Bridging the Ancient ✓

Chapter 13

My blood chills as the words ring in my skull. In Bren's voice, they repeat over and over again. The king is not coming. The king is not coming.

The king is not coming. He received the message, then. And in response to that message, a dire rescue attempt for his son, he said no. In his mind, the prince is to die or live through whatever the rebels plan to do with him. My heart thunders in my chest as I realize we are stuck here until further notice—further than the one we were already facing.

Renit lifts his head from my thigh, my fingers still intertwined in his hair, and scoffs. "Did you really think he would come?" He mocks. With a grin, he rests his cheek back against my leg and his warm breath presses through my pants.

Bren's eyes darken and the flame brightening the dungeons flickers. His magic is responding to the rage he feels and this is the last straw. "Did you know this was going to happen?" Bren asks.

"Of course I did!" Renit nearly growls the truth. "My father doesn't need me. If I'm to survive, it's because I was the one that made it out. He's not going to waste men on bringing me back." His arm drapes across my knees, as much movement as he can muster without wincing from the pain.

If the healer had bothered to take away some of the infection for the day, he might be able to stand and argue with Bren that way. This, resting against me, is as much as he's able to conquer. On any given day, he can barely make it to the bucket without toppling over. And then we have to wait in the stench of our feces until one of the rebels decides to come and retrieve the bucket. Never Tesha, always one of the lower ranks. It's usually the thin boy with wide eyes and a shaking dagger in his hand.

"You're a prince. There's value in you somewhere." Bren realizes his plan is failing. He's desperate to get this done, to get what they want, because the rebels are getting anxious. Whispers are beginning to spread that he's picking favorites and Renit's first healer, the one not afraid to deliver a blow to an injured man, is the leader of it all.

I've listened to the arguments in the dead of night, the warnings from Bren that if they act out, they'll be left to die. To the overseers, to the gibbet, that is Tesha's choice to make. And no one is stupid enough to face her cruelty. She's faced enough herself.

"Listen, kid, you failed. Good luck next time, write it down for the kiddos back home so you can share the story around the campfire," Renit mumbles. He's drifting off to sleep. Except for healing, sleeping is the only thing he can do to dull the pain. If he's awake, he's feeling every brutal intolerance of his body and with every grunt and groan, it's getting worse.

Bren's eyes shift coldly to me. Again, he studies the way we're positioned and there's a question in his eyes. One I can't answer and one I shouldn't have to. We don't belong to each other, we never have, even if our friendship stemmed from that. At the end of this life we had in Arego, we had no choice but to choose each other.

"Can I speak to you for a moment? Alone?" Bren asks coldly. He's never used that tone with me and I've hardly heard it except for the bullies in Arego.

Renit raises his head to furrow his brows. He still doesn't know I left that night to speak with Bren. This entire time, he's believed that I never left in the first place and if I leave now, he might start a riot and scream at me to never leave this place—never separate.

"I'll just be a moment," I whisper. "Stay where you are until I get back."

With a wince, Renit sits up and looks between the two of us. "I would say don't touch her but I have a feeling you're smart enough to avoid doing that in the first place," Renit growls. Then he turns to me, cold determination clouding his features. He strings together the words, not as an order but as friends speaking to one another. "Don't let anyone touch you. And don't go far."