll my eyes. “Anywhere is better than where you were, so why ask? We need to reach the woods.” I blinked at the darkness, the fields of wheat swaying in the night breeze, and said, “That way,” while pointing at the wagons parked aside the field. “We run to each wagon, and we don’t slow until we’ve breached the trees.”
Bron smothered a cough. “I can’t see shit.”
I took his hand, cringing but tugging. “You’ll be fine.”
We ran from wagon to wagon, dodging pitchforks and half-dug holes filled with manure, and though I tried not to, all I could think of was how easy this had been so far. Too easy. So easy that I knew something was wrong.
Not even the ke
Something was terribly wrong, but we couldn’t turn back. I couldn’t turn back. We had no choice but to see this through. We continued northeast through the woods, Bron unable to sustain the hurried pace and slowing to a dragging walk a few miles out from the ravine.
From what I hoped was the crossover.
“Keep walking,” I said, knowing I had to head back before night bled into morning. “Along the ravine, look down, and you’ll find a hollowed-out tree. It’s a bridge.”
Bron’s blood-covered face, sweat streaking through the brown smudges, creased. “You’re not coming with me?”
I continued as though I hadn’t heard those tempting words. I didn’t wish to go anywhere with him but to see my mother again, just one last time… I swallowed. “Climb inside the tree and walk through to the cave beyond, then follow the forest east for a few miles until you see the lights of Sinshell.”
“Opal,” Bron said. “Your mother has been frantic. She’s threatened our family. Why do you think I even met with the blood king?”
I wasn’t sure what to say, the thought of my mother enough to make words fall into ash over my tongue. “You need to hurry,” I mustered, backing up from the clearing for the cover of the trees. “Tell her I am well. That you saw me, that I helped you leave, and that the lot of you should do nothing for the king treats me well, and I’ve got a plan.”
That would remain to be seen after what I’d now done.
I might as well have taken another dagger to his throat and actually stabbed him.
An idea struck me when Bron hesitated, and I bent down, searching for a stick. Standing, I infused it with all the heartache and love that warred within me, warmth spreading from my fingers over the brown wood—turning it gold.
Bron gaped, one swollen eye now open halfway, and took it from me with a shaking hand.
“Deliver it to her. She can feel it, see it, know all of what you say is true, and then she will see to it that you are cared for before you journey home.” Each word was ice crusting my lips, for he didn’t deserve it, and if my mother knew, she would see to it that he never returned home…
Later, I reminded myself. I couldn’t allow the oily sludge that filled my veins to change my plans. He would get all that was owed to him. But first, he had to be of use. He had to see my mother. He had to return home to Errin.
Bron’s throat moved, and he nodded. “Are you sure?” He threw a glance at the trees behind me, the Keep that loomed far beneath them, miles through the dark but its soft glow still visible through the dancing leaves. “Now is not the time to be a martyr. He’s a fucking monster, Opal. He will kill you.”