Guilt and regret tightened his chest at the thought of what she must have endured here, trapped beyond the mists with these other prisoners for so long. It was almost enough to dampen the mistrust and anger he was still clinging to.
Almost, but not quite.
Mireille gestured down a short hallway. “The bathroom and two of the bedrooms are this way. One is mine. Then there’s another one on the other side of the living room. You two can?—”
“I’ll take the one on the other side of the living room,” Ronin grumbled.
“Right,” Mireille said, lips tight, then turned to Cassandra. “Why don’t you go get some rest? I’m sure you’re exhausted after everything you’ve been through today. Borrow whatever you need from my closet. Tomorrow, we’ll get you some training attire and more clothes.”
“I don’t have any… How do peoplebuythings here?” Cassandra asked. “And where does it all come from?”
“From the Koenig,” Mireille answered. “Gifted by the polemite in that warhammer. Some believe it’s provided by Vestan the Warrior God himself.”
Ronin’s brows rose. He’d suspected for a long time that the Gods—both the Fae’s High and the human’s lesser—were not real. Just myths crafted by the Empire in an attempt to lureEthyrios away from worship of Adelphinae, the true Creator. But the magic had to have originated somewhere.
Mireille continued, “It’s why everything here appears from another era. Other than a few modern conveniences, the Koenig can only offer what he remembers from the time when he was free.”
“Whoishe?” Ronin asked, silently thanking whichever prisoner had convinced the male to upgrade to running water.
Mireille shook her head. “No one knows for sure. He’s the oldest prisoner in here by centuries. And as you can imagine, he’s not too keen on sharing his history. Adds to the air of mystery and power he’s woven. There’s no monetary system here. Nothing likedrachas. The Koenig provides goods to each prisoner on a monthly basis, which can be used or bartered. If we desire something specific, we can make a special request of him or his Brethren. Sometimes they honor it, sometimes they don’t. Depends on how generous they’re feeling.”
Cassandra’s feathers rattled, as if she were bobbing her leg beneath the table.
Mireille sighed, then waved a hand and said, “Go on and get it over with. Ask me all the questions you have about this place. After tonight, your only focus is training.”
Cassandra sucked in a long breath, then began her barrage. “Why is there a city here?”
“Fuck if I know,” Mireille answered. “But mumblings around town claim it used to be home to a powerful magic wielder and their followers. The wards were allegedly created upon their death.”
“For what purpose?”
Mireille shrugged, non-plussed.
“How long has the Koenig ruled?” Cassandra asked.
“Again, don’t know, don’t care.”
“Why are there no children?”
“New life cannot be created within the wards. Just as elemental magic cannot be accessed.”
“You mean wind magic?”
“I meanallelemental magics,” Mireille said pointedly, flicking her eyes toward Ronin.
Cassandra didn’t seem to notice. “If the Koenig and his Brethren are so terrible, why don’t the other prisoners just rise up and kill them?”
Mireille snorted. “What makes you think they haven’t tried?” Her cool facade returned. The one she’d always used to hide the feelings that made her uncomfortable: pain, shame, regret.
His blood boiled.
His worst nightmares over the centuries had been vivid speculations about what Mireille was enduring here in Tartarus. But seeing it now, seeing the results in person… He couldn’t breathe.
“Anyway,” Mireille said to Cassandra, “as challenger, you’ll be given whatever you need leading up to your appeal.”
“That’s…oddly kind.”
“Not really. They assume you’ll be dead in a month, so what does it matter?”
