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From here, Alaric and I go alone. Neither of us speaks. He has his reasons. As for me, my nerves are wound so tight, I might get sick. What horrible things have Kitty and Father been forced to endure at Elizabeth’s hands?
This has to work.
I have to believe it will.
Varin has been quiet, though still present. I can feel their partial control in every movement.
In the space between bare branches, the forbidding silhouette of Nightwich looms. Its towers are sharp spikes that pierce the sky.
We step out from under the cover of trees, I hold the rope taut and hold the point of the dagger against his ribs. He hisses through his teeth at the prodding.
“Sorry—”
“Leave it,” he says, cutting me off when I start to pull back.
Without knowing how far Elizabeth will push me, I didn’t want to take the chance that I might have to use my weapon on Alaric. So, I left the night-forged silver dagger with Oliver and borrowed one made of steel.
Alaric and I are not out in the open for long before I spot the queen and her entourage emerge from the castle. My breathing is coming too fast. Among them, I see a guard walking with Father, and after another moment, Kitty comes into view. I had half feared she would bring them out, already cold and lifeless.
“We must choose to trust each other now,” Alaric says under his breath.
Not daring to speak, I hum in agreement.
The days-old snow crunches beneath our footsteps. The sky is a solid cover of turbid gray clouds. A light dusting of fat, white flakes drifts down.
Our groups meet halfway between the trees and Nightwich, with as much distance between us as possible while still within speaking range.
Elizabeth brought minimal force. And why would she need more against a single human?
It is only her, the Voice, a soldier for each hostage, and one other—who I expect she brought along to do her dirty work.
Kitty’s dress is torn and frayed around the hem. The once soft pink is now a mix of filthy shades of dirt and soot. The white, full-length gloves are not in any better condition. One has had most of its length ripped off, the other is bunched around the elbow.
I can now see that what I first took for dirt on the bare skin of her arms are actually deep bruises. My protective side rises up. I want to run to her. To take her far away from everything she has been through. It is only through Varin’s firm control I keep from moving or showing my emotions.
Father’s clothes, though wrinkled and dirtied, were recently new. His face has days of stubble, and his left cheek is discolored by a repeated injury in different stages of healing. Probably struck for not obeying.
After leaving Littlemire, I shoved him into my past, content to forget about him. He stares at me with clear eyes filled with shock. I cannot recall the last time he seemed so present.
For the most part, they both seem well enough. I can only hope that whatever they’ve been through is not so terrible that they won’t recover, given enough time.
Elizabeth wears a column dress. When she was farther away, I thought it was a flat gray, but now I see it is a shade of silver, with intricate and heavy beadwork that would shimmer in harsher light. A heavy, black mantle flutters out behind her. Obsidian shards cut to look like feathers are stitched on her shoulders with more to form a collar that rises in the back.
Her pale blonde hair is piled high, with a cascade of long curls flowing over both shoulders. And atop it all sits that awful bone-like crown with its sharp points and rubies that glitter like fresh blood.
I wait for Elizabeth to speak. There is no need to push my luck—I will challenge her enough as it is during this exchange.
“I was not entirely sure you would come,” she says. The sidelong glance she sends toward my family, her nose wrinkling, expresses what she leaves out—that she considers them worthless. That a hundred humans do not come close to the worth of Alaric’s life.
To her, everyone is worth only what she can get by bartering. But she is wrong. Nothing so simple or inconsequential can measure the worth of any living person. Life is not a currency for the powerful to spend on a whim.
When I don’t respond, her lips purse. Annoyance skitters over her face before she dons her mask once more.
“Release him,” Elizabeth commands. “And I will allow you and your pathetic family to go live the rest of your short lives back in your dirty little town.”
Not for a second do I believe she means a word of it. “How do I know you won’t come after us?”
“My generosity will not last long, so I suggest you take this deal before my patience ends,” she adds through clenched teeth.
