Page 145 of The Reaping Rose

His teeth grit. “I’m going to kill him slowly.”

“You can’t.” A voice comes from the darkness when I didn’t even hear the door open, and I look up to find Esen moving through the shadows.

She’s an illusion, of course. Frowning as she pauses outside Perame’s cell, as if the iron stops her from entering. She squats down, her worried gaze focused on Perame.

“She’s still breathing,” Esen mumbles to herself, a hint of relief in her voice.

“Barely.”

Her eyes flick to me at the bitterness in my tone.

I know it’s not Esen’s fault that this happened, given that the overlord controls her as much as he controls us. But it doesn’t stop the bite of anger. At her, at him, at this situation. At the fact that my friend is dying in the cell beside mine, and I’m helpless.

Mortal wounds are nothing to the Fae back in Vaelier and Lyrichia. But here, without magic in the land to heal them quickly, Perame won’t survive much longer. Especially with how much of her power the overlord has stolen.

“Has he done this to you?” I ask Esen, my voice clogging in my throat.

Esen frowns, not taking her eyes off Perame. “No. There is no magic to strip from my blood.”

“But you’ve seen him do this before?” Callum’s tone is bitter.

“Only once.” She glances at him, standing. “It was… different from this, or so I thought. He said that Fae was sent by the queen to kill him. They were an enemy. But this⁠—”

“Is torture.” I finish her sentence, brushing my thumb over Perame’s hand. “If she dies, it will be murder. You can end this. Find a way to break the tie—free yourself.”

“So I can help you?” Esen’s tone is cold, her gaze not meeting mine. “So you can use me like he does?”

“No,” I say, cutting Callum off before he can speak. His brows furrow. “When we came here, we thought the void we were seeking was an object. A necklace, maybe. We didn’t know it was a person or that what we were after was a being of free will. We didn’t know we were looking for you. I understand why you might have a hard time trusting us when you probably think we’re just like him, but I promise we’re not. Please help us get out of here, and you can stay in your realm if you wish. You don’t need to come with us.”

“But your realm will die.”

“It will.” My shoulders sink.

“Why would you let me stay, then?”

“I know how it feels to be treated like a tool.” I swallow hard, my throat burning. “For others to see what you’re capable of without seeing you. For them to want to use you for it, not considering your own free will. I understand what it’s like to have no choice in the matter. A king used me once. I was nothing more than a means to an end for him.”

My heart races as I remember standing on the altar during the Rite. Two realms fighting for their own survival, not considering the impact of my saving one of them. Not considering what they were asking me to destroy in the process.

“I was their weapon, but not anymore.” I take a deep breath. “When you have something special inside you, there will always be others who want to use it for their benefit. Sometimes, they may even believe they are right. But what’s inside you is not theirs to choose what to do with. It’s yours.”

I press my palm over the mark on my chest. Wilder is so far away, and yet, I feel him, nonetheless. He let me make my choice, even when I didn’t choose him. He gave me free will, knowing it might doom his kingdom. He trusted me, and I need to trust myself.

“You can help us if you want, Esen, or you can decide not to. It’s not my decision to make. But I hope you do free yourself from the chains regardless. There’s something great within you. Terrifying and powerful, but special beyond words, and it’s yours. Only yours. You should be the one to choose what you do with it. Not the overlord and not us.”

Callum stands in his cell, listening, not taking his eyes off Esen, who stays focused on the slow rise and fall of Perame’s chest.

“I don’t know what it is to have a choice. Not anymore.” Esen’s eyes move to the vines on the walls. “I had one once, and I made the wrong one.”

She wrings her hands in front of her, not meeting my gaze. Her illusion pulses, reminding me she’s not really here. Still, her emotion makes her form flicker.

“Where are you right now? With him?”

“Yes.” Her eyes dart up, but her gaze is distant as if she’s seeing something beyond the dungeon. “He’s sleeping fitfully.”

“Good,” I grumble, and the corner of her mouth lifts.

“What choice did you make that was wrong?” I ask, careful not to push too hard but relieved to see her softening.