Chapter 12

T he hard ground digs into my skin, something uneven and sharp jabbing into my hip. Shifting my weight, I shuffle around until I feel more comfortable as bits of dust and small stones scratch at my exposed skin.

Wait. Why am I lying on the ground?

Opening my eyes, I jolt upright, looking around as my stomach sinks.

I'm back at the castle's slave quarters. My breathing speeds up as my deepest fears come true.

No. I'm not a slave anymore, Grayson freed me. I escaped the castle.

Slaves hobble around me, their dull eyes facing forward as they trudge towards the palace to begin their day's work under the early rays of the sun. Pulling my legs towards me, I see a flash of metal and hear a sound that will follow me for the rest of my life—the clinking of chains. I don't want to look, I feel sick even at the thought of it. Taking a deep breath, I glance down at my ankles and can't stop the cry of distress as I see my shackles.

No, no, no, no. This can't be happening.

Reaching forward, I pull at the metal, my sobs loud as they echo against the stone walls, bouncing back and mocking me as I desperately pull, scratch, and hit the cuffs. I'm making myself bleed, but I don't care, my only thought is that I must get free.

"625, you've returned to me," says a voice that fills me with horror. Looking up, I see him standing over me, his hands clasped behind his back as he watches me with a sick, amused smile. Kneeling down, he inspects the mess I've made of my ankles and takes one of my hands in his, looking down at the torn skin and broken nails. A shudder of revolution racks me as he runs his thumb over my fingertips. Tutting, he shakes his head and lets go of my hand to touch one of my ankles. Running his finger through the blood, he examines the swollen, already bruising skin. All of a sudden, he presses his finger deeper into the wound, twisting and gouging as my shouts of pain resonate around us.

"I told you before, you're mine and you will never be free of me."

"Clarissa, wake up."

I jerk upright and back away from the body that's so close we're almost touching as I look around in shock. What is happening? I know that accented, lilting timbre, and as I scan what I realise is a cave, I spot the owner of the voice—Vaeril. One of his hands is resting on my shoulder and his face is pinched into a frown.

"You were shouting in your sleep," he says by way of an explanation, his hand lingering on me far longer than necessary.

With a deep breath, I lift my skirts and look at my ankles. I'm still wearing my stolen boots from the castle, and there is no sign of any shackles. Suddenly, a wave of residual fear from my dream washes over me and my boots feel constricting. I need to get them off, to see my bare, unshackled ankles. I struggle with the laces as I try to pull them off, the knots difficult for me as my fear makes me fumble.

"Clarissa?"

"I need to get them off, I need—"

Before I can finish my frantic, jumbled words, he reaches for my other boot and starts working on the knot there. Within seconds, my boot is off, and he gently bats away my hands and does that same with the remaining one. As soon as they're both off, I breathe a sigh of relief and rub the scarred skin, reassuring myself that I'm free, I'm not back in the castle.

"I'm free. I'm free," I whisper to myself, rubbing circles into my skin. "I will never be a slave again, I would rather die than go back," I state out loud, and something settles over me as I come to this conclusion.

Vaeril has been silent during my freak out, but now he reaches forward and touches the skin just above my ankle.

"These scars..." He trails off, and I don't know what he was going to say about them, but an anger has entered his eyes I'm not used to seeing.

"They're from my cuffs. They would rub so badly, and they were never removed, so the wounds would never really get the chance to heal," I explain numbly, watching as his fingers dance over my scars. I should be ashamed, the scars are ugly and I should cover them, but I don't have the energy to care right now. Besides, Vaeril has his fair share of scars.

"Are you okay?" His voice is gentle and pulls my attention from his touch, my skin hyperaware of his soft caress. His expression is back to the blank mask I am used to seeing on him, so I'm not sure what he's thinking, but he sounds like he genuinely wants to know the answer.

Taking a deep breath, I lift my hands and rub my face before brushing my hair back. It's knotted and tangled, and I'm in dire need of a shower, but I don't imagine I'm going to have much chance of that happening while I'm on the run.

"Yeah, I had a nightmare. I'm sorry."

He nods at my apology, his eyes carefully tracking my movements. Removing his hand from my ankle, he sits back, and I make sure my face doesn't show my disappointment at the lack of skin contact.

What are you thinking? He's an elf, you shouldn't want him touching you at all. Especially after kissing Tor last night .

My thoughts are a jumbled mess, my mind still half asleep. I'm just grateful he helped me escape. He offered me comfort during a difficult time, and I took it. Nothing to look into there. That pull inside me tells me otherwise, that there's a reason I feel better when he touches me, but I push that feeling firmly away.

"I have nightmares too." His voice cuts through my internal panic, and I turn to him. He's looking away now, staring out of the opening of the cave into the early morning sun.

I remember him telling me this once, but he never told me what they were about. "You do?"

"I was a captive for over a hundred years, yet I still get nightmares about the night I was captured."

Vaeril was a warrior, that much is obvious, and for him to be captured for that length of time completely blows my mind. His captivity lasted longer than most human lifespans, yet he showed me kindness and mercy. I want to know more about him. My knowledge on elves is poor, and most of what I do know is from the propaganda the king would tell the lords and ladies that eventually filtered down to us.

"What happened?" As soon as I mutter the words, I know I've made a mistake. His head snaps around, his face twisted with anger, and he looks so unlike the Vaeril I know that I hastily shuffle back to put some space between us.

"Just because you helped me escape doesn't mean you are privy to information about my life. We are not friends. You are a human . Once you are somewhere safe, I will have fulfilled my duties to you and I will never have to see you again."

The disgust at which he says ‘human' makes me furious, it awakens the rage that dwells within me. Where I would usually push it away, today it stokes and fuels my anger and before I know it, I'm in his face, snarling.

"How dare you." Raising my hands, I push at his shoulders and he falls back with a shocked expression. At a later point, I will look back at this and marvel that I managed to push an elf, but right now, my rage is blinding me. "I'm sorry that I touched a sore spot, I shouldn't have asked, but this human is the only reason you are free right now and I deserve some respect," I demand, my voice loud as it echoes around the cave.

Vaeril hasn't moved from where he landed after I pushed him, and he's staring up at me with an odd expression. My anger starts to drain as he continues to stare at me, his unnatural stillness making me uneasy.

"Well?" I growl with more audacity than I feel. I'm so used to hiding my emotions that I feel strange after my outburst. I expected to feel better, and perhaps if he had reacted, shouted back at me, or apologised, then I might have, but instead I'm left feeling…deflated.

Moving slowly, he shifts onto his knees and holds his hands out in a gesture of peace. "You are right."

I wait for an apology that doesn't come and arch my eyebrow as I cross my arms. He looks confused by my attitude, his signature frown back in place, and I eventually take pity on him and sigh, gesturing towards him. "I think I deserve an apology."

One single silver eyebrow rises at my comment, and he folds his arms to mirrormy position. "I told you that you were right, is that not apology enough?"

I can tell from his voice he's amused that I've taken offence at the lack of apology. I can also tell that in his mind, what he said was enough. Suddenly, I remember overhearing a conversation Wilson and Grayson were having about the war, and that it all began over a silly argument. It could have been resolved with a simple apology, but elves are not very good at apologising and the peace efforts between them dissolved. I don't know if that's true, but Vaeril is certainly trying to avoid saying it.

With a boldness I didn't know I possessed, I shake my head and purse my lips. "No."

He's watching me with that strange expression again, and the connection between us is practically fizzing with pleasure at our proximity. "Fine," he finally mumbles, and I smile in response, waiting with an expectant expression on my face. "I'm sorry," he grinds out, sounding like the words pain him. For some reason, this amuses me, and I can't stop the smile that creeps across my face.

"What are you sorry about?" I ask lightly, wanting to hear him say it again.

"I'm sorry you were offended," he grumbles through gritted teeth.

I notice he doesn't apologise for his behaviour, just that I was offended, but it will do for now.

"Thank you," I reply with a sickly sweet smile, before turning away and starting to pull my stolen boots back on. I hear him snort, and out of the corner of my eye, I see him stand and walk to the edge of the cave, peering out into the early morning light. Taking much longer than I need to, I continue to fiddle with the laces on the boots, trying to avoid asking the question I fear the answer to, but I know I can't avoid it forever. Sighing, I look up and see he's still staring out of the cave entrance, so I examine him without him knowing. I hadn't realised how tall he was when we were trapped in the underground room, and his silvery hair almost glistens under the sun's rays which are streaming into the cave. From here, I can just make out the pointed tips of his ears that identify him for what he is, although even if I couldn't see his ears, it would be impossible to think he was just human. He emits some sort of supernatural aura that marks him as…more.

"Are you just going to keep staring at me?" His amused voice shocks me out of my ogling, and I quickly look away before he turns around.

"What happens next?" I hadn't meant to just blurt it out, but I'm flustered from being caught out.

His smile drops, and for a moment, he just stands at the entrance, his hot gaze almost burning as he watches me. After a few seconds, he walks to where I'm sitting and takes his seat opposite me, leaning back against the cave wall.

"There are a couple of options."

All of a sudden, I don't want to hear it as my gut clenches.

What are you so worried about? That he will do as he threatened earlier and leave you? What do you really expect to happen here?

My thoughts berate me, and I push them away, focusing on another important question instead. "Where are we?"

He pauses, as if confused by my sudden change of subject, but I can see him nod out the corner of my eye.

"We're in a cave in the cliffs."

Wait, did he say cliffs? I heard the seagulls and the sound of the sea, but they can be heard for miles from the castle—at least that's what I've been told. Turning to face him, I know my shock and confusion are evident on my face.

"The cliffs, as in the Black Cliffs?" I don't like how high my voice goes as I speak, but I'm trying to calm my panic at the thought of being within shouting distance of our captors. Vaeril doesn't look happy about it either, but he just crosses his arms as if daring me to challenge him on the decision.

"You needed to rest, and I couldn't run as fast with you in my arms." His explanation makes sense, but surely he could have found somewhere a little farther? "Besides, they wouldn't expect us to be so close to the castle," he continues, and I have to admit that this is the last place I would look if I was searching for traitors.

Traitor. That's what you are to your people now. I'm not so worried about the kingdom, but the people I left behind and those children I couldn't help. The thought makes me sick, and I have to take several deep breaths with my eyes closed until the feeling goes away.

Misinterpreting my panic, Vaeril goes on to explain how we escaped.

"We left the castle complex on the north side, right at the back, so we were right next to the cliffs. It's a dangerous route to take, but I didn't want to go through the town."

I nod in understanding. The castle is built right at the edge of the Black Cliffs of Morrowmer. Escaping that way would be a death sentence for any normal human. The wind is wickedly strong and with little handholds or purchase, it would be a swift fall onto the jagged rocks below. The front of the castle complex is built into the city of Arhaven, which sprawls down the cliffside. The river weaves its way through the bottom of the city, where the industrial buildings are built along its edge. Beyond that are the slums, so Vaeril is right, we never would have passed through the city undetected.

"I'm going back to my people."

His words hit me like a physical blow, and I'm glad I'm sitting down because I fear I would have fallen otherwise. Why does this feel like a betrayal? We'd never made a plan as to what we would do once we escaped, and he never promised anything other than to help me get free. I suppose, deep down, neither of us thought it would work. A captured elf and an ex-slave, working together.

"Yeah, that makes sense, I mean, why wouldn't you? They probably think you are dead, so they will be pleased to see you," I babble, looking away and using my finger to draw patterns in the dirt on the stone floor. The weight of his eyes is heavy, and I know if I look up, I'll see him frowning again.

"You could come with me."

Surprise, fear, shock, and…excitement, flood my system. I'm flustered, and words escape me as I try and formulate a response. "Wha—" Shaking my head, I push up onto my knees and face him, looking for signs that he's joking or doesn't mean what he's saying. His expression is completely serious and my heart flutters with excitement.

He wants me to go with him, he doesn't want to leave me. His earlier outburst makes me slow to reply, after all, he just said he was going to get rid of me as soon as possible. Was that just his temper snapping, or did he truly mean it?

Did I expect him to disappear as soon as we escaped? Apparently no, given how upset I became when he told me he was returning to his people. Part of me, the part that feels pulled towards him, just wants to say yes, screw the consequences. Yet the rest of me is more cautious. I didn't survive twelve years as a slave by coincidence and luck.

Taking a deep breath, I try to think of all the reasons going with him would be a bad idea. "A human wouldn't be welcome among the elves," I point out, gesturing between us, my frustration making the action jerky. "We're enemies!"

Raising a single eyebrow, Vaeril continues to watch me, not moving from where he rests against the wall. "Are we? Can you tell me here and now that you hate me because I'm an elf?"

His question makes me pause. I don't hate him, not at all. Thinking back to when I first met him, I realise I was scared of him, but I never hated him.

"No," I reply slowly, and he nods, his eyes brightening. "But your fellow elves might not feel the same way."

He leans forward from the wall, and I see a fire has been lit inside him, as if my answer confirmed something for him. "But we have a mutual enemy."

"The king," we declare in unison, our eyes meeting for a second before I avert them. I've not seen him like this before and I'm not sure what to make of it.

"Besides, you are no normal human." His voice takes on that excited edge again, like he's figured out something I haven't.

Frowning, I pull my cloak tighter around me like it could protect me from whatever he's going to say next. "What do you mean?"

I hear him moving about, and next thing I know, he's kneeling in front of me with an intense expression. "Come on, you can't tell me that you haven't noticed you're different. You can detect magic, and you can break spells." I start to back away slowly, not because I don't want him close to me, but because I don't want to hear what he's saying. "You're not a mage, I would sense it if you were, you are something else. Besides, not even magicians can break spells." He doesn't follow me, allowing me to put space between us, but he keeps speaking, not letting me escape his words. "You can't tell me that you don't feel the pull between us."

There is it. He's mentioned being drawn to me before, but this is the first time he's directly mentioned the bond, the pull. I press my hand against my chest where that draw resides, and I see his eyes narrow on my movements.

"What is it?" I ask quietly, his eyes flashing in triumph as I confirm what he's been saying.

"I don't want to say anything until I'm sure, but I have an idea," he tells me, and as I frown and open my mouth to demand he shares what he knows, he holds up his hand to halt my questions. "I need to speak with my people to be sure. We have huge libraries that are full of knowledge…We might even find out what makes you different."

He's dangling it like a carrot for a donkey, trying to convince me this is the best plan, but I don't understand why this is so important to him.

"Why?" I press, pushing up so I'm standing. He does the same, and I close the gap between us, glaring up at him with my hands balled into fists. I don't know why I'm so angry at him all of a sudden, but his answer seems really important.

"Why what?"

"Why do you want me to go with you?" I want to grab his shirt and shake him, make him see sense.

"What are your other options? If you don't come with me, where will you go?"

I hadn't expected him to turn the questions around on me, and I scramble for an answer, but I only have one thought going through my head. Is that the only reason he's inviting me? Because he feels guilty and he pities me?

"I…I could try and find Grayson, he would help me." I know for sure Grayson would help me, hide me, but do I want to bring him into all this? Make him betray his country to help me? Besides, how would I find him? I have no idea where he and the other high magicians went, not to mention I've never left Arhaven or the farm I once worked on, I don't know our country at all.

As if he can read my mind, he just shakes his head, shooting down my idea immediately. "You would never make it to him on your own."

"I could go to one of the cities and make a new life for myself there." As soon as I say it, I know it's not a viable option. But when Vaeril immediately shakes his head, my anger flares up again.

"You have no money, no family or friends, you would never make it."

I growl, my anger getting the better of me as I throw my hands in the air in frustration, taking a step closer so our chests are almost touching.

"Fine, say I go with you, follow you to your home, what then?" I demand, his eyes darkening with something I don't recognise, but I don't stop. "The elves are going to accept me with open arms? Even if they did, what then? Where would I live, or work?" My voice gets louder as I speak, getting more and more frustrated. "You will go back to your life and your family, while I have nothing."

I'm not really angry at him, but at what he has, his possibilities, all the things I don't have. His face softens and he raises a hand to my face, catching a tear on my cheek. I hadn't even realised I was crying. I angrily swipe my tears away, not wanting to look weak in front of him. Frowning, he catches my hands.

"Clarissa." I ignore him, pulling my hands away and trying to take a step back, put some space between us. I hate that face, the pitying look he gives me. "Alina." I freeze. He called me that before, when I first managed to break the spell on his cuff. The word has power, and as before, I feel it settle over me. He told me in his culture Alina means ‘my salvation.' Why does the name feel right? I already have a name, Clarissa, given to me by my friend, one of the only things I have left from Grayson. I don't need another one, yet that slumbering part of me seems to wake.

"Why do you call me that?" My voice is deceptively calm.

"Names have power in my culture, and some people are blessed with their true name. This came to me that night, and as soon as I spoke it, I knew it was your true name." He closes the gap between us again and I have to crane my neck to look up at him, our bodies so close I can feel the heat coming off him. "It's fitting," he murmurs in a low voice, and arousal starts to build within me.

Not the right time, body , I scold myself, ignoring the sensation. He's just being nice, comforting me. Convincing myself that he doesn't have any romantic feelings for me is easy, and I open my mouth to say something, but what that was going to be, I'm not sure, because I see the moment he scents my desire. His nostrils flare slightly, his eyes flashing as his pupils dilate like I've just given him his favourite perfume, and a low humming emits from his throat. He shifts his weight, and I know if I don't act, we might do something we'll both regret. Raising my hand, I place it on his chest to stop him from coming any closer.

I clear my throat, and wait until he lifts his gaze from touch and looks me in the eyes. "I'll come with you."