“You were promised to me long beforeyouwere ever you. The last magic-wielding heir of Anaeris. You will be my wife.”
CHAPTER 26
ISIAH
M
y swollen eye opens just enough to take in my surroundings: smooth black granite walls, a barred gate, and a near pitch-black hallway. Recognition flares inside me.
I’m locked in the dungeon below Castle Thorne.
Pain forgotten, I push upright on the cot and slide a hand to my hip but find my sword and dagger missing.Damn it.
Fighting Niethal and his guards drained me; my magic reserves are near empty.
The throbbing in my head returns with a vengeance. With a long exhale, I slump against the wall and stare at the bars of my cell. I hope the others are okay and that Grace got away from the cabin.
I brush the bond and feel her alive and uninjured, to my relief. My eyes close as I focus on healing myself. As magic flows through my system, the swelling on my face lessens, and the pounding in my head fades.
I stay here, healing and breathing, for what feels like an eternity. I must doze while I do because the next thing I know, there’s a banging on the bars. My eyes snap open to find Reagan standing there with a scowl on his face. “You shouldn’t have brought her to Daminae. You should have run somewhere far from here. He will use her to break the borders.”
I draw in a slow, steady breath and whisper, “If he lays a hand on her, I willfuckingkill him.”
Reagan draws away from the bars and stares at me for a moment before his face softens. “I’m sorry about your parents, Isiah. Know that I played no part in what happened to them.”
My jaw clenches. I can’t talk about them, not yet.
Reagan offers a small smile. “I saw what Ellis did to Grace. He’s no longer among the living—thought you might like to know.”
That Ellis is dead is a relief, though I wish it were me who ended him. I would have taken my time, made sure he suffered for the pain and fear he caused Grace, before releasing him from this world. He deserved to be tortured.
Reagan pulls a small brown bottle from his pocket and sets it on the floor inside the bars. “Drink this healing draft. You’ll need your strength for what’s coming.”
I narrow my eyes at the brown bottle and then at him. “Why are you helping me?”
“Because we agree on a few things, you and me. I believe bringing down the borders is a mistake, and you wish to stop Grace from destroying herself during the ritual.” He peers down the hall and taps his knuckles on the bars. “Look, I am a loyal guard of Selen, so I serve its king, but if I can stop this catastrophe from happening and keep Selen intact, I’ll do what I can without breaking my oath. If that means helping you and Grace, then that’s what I will do.”
He turns to leave, but before he goes, I ask, “Where are my friends? The others I came with, are they okay?”
“They’re alive. Bruised and damaged much like you, but nothing permanent.”
I let out a quiet exhale as a small weight lifts from my chest.
“Rest, Isiah. I’ll see you again soon.”
He leaves, and I’m left wondering how he fits into an escape plan. He doesn’t want the fae and human worlds reunited, yet he still serves Niethal. In some twisted sense of honor, he believes by keeping the worlds apart, he’s being true to his vow to Selen. He is right. We agree on a few things, and hopefully, that agreement will benefit me.
Wincing, I stand and stiffly pick up the tiny bottle and sniff it. It smells like a draft my father’s healer used to brew.
My father…
Images of his twisted face flash through my mind, and I cringe.
When I get out of here, Niethal and I will settle this once and for all.
I swallow the bottle’s contents and nearly gag; bitter lemon, herbs, and magic overwhelm my senses. It burns my throat, turning my blood hot as it spreads through my body.
The second it hits my mind, the residual pain is gone.