All's Fair in Revenge

Chapter 55: Don't Blame Me

The wall doesn't budge. The rope doesn't saw through iron. I'm unable to pick the lock. My nails are no longer blue but also bloody and raw. Bruises circle my palms and elbows. They line my arms. My calf caught a sharp edge of an iron bar and earned a gash that alarmingly won't close. Then the sound of heavy, determined boots on damp steps curls around the stairwell and filters into our cell. A pleasant whistle follows it. This is it.

Cian and I share a look that is unmistakable dread.

I don't recall ever feeling it, yet hope is nevertheless torn from my chest by long talons, leaving a gapping, empty hole where previously rooted.

I must face the truth; no one is coming to save me. There was no one to save me. Which meant, all I had left was me.

I would have to be enough.

The clink of keys knocking together, and the squeak of the bolt tune our ears to the present. As if in answer, an indiscernible hue, almost an aura, of sparkling night sky radiates from me. It envelops. Cian stares, concern and admiration taking a turn about his brow.

"What's wrong?" He reaches for me, but I break away from him. I'm a pot of water rippling before the boil. To answer would be to bubble over and burn him. I need every drop for the end.

"Aye, don't look so happy to see me." An average guard with black hair tied into a knot at the top of his head twirls the ring of keys around his finger and catches them. He places one in my cell door but pauses. "You're not going to cause me any trouble, are ye?"

"Me?" I give him my most saccharine smile.

His eyes dart to the Cian. "Maybe I ought to wait for his escort before I begin movin' ya." Hesitation sits in his wrist, so before he can think better of it, my hand clamps around his fingers. I crush them. When his other hand threads my neck in reflex, his thumb wrapping around the ligaments of my throat, pressing my face into the bars, my grip only squeezes harder.

Cian shuffles behind me. "Release her." The bars between us keep him from doing anything more than making empty commands. Yet somehow, his shadow brushes my heels and I can feel his worry crawling along the floor toward me like a hunched spider. I slow my own breathing, my watery gaze locking on the guard's round face. It's practically inflamed.

"Her first," the guard grunts to Cian. I wheeze. I claw at him with my other hand. They're no more than nubs after all my chewing. He tries to dodge my onslaught, but with one paw undermine and the other at my throat, there's not far for him to go. The guard tries to lift me by my neck. He's strong but fingers merely slip. Had I trained with the Heerth like I wanted, he'd have no hope. Alas, the starved muscles of a healer are no match against a trained soldier, even if my chin brushes his receding hairline.

A moment of silence passes between us. In a final effort to save my life, I let go of his hand and grab for the collar of his metal armor. I yank him towards me. While he's off-kilter and distracted, I reach for the dagger hanging from his belt. When he realizes I'm also grabbing for his neck, his hold clenches, pain explodes in my head. Palpable bruising spreads like fire over oil throughout each rubbery ligament. I try to catch my breath in raspy heaves, my frame writhes against the scratchy iron, but before I can inhale enough air to stay upright, never mind think, a knot, tight and snarling, loosens ever so slightly. Something within me starts to fall apart.

At first, a tendril of energy begins to untangle, untwist, and unravel along my spine, feeding itself like roots into my veins. It's as though I'm being dipped into an icy, bottomless pool, the dark energy coating me in its aether, spreading from my middle to my ends.