He had never meant for any of this to happen. His only goal had been to protect his people, to find a way to end the war without more bloodshed. But in his pursuit of that goal, he had only brought more pain and suffering down on their heads.
The guards seized Aric roughly, tearing him from the chamber and shoving him to his knees. He cried out as they bound his hands with thick, rune-etched shackles that sapped his magic, leaving him defenseless. He struggled against their hold, a surge of panic and desperation flooding through him. This couldn’t be happening. Not now, not when he was so close to finding a way to end the bloodshed.
“Malekith,” he called, his voice a raw, torn thing. “Please. You have to believe me.”
But Malekith had turned his back on him, his face a cold mask. Aric’s heart shattered at that final glimpse of the demon prince—the anguish in his eyes, the raw vulnerability that he had bared to Aric, all gone. With a strangled cry, Aric let the guards drag him from the chamber, and the only sound that filled the air was the clank of his chains on the stone floor.
Ten
The first thing Aric became aware of was the throbbing in his head.
It was a dull, insistent ache, like a hammer pounding against his skull, demanding to be heard. Groaning, he tried to lift a hand to press against his aching head, only to find his arms wouldn’t move. His eyes flew open, the sudden brightness sending spears of white-hot pain lancing through his head, and he let out a pained cry.
Aric’s vision swam, the outlines of his surroundings blurry and indistinct. He was sitting on the cold stone floor of a cell, the air dank and musty, the only light filtering in from a high, narrow window set in the stone wall high above. The cells, he realized with a jolt, were the same makeshift dungeons beneath Drindal where he and Malekith had found the human prisoners just a few nights before.
The sight of the cells, the memory of the terrified and defiant faces of the prisoners, lit a fire in Aric’s veins, momentarily overpowering the pain and disorientation clouding his mind. How could he have been so foolish, so reckless to lead the demons into a trap, then allow himself to fall right into Vizra’s snare?
But as the pounding in his head grew louder, the memories came flooding back. The confrontation with Vizra, his arrest, the desperate, futile struggle as the guards dragged him away from Malekith. His heart ached as he recalled the look on Malekith’s face, and he cursed himself for being such a fool.
And yet, despite everything, a bitter, humorless laugh bubbled up from deep within him. He had spent his entire life trying to protect his people, to do what he believed was right. And in the end, he had only succeeded in landing himself right back where he started.
A prisoner, once again, in his own damn homeland.
The laughter echoed off the cold stone walls of the cell, the sound of it almost alien to his own ears. But he couldn’t stop the mirthless, broken sound of it as he slumped back against the wall, the cool stone seeping through his tunic, chilling the sweat-damp skin of his back.
“And what, pray tell, is so amusing?”
Aric started, his heart racing as he whipped his head around to find the source. Sylthris the Gravewhisper. She was here, in the dungeons, outside his cell, separated from him only by the thick, iron bars. She was reclining against the wall with casual grace, a half-eaten pomegranate in her hand. Juice ran down her arm and chin, the deep red a stark contrast against her silver hair and pale skin in the dim.
“I, uh.” Aric’s mouth felt impossibly dry. “I didn’t hear you come in.”
Sylthris arched one silver eyebrow, and the corner of her mouth quirked up with a predator’s smile. “Clearly.”
She pushed herself away from the wall with a sinuous grace, and Aric was abruptly reminded of Malekith’s warning of just how dangerous this woman was. The spymaster of the demon realm, her network of informants and assassins stretched far and wide. Malekith’s warning echoed starkly in his mind, though she had been his friend, once, and Malekith had stopped short of calling her an enemy.
Perhaps the in-between was worse than the foe you know.
“Are you here to interrogate me, too?” Aric asked, his voice a weak, strained rasp. “Or is this just a social call?”
Sylthris’s smile widened, baring her sharpened teeth. “Oh, I think we can manage a little of both.”
“Forgive me if I’m not terribly eager to chat with someone who convinced the Sovereign to throw me in here.”
“Indeed. You’e been quite the busy bee—isn’t that what your people say? Freeing prisoners, subtly coercing the demon prince to alter his strategies to try to stave off bloodshed . . . So Vizra insists.”
“And so you seem to think, too,” Aric said.
Sylthris regarded him with a mixture of curiosity and amusement, her lavender-midnight blue eyes swirling with hidden depths. “I merely report on what I am told. The truth is for the Sovereign to decide.”
“Then I don’t know what you could possibly want from me.”
She tossed her hair over one shoulder. “Because I hear other interesting things, too. In fact, I hear you’ve been quite helpful, Aric Solarian. Not only did you provide the key to dismantling the wards in Drindal and Brenville, but you were also deciphering schematics for a new weapon from the Silver Tower.” Her gaze sharpened, probing for any reaction. “How . . . cooperative of you.”
“I want a swift end to the war,” Aric said, his voice steadier now, even as his heart pounded in his ears. “I’ve never claimed otherwise.”
Sylthris’s smile turned wistful, a dark shadow passing over her features. “I know what you believe. Whether it is the truth remains to be seen.”
She circled around the cell, her movements sinuous and feline. Aric tried to follow her with his eyes, but the hammering in his head made the room tilt and sway. He forced himself to sit up straight, to summon up the last shreds of his magic, but found only emptiness where the golden fire usually danced at his fingertips. The void mocked him, a cold, aching space in his chest that matched the one in his heart.
“Let’s just get this over with.” Aric’s shoulders slumped, the tension seeping out of him. “I know you have questions. Ask them.”
Sylthris’s smile faded, and she regarded him with an appraising look. “You don’t seem particularly concerned about your current predicament.”
“I’ve been in worse.” Aric kept his tone light, casual. “I have a feeling you’re not going to kill me, at least not right away. So why not make the best of it?”
Her eyes narrowed, and Aric wondered if he had pushed too far. But to his surprise, she laughed, the sound rich and melodic, like water trickling over stones.
“You have a point.” She crouched down in front of the cell, resting her chin on her interlaced fingers. “But I’m afraid there is one more matter I need to discuss with you.”
Aric’s stomach dropped, but he forced himself to look back. “And what might that be?”
“The weapon you helped interpret the schematics on. How close is it to completion?”
Aric’s mind raced. He couldn’t lie to her, not outright. But he also couldn’t let her know the truth. He had to buy himself some time, find a way to turn the tables. And that meant he needed to know what she knew.
“I . . . I can understand the schematics,” he said carefully. “But I’m not certain how close the weapon is to completion. There are still many variables.”
Sylthris’s eyes glittered, and for a moment, Aric thought she might pounce on him. But then the tension drained from her, and she straightened, pacing back and forth in front of the cell.
