Page 120 of The Awakening of Essensia

Vaelira’s breath vanished again.

No one spoke, not even Elijah. His face was unreadable, but a shadow flickered behind his eyes before he turned away.

Vaelira stared at her shackled hands, heavy with the weight of what she’d done.

When they dragged her from the King’s chambers, Freya was already gone, and this time, Vaelira wasn’t sure she’d be able to get her back.

32

Sweetheart

Vaelira lay on the floor of her cell. The stone was damp beneath her cheek. It pressed into her hip bone, refusing to let her forget where she was. The blanket was gone, but it didn’t matter, it wouldn’t have warmed her.

She’d called out for Freya once the guards had left. The only response had been her own voice calling back, until only a whisper of the echo remained. She hadn’t let herself hope Freya had got away. The palace was crawling with guards, and if there was one place an injured, half-starved woman couldn’t go unnoticed, it was the King’s chambers.

Freya was only here because of her, another victim drawn into the line of fire that was Vaelira’s life.

Elijah must have arranged her capture as soon as they’d left Anhaven. She’d been so blind. He hadn’t brought her here to help her, only to use her. She’d thought they were on the same path, but she’d been a pawn from the start, letting him make all the decisions, letting him ply her with gifts and privilege and adventure. She hadn’t seen the bigger picture, hadn’t seen that he only ever wanted her power to help further his own.

Even when she’d first been thrown into these dungeons, he’d spoken only of how she might help him defeat the summoners. There had been no escape plan or vow to change the Queen's mind. He’d simply adjusted his plans to fit this new obstacle.

Her life hadn’t been her own since the day she agreed to leave with him. She’d turned her back on her friends, on the dreams she’d had since she was a girl, for a Prince of lies.

A King of lies.

Pain lanced through her chest, the sensation cold and sharp, and all too familiar. She tried to breathe through it, but all she could see was Freya’s bruised and beaten face, the shadow behind Elijah’s gaze, the iron shackles that still bound her wrists.

She squeezed her eyes shut, searching for something, anything, to chase away the dread.

An image rose. A stone chamber. A rough-hewn archway leading to rows of shelves. An old man hunched over a book at a lantern-lit table.

She loosed a breath, clinging to the memory. She saw the lamp light beside him, smelled leather and parchment, traced inked words in her mind.

The crown will carry this weight for eternity.

That one sentence had changed everything. Veyrakh, Maerin Vireldane, had been bound to the blood of kings.

She’d feared she’d undone the binding earlier tonight, but what if she was wrong? What happened when one King died, and another rose to take his place?

Surely the binding would pass to the blood heir. Is that what they witnessed tonight? Not an unbinding, but a transfer. If so, Elijah now bound Maerin Vireldane. He had no children, so would the binding break if he died? The mages must have been smarter than that. Which left the question, who is next in line?

Tiny footsteps skittered past her face, snapping her back to the present. She shuddered, thinking of the rodents that shared her cell. Why was she wasting time with these thoughts? Answers were no good to a dead girl.

Vaelira awoke to angry whispers and clinking metal. Her eyes blinked open, and for a breath, she forgot where she was.

A key clattered in the lock. Someone was at the cell door.

“Hurry up,” a man hissed. The key was removed and another took its place. The door swung open.

Vaelira forced her aching body to move. She scrambled away, putting her back to the wall. She had no weapons, and there was nothing in the cell she could use as one. She’d already checked.

Two guards entered, hoods drawn, a lantern swinging between them.

Vaelira got to her feet, planting them solidly beneath her. She raised her shackled hands into fists. If she had to, she’d strangle them with the chain.

One of the men threw back his hood and relief slammed through her like a wave. Axel.

They stared at each other for a heartbeat and then he hurried forward. “We’ve got five minutes before the shift changes,” he said, bending to examine the shackles. “We have to move.”