38. Saoirse

Saoirse

T he cell was a dark, damp hole that seemed to swallow all hope. All concept of time was gone, each moment dragging into the next. I couldn't tell how long I'd been there, but my empty stomach and sandpaper tongue told me it'd been much too long.

My body ached with every movement, every breath, bruises blooming across my skin, the cuts stinging like fire. My back was a constant glare of agony, and I moved as little as possible to aggravate it less. The air was thick with the scent of my own blood and sweat, and I began to wonder if anyone would ever come.

Every choice I'd made my entire life played for me on a constant loop, replaying the many opportunities I had to leave, to change the way my life turned out. Now that Vane had pointed it out, I could recognize them for the glaring complacency I had grown to crave.

Vane, who was probably locked away somewhere else down here. My father was a predator who liked to play with his food, and Vane was the biggest rat he could find. His death would be slow, torturously so, until he begged for it to end—just like all the other executions he had held over the years. Sol was one of the safest kingdoms because it was the strictest kingdom, and death came to many who dared break King Erwin's sacred rules.

The sound of keys rattling snapped me out of my daze. The heavy iron door creaked open, and two guards stepped inside.

"Get up," one of them barked, his voice rough.

I tried to move, but my muscles spasmed in protest, a cry of pain hissing from me. The guards didn't wait for me to comply. They grabbed my arms, hauling me to my feet. The sudden movement sent a fresh wave of pain through my ribs, and I gasped, nearly collapsing.

"What's going on?" I managed to ask, my voice weak.

"Quiet," the other guard snapped. They dragged me out of the cell and down a dimly lit corridor. My legs felt like they might give out at any moment, but the guard's iron grip kept me moving.

After what felt like an eternity, we arrived in a small room. Shoving me inside, I stumbled, catching myself on the edge of a wooden table with a groan. The room was stark and cold, a single chair in the center and a large mirror on one wall. The guards stepped back, but stayed by the door, watching me with hard, judgmental eyes. I recognized these men, often around my father during the dinners.

These were his private security.

I caught sight of my reflection in the mirror and froze. The girl staring back at me was unrecognizable. Her face was swollen, bruises mottling her skin in sickening shades of purple and blue. Her lip was crusted over with blood from a cut, and dark, hollow circles framed her eyes. Her sorry excuse for a dress did not cover much anymore, and what was left of it was caked black with dried blood.

A wave of nausea hit me, and I gripped the table to steady myself, cutting my eyes as far away from the mirror as I could get. Tears threatened to fall, but I held them with everything in my arsenal, refusing to let these men see me cry. I'd spent way too much time in my life crying, and it had never gotten me anywhere.

The door opened again, and my mother walked through, flanked by her head of the guard, Samuelson. The sight of her made my stomach churn worse than my reflection had. She closed the door behind her, and the guards snapped to attention.

"Saoirse," she said, her voice devoid of any emotion as she stared at me. "We need to talk."

I wiped my cheek with the back of my hand, trying to compose myself enough for human interaction. "What do you want?" I asked, proud that my voice came out hard, strong.

"I want to understand what happened," she said, taking a seat in the chair across from me. "But first, let Samuelson check your wounds. I can't have you dying on me now, can I? We can't heal them, or your father would know I was here." That caused my brow to furrow. Why would she come to see me without father's permission? I'd often thought of her as her own brand of useless, just a figurehead to cast pretty spells when the time came.

She gestured to the head of the guard, who stepped forward toward me. "Hold still," he grunted, grabbing my arm in a tight grip. I winced as he roughly checked me from head to toe, even going so far as to press against my aching ribs.

"Stop," I pleaded, my voice barely audible.

Samuelson ignored my plea, his hands pressing harder. I bit my lip to keep from crying out, the pain nearly unbearable. Finally, he stepped away, and I stood slightly straighter, feeling just the tiniest bit better, enough that I didn't want to lay on the floor and die.

"She'll live," he said, turning to the queen.

Good," my mother said, her eyes cold. "Why were you with a Darkwing? "

I inhaled, wondering how much I should really tell her. I could lie, tell her I had no idea who he was, but she wouldn't believe that. She had come here without my father, and wanted to make sure I wasn't dead. So maybe, just maybe, she could be reached.

I took a deep breath, my mind racing to piece together the events. "His name is Vane, and he's my friend." I stumbled over the word slightly, but barreled on through my story, hoping she hadn't noticed. "We were trying to steal the shard of Daer."

"Oh, I know all about that. Our future son-in-law was very eager to tell us. Your friend Maeve is sleeping very comfortably in her own cell right about now." The queen's eyes narrowed, and she leaned forward intently. "But what I don't understand is why would you need the shard? It's been lost for centuries."

"I think we both know that's not true," I said softly. "Amaris is dying, and the shard can fix it. The decay is spreading, and it's only a matter of time before it reaches Sol. And it won't stop there, it'll continue, until it devours all of Amaris and leaves us with nothing."

Her eyes flickered with something—concern or fear?—before hardening again. "You expect me to believe that you and this Darkwing were on some noble quest to save the world? How do I know you weren't just going to use my staff to kill us all?"

"It's the truth," I insisted, a surge of desperation rising within me. "If our plan had worked, we'd probably have this plague stopped already. We didn't kill King Nerilin. Someone else did that and is trying to frame us for it. Someone who wanted it to look like it was Vane."

I'd had so much time to myself to go over and over where we went wrong. Every pair of eyes I had met, every head I had counted of those in attendance, and the one place I kept coming up short, again and again: who was the Darkwing that'd been under the hood?

"And you expect me to believe this shard can stop the decay?" Mother asked, her voice dangerously low. She continued before I could respond .

"It's the only thing that may have enough power to do it."

She paused, staring at me thoughtfully, scanning my face intensely. Then, with a nod to a question I hadn't asked, she stood.

"Put her back in her cell," she ordered, her soulless eyes staring at me. "The council approved your father to not hold a trial for you, in exchange for the Darkwing. You've earned yourself the rest of your life in this prison. Consider it a mercy."