Page 62 of The Dead Queen

It’s no use. After all, I already saw one of these cells last night. But, unlike Father’s hideaway, there’s nothing here to keep me company but the scrabbling of rats’ feet and the steady drip of condensation from the ceiling. This is unmistakably a forgetting place.

And I am truly, thoroughly, left for dead.

Chapter 20

Too late. I was too late.

Over and over, I play scenes from the last few days in my mind. All the warning signs were there, but I was too foolhardy to recognize them. I should’ve left with the Wolf when I had the chance. I should’ve never come back from the borderlands.

The steady drip, drip, drip of putrid water is maddening enough to make me cover my ears like a child afraid of thunder. It’s impossible to know how much time has passed. Eventually, my stomach wrenches with hunger. Thirst claws at my throat, suffocating me. But worst of all is the freezing cold and the uncontrollable shivering from my damp dress.

Rats scamper around the edges of the cell, sticking to the shadows. The light I’ve conjured is barely enough to reflect on their tiny eyeballs as they watch me, waiting. I’m so weak, soon I won’t even have enough energy to maintain an orb of light. There’s a real possibility that they’ll eat me alive in the dark. Bite by tiny bite.

I wonder if the Wolf finally left without me; if he accepted that I won’t return to escort him back to Annwyn.

Panic, true panic, is something I’ve never experienced before, not even when the corpse wolves chased me through the forest at the borderlands. There, at least, I had guards and horses to help me flee. Here, there’s no escape and no one to hear me scream into the darkness. Before death takes me, I fear I’ll go mad.

I’m lying on the cold, hard ground, clutching Grandmother’s knife and waiting for death to take me when I first hear something outside my cell. The footsteps are so light, I hardly notice them above the scuttle of rats fighting in the corner.

“Who’s there?” I call out.

My only answer is a jangle of keys as someone struggles with the lock. When the door swings open, I could cry with relief. But the face that appears in the dim light is pale as death. And it’s the last face I ever expected to see.

Elena.

Her skin is slick with sweat and her silver-blond hair hangs limply around her shoulders. Her gown is loose over her still-swollen stomach, the skirts heavy with dried blood. We stare at each other for a long moment and I wonder if I’ve died and we’re meeting in the realm of the dead. If my father has killed her before their wedding, only days after she gave him a son.

A man steps behind her. My faint light casts shadows along his tall, bulky frame—Hunter.

I move to get up, but my feet are numb with cold, and I stumble.

Hunter rushes toward me, worry etched across his face. Shivers wrack my body as he pulls me off the wet floor and holds me to his chest.

“You’re here.” My voice is scratchy from thirst.

He pulls a waterskin from under his cloak and places it in my hands. Warm water has never tasted so sweet. A wave of dizziness nearly makes my knees buckle and I remind myself to breathe between sips.

“Of course, I’m here. Did you really think I’d just leave you?”

Elena watches us silently, pain etched into the corners of her down-turned mouth. I realize now that she’s breathing heavily and leaning against the doorframe for support. I wonder if my father even permitted her to hold her newborn son, or if he stole that moment from her like he steals everything else.

“Thank you,” I say to her, the mother of my rival to the throne.

The corners of her mouth only turn down further. “You should go. And fast.” Her voice is hoarse and bitter. It’s as though the trauma of childbirth has stolen everything from her but the air she breathes. And even that is only a tentative grasp, at best.

Hunter looks back toward her. “Thank you, cousin.”

She takes a few slow steps toward him and puts her hand on his cheek. “You always were my favorite, you know.”

His eyes soften. “I know.”

Her hand on his cheek is pale and trembling, but there’s something else I’ve never noticed. My breath hitches before my brain can catch up. On her middle finger, there’s a thin, silver ring with one small decoration. A moth.

Elena notices my gaze and removes her hand. A million questions flood my mind, but there’s no time. The fates are cruel in that way.

“Go,” she says, then turns to leave.

Hunter reaches out for her. “I should escort you back to your rooms. To make sure you get there safely.”