CHAPTER FIFTY-THREE
Oslo.
—From Lyvia’s list.
We knelt in frigid, sodden hay. The dark spacereeked. Bile threatened to rise in my throat as I took in the small, damp stone cell that Father Marcus had been given. His glossy eyes stared at the wall as Drystan took his frigid hands in his own, caked in blood and dirt from the day of battle.
A slice of guilt hit my chest as my mind shot to where Vienah sat six levels up, waiting to be tried. The water witch’s cell was warm, clean, and dry, though, and the Rising soldiers stationed outside it were honorable. I’d chosen them myself. She’d have a cot and fresh food and water. Ronan had found and freed her family already. I bristled at the tendril of concern squeezing my chest. Had she ever been my friend?
Drystan’s moon-like eyes were shadowed and dark, the invisible scars of battle carved into his solemn countenance. The Advetis Bone fluttered nervously on his chest as he neared Father Marcus, as if upset.
One day. It had takenone dayto take the city and kill Saros. The finality of it left me drained but not lost. I was numb, but I knew where I was going, where I had to go next. But first…
“Father Marcus, can you hear me? It’s Lyvia and Drystan. We’ve come to help you,” I whispered. I wrapped a blanket around his gaunt shoulders, one of the few I’d found in the servants’ quarters that wasn’t being used for treating the wounded.
He rocked back and forth, muttering foreign words beneath his breath as his eyes darted around the wall.
I cleared my throat as Drystan ran his thumbs over the top of the priest’s bony hands.
“I found your journal,” I continued. “It helped me with the Obscura power. It was abone. That’s what you were trying to tell me, right? A bone, not a stone.”
Dull eyes shot to mine before darting back to the wall.
“It won’t hurt you anymore,” I whispered, voice beginning to shake. “I can control it. It is mine now. No one will hurt you again.”
I scanned the dried blood on the floor of his cell and the various injuries that littered his arms and legs, rage returning to the chasm where my powers slept. Drystan’s eyes followed mine, his throat bobbing as a small pool of liquid formed in the corners.
“Come on,” I murmured, gently pulling on Father Marcus’s shoulders, doing my best to ease him to his feet. “We’re going up, away from this place.”
My voice broke as a small puddle of tears fell onto the amplifier on my chest. Father Marcus muttered under his breath, but he took my arm.
The moment his hand touched me, he screamed and jerked himself away, eyes wild. Drystan reached for his arms, pullinghim back to his feet, but he convulsed, his frail body writhing out and crashing to the floor with a pained yelp.
What had they done to him? Hadmy powerdone this? A sob escaped my lips as I stepped toward him and he shuffled away, pulling the sodden hay along with him.
“Lyvia,” a voice echoed from down the hall, softer than I’d ever heard it. Quiet, staggered steps followed, and I lifted my head to see Vulcan doing his best to hide his wince as he made his way down the aisle. The gray fabric of his wrapped chest peeked out from beneath his shirt, and he looked pale, ragged. He’d reluctantly stayed in the war tent after taking an arrow for me, directing our forces and adding his invaluable insight into our attack.
“You shouldn’t have come all the way down here,” I said, wiping the snot from my face and standing.
“I brought some help,” Vulcan said, jerking his head toward the stairwell without looking. My heart squeezed as Marian’s face popped in the doorway, and she hurried down the aisle. Her face was tired and anxious. She reached for my hand, squeezing it.
“You’re in Aedrialis,” I whispered.
The color drained from her face as she signed, “Let’s make this quick so I can get back.”
I nodded, motioning her to where Drystan inched toward Father Marcus as if approaching a caged animal.
“I’m not sure I’ll be able to help. He won’t—” I began as the arrival of another sounded from the stairwell.
Lord Astraeus sauntered down the aisle wearing an insufferable smirk as he spotted me. I bristled at his appearance, barely a scratch on the man, his face free of paint and sea blue coat bright even in the dimness of the dungeon hall. My eyes shot to Vulcan, who ignored my irritation. Astraeus strode to thecell, smirk fading and dark eyes softening as he took in Father Marcus.
Marian knelt beside him, grasping his hand and placing a warm cup of tea against it. Father Marcus muttered something under his breath, but his hands stopped shaking for a moment. His eyes lifted to meet Marian’s. Her gasp was almost as shocking as the sob that followed. Marian nearly dropped the cup of tea as tears formed in her eyes.
With help, Father Marcus brought the cup of tea to his lips and drank long and hard. Marian continued to stare at him for several long moments before Father Marcus closed his eyes and slumped back into Drystan’s chest.
I opened my mouth to ask Marian what had happened when something foreign and urgent tugged at my mind, and I went deathly still.
“What’s wrong?” Astraeus asked, the question more of a demand.
