The crowd had pressed closer around us, the clamor rising to a deafening roar. When I managed to straighten, I caught a glimpse of my nondescript ally, his face split into a defiant grin. I managed to flash him a bloody grimace of my own before those merciless hands gave a savage shove, sending me staggering toward the gaping maw of the stone fortress ahead.
Within the cold dark of those walls, what hope that call had kindled quickly vanished and I was left with nothing but a throbbing stomach and a mouthful of blood to show for my efforts. The oppressive weight of that place pressed down around me as we descended deeper and deeper into its depths. What torches there were guttered at sparing intervals along the walls. Most of our escort remained behind while three of their number dragged me down yet another flight of narrow steps. When they finally shoved me into my cell, I was almost glad for it.
I stood straight and unflinching at its center while they threw uninspired taunts at me, slamming the iron bars into place and turning the lock with deliberate fervor. When I didn’t deign to respond, they spat through those same bars at me and retreated down the hall.
I waited until the scrape of their boots vanished into silence before sinking down against one damp stone wall and wrapping my cloak around me. Faces swam in my mind, of all the people I had failed. My parents, Shera, our household, James, all dead for nothing. All because I tried to help Adrian. If it hadn’t been for the ships, I would have gotten through to Amenon. I had been so close.
So close.
Courage. My mother’s voice.
I forced that crush of despair down deep, clinging to the memory of the brown-eyed man’s defiant call.
It’s not over yet, I reassured myself. Don’t give up.
We had one last gambit still in play: the assassin. Solomon would see me tortured for information before I was put to death, an attempt to root out whatever lingering threads of opposition may remain. I’d seen the serigraphs. I’d read the Origin’s purging manuals. I knew full well what those interrogations entailed, but I had to hold my tongue.
There are ways to break even the hardest stone.
But I was not made of stone.
I was made of steel.
For Aubrey’s sake. For Selice’s. For everyone we had trusted to see our plans through. For every Alesian who would rather burn than bow before a foreign god, I would hold my tongue.
I could.
I must.
In that hopeless dark, I eventually slept, shivering on the cold dirt, wrapped in my cloak.
When I dreamed, I dreamed of home.
Follow Elivya into the dark in
Lazerin
A Crown of Lilies: Book Two
Available in paperback and Kindle
Summer 2020
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Traitor (A Crown of Lilies Book 1) Page 47
