Ever the Brave (A Clash of Kingdoms Novel)(71)

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!”