Page 119 of Bride of Ash & Dust

Panic screams through my skull. I freeze, suddenly thinking about running. Could I make it to the stairs? Could I make it up the stairs?

Owain’s hand tightens around my wrist. “We’ll get out of this,” he whispers.

“Course you will,” Bertyl says as an oily smile stretches across his lumpy face. “Little misunderstanding is all.”

The cell door looms in the darkness, a monstrous mouth ready to swallow me. I suck in a breath, but it’s filled with the stench of this place, the ghosts of sweat and piss, of blood and despair. I gag, then cough.

I wouldn’t make it to the stairs. Hells, even if I did, what would happen once I ran through the dungeon doors? Someone in the courtyard would tackle me, of course. They already think I fled from Vsenrog, giving King Malrik all the pretense he needed to send in the armies he was already massing on our borders.

And if I said I didn’t try to leave Vsenrog? That the letter was a forgery, and Malrik’s invasion was based on a lie?

Well, who would believe me? Wouldn’t a woman say anything to get out of the dungeons?

I hold my breath and walk into the dark cell. I don’t dare turn around as the door slams shut behind me and Bertyl’s key ring rattles in the lock. Tears slide down my raw, swollen cheeks. The sound of Bertyl’s and Owain’s footsteps fades behind me. Slowly, I sink to the dungeon floor. Quiet and dignified, like a princess should be.

The dark hours pass slowly, like a blade dragged across sand. Water drips from stone. Small, dark claws scratch from the shadows, and I drift in and out of restless nightmares. Finally, the sound of a key in the lock jolts me back into consciousness. I turn toward the door, blinking at the harsh light flooding the cell. Two figures stand in the doorway, the hulking form of Bertyl and someone else. Someone almost as tall.

“This should only take a moment,” a silky voice purrs to Bertyl.

My body goes cold. I open my mouth, but my throat is dry, and the words refuse to come.

Blayne walks into my cell, a lantern in his hand and his cloak over his shoulders. He hangs the lantern on the wall, then turns to me as if he were about to begin another tutoring session. His lip curls.

“Oh my,” he says. “I do hope they clean you up before you face King Malrik.”

I try to speak, but it comes out as a choked gag. Blayne pulls a handkerchief from his pocket, then wipes his hands on it like he’s touched something dirty.

“I don’t even need to be here,” Blayne says. “I hope you appreciate this for the courtesy it is.”

I drag myself to my feet, trembling all over.

“You set me up,” I say. My voice is hoarse, like I’ve been screaming.

“Now, darling,” Blayne replies. “Who would possibly believe that?”

I spit at his feet. Blayne raises an eyebrow at me.

“I see your brief association with the snake has caused you to forget all of your training,” he says. “We’ll have to start over at the beginning.”

Fear curls around the base of my spine. I take a step back. My shoulders hit the rough stone wall behind me.

“What are you talking about?” My voice comes out in a whisper.

Blayne folds his handkerchief neatly, then puts it back in his pocket. He looks slightly bored.

“I’m talking about your fate. The very least you could do is show a modicum of gratitude.”

“You wrote that letter,” I spit. “You stole my seal, and you planted the letter that made it look like I ran off from my marriage.”

Blayne laughs. It’s a real laugh, soft and warm, and it makes my heart twist in a strange, uncomfortable way. I used to love making him laugh. It always felt like a victory, a flash of the actual man behind his stiff tutor persona.

But that must have been another lie.

“Malrik wants you killed,” Blayne says.

He’s watching me with a mildly curious expression, like he’s just given me a difficult equation and he’s waiting to see how much of the previous lesson I can remember to solve it.

I press my back into the cell wall. My heart thuds inside the cage of my ribs, and suddenly, I think of Zarek. Gods, please, let Zarek be somewhere far away.