Ever the Brave (A Clash of Kingdoms Novel)(61)

“Promise?”

“I promise.”



Light sputters through the pitch-dark, yellow flashes providing a sense of the cavernous room, edged with cells. This level of the dungeon has one exit, a stairwell where the flickering light emanates. I was right—this isn’t the part of the dungeon where I was previously held. I remember hearing the moans and cries of prisoners then. Now, I hear nothing. They’ve either cleared out the dungeon, or Finn and I are far from everyone else. It’s only been a few hours since I woke in the dungeon. Could it be Lord Jamis coming back to tell us why we’re still alive? I grimace at the thought of what he might want from Finn and me.

“Finn?” I whisper, alarmed that we’re soon to have visitors.

He doesn’t answer.

I stare at him, but my damn sight is spoiled like drops of golden oil in black vinegar. I rub my eyes against the crook of my elbow since I’m still not sure what I put my hands in. Then I look around again. The light’s coming closer.

Across the room, a huddle of limbs under a thin piece of material must be Finn. He doesn’t move. For the first time since being thrown in the dungeon, I focus on his energy, desperate to sense that he’s still alive. The low buzz of his life hums in the darkness. After a moment, his energy is joined by the accompaniment of soft, airy snores. Finn is sleeping. Only sleeping.

I rest my head against the bars, relieved.

Lantern glow fills the cavern.

The moment she enters, I recognize Phelia. The neckline of her dress and long sleeves cover her odd skin markings. I slink away from the bars, disgusted and frightened. And disgusted with myself for being so frightened.

Phelia’s shoes clack against the stones until she stops outside my cell. I push aside my fear, but what remains is shame. For the things she’s done. For sharing her blood. For wanting to know more.

I shield my eyes from her bright torch, but not before seeing the man-size onyx stain on the middle of the dungeon floor. Blood. These dungeons are filthy with old stains, but this one has a slight sheen. It’s not very old. It’s definitely blood.

It takes all my self-control not to examine my hand.

“Hello, Britta.” A rake over soft soil, that’s the texture of her voice. “Are you faring well?”

I screw up my face. In the dungeon? “Naturally,” I grind out.

“Ah, you have your grandmother’s pluck.”

Her comment kicks me in the chest with a combination of grief alongside truthful warmth. I wasn’t expecting to feel the verity of her words. She lowered the guard around her energy the day I met her in the woods. But I expected she would’ve put it back in place.

“Please don’t speak of her,” I say.

Phelia closes in until her face is nearly pressed between two bars. Her head quirks to the side in a hummingbird flick. She doesn’t take her eyes off me. “Enat was my mother. Doesn’t that give me the right?” The cadence of her question is more like a schoolteacher’s or a minister’s, as if she’s about to make a point.

“What do you want, Phelia?”

Her mouth pinches. Her near colorless pale blue eyes appear eerily golden in the torchlight. She looks like a starved cat. “That’s not my name.”

“It’s the only one I’ll call you by.” My anger turns me brazen.

Phelia looks at my hands where they’ve clutched the bars once again. “You’re hiding behind boldness, Britta. But you’re frightened. I can feel it in your energy. Frantic like a rabbit.”

I scuttle away.

“I saved you once. Did Enat tell you?” Her eyes dig into me as she runs her fingers along the cell bars. “The Purge hunters were going to discover that you were a Channeler. They would’ve killed us both. So I took you to meet your grandmother at the border to have your power stripped so you could live in Malam without fear. The old crow wouldn’t do it, though.”

Her fingernails hit metal. Tink, tink.

I keep quiet.

Tink. “You have no clue what I’ve done for you.”

My breath is fire in my lungs. I don’t want to ask, and yet I want to know, even though I feel like a trapped mouse to a calculating mountain cat.

“A border guard found us,” she continues. “I never saw his arrow coming until it hit us both.” Her hand moves to her chest, resting just over her heart. Her eyes don’t leave mine. “Through you and into me.”

My shallow intake of air rakes through the icy darkness. This doesn’t line up with the stories I heard. Papa said she left me when I was a few months old. The touch of her truth, though, tells me he lied. Only, that makes no sense. I would’ve felt the chill of his dishonesty.

She watches me shake my head. “We would’ve both died that day,” she says. “But the guard was a fool, and he came close enough for me to grab him and take back what he tried to steal.”

She grips the bars, coming as close as she can to me. “I saved you, Britta.” It’s a snarl of a whisper. Like the aftertaste of bitter ale, an unspoken threat lingers behind. You owe me.

I cross my arms, holding them tight to my body. “Why are you telling me this? I haven’t asked for this.”

A cruel smile stretches over her face. “This is what you want to know. I can see the questions in your eyes. You want to know more about me.”