Gathering Darkness

“I don’t care who you are.” The girl lacked skill but was determined in her attempts to stab Lysandra.

“Need a little help, rebel?” The guard opened the door and shoved another prisoner in. He was short and skinny and wore a fearful expression.

Before Lysandra had a chance to say anything, the unmarked girl attacked and cut Tarus’s arm.

Seeing the gash on his flesh was enough to incite Lysandra. She launched herself at the girl and punched her in the stomach, making her grunt with pain.

“Are you all right?” Lysandra barked at Tarus.

He clutched his injured arm. “Yeah. I think so. Be careful!”

The tip of the blade darted at Lysandra’s chest. She dodged it, and this time she punched the girl right in her face. Blood trickled from her nose.

“Stop it,” Lysandra hissed. “You’re better than this! Don’t give them the show they want. Don’t let them win!”

The girl’s eyes were red with tears of rage. “I haven’t eaten in days!”

“Take her down,” the guard snarled. “Kill her. I’ve put my silver on you, rebel. Don’t make me a loser.”

The girl continued to strike at them relentlessly until Lysandra finally knocked the blade out of her hand and grabbed it for herself. The girl fell hard to the ground and scrambled back into a corner, raising her hands to shield her face as Lysandra drew closer.

“Please! Please, no. Spare me. I’m sorry—I’m sorry!”

“Kill her!” the guard demanded.

Lysandra shot them a look of hatred. “No.”

“She would have killed you.”

“Perhaps. But she doesn’t deserve to die just for trying to survive another day in this cesspit.”

The guards stormed into the cell and disarmed Lysandra, then dragged her back to her original cell, throwing Tarus in with her.

“You can keep each other company while you wait for your turn to die.”

In the darkness, Lysandra pressed herself up against the wall with Tarus next to her. He began to sob softly; she put an arm around his shoulders to pull him closer.

“I know this is hard,” she whispered, “but I’ll get us out of here. I promise I will.”

“How?”

That was a very good question. “Working on it. Give me time.”

“If Jonas can find us, he’ll save us. I know it.”

“Jonas is dead.” The words tasted as bitter on her tongue as they felt in her heart, the cold, painful thought making her eyes sting with endless grief. “If he wasn’t killed in the battle, he’d have been captured just like us and we would’ve seen him or heard about it.”

Tarus’s eyes hardened. “I don’t believe it.”

“I don’t want to believe it either, but holding on to hope that he’s going to find us . . .” She let out a shaky sigh. She wouldn’t let herself believe in Jonas because she knew she couldn’t handle the disappointment if he didn’t show. No, she’d rely on herself only, just as she always had.

Silence fell upon them and remained until Gregor was finally brought back, staggering, into the cell. He fell to his knees and Lysandra rushed to his side, taking his face between her hands to make him look at her.

He was dazed, his face bruised and bloody.

Fury ripped through her at the sight of someone she loved so horribly abused.

“Damn it.” She tore a piece of cloth from her shirt and tried to clean his wounds. “Damn them! I’ll kill every last one of them!”

“It’s all right, little Lys. It’ll be over soon.”

Tears began to stream from her eyes and she angrily swiped them away. “Don’t say that! We’re getting out of here and we’ll leave this stinking place far behind us. We found each other again for a reason. We’re not going to die here. Just tell them what they want to hear so they’ll stop hurting you.”

“There aren’t enough truths in the world to get them to do that.”

It pained her to hear the defeat in his voice. This was so unlike the brother she’d grown up with—her rock, someone who showed strength even during the hardest of times. She’d always envied him that, ashamed of her own weaknesses.

“What did they want today?” she asked.

“Same as every other time.” He leaned against the stone wall. “The king wants to know what Phaedra told me about the Kindred. He asks me the same questions again and again, but my answers never satisfy him.”

Not so long ago Lysandra wouldn’t have hesitated to tell Gregor he was a fool to believe in immortal creatures from a different world or magic crystals. What a laugh.

But no one was laughing now.

“She’ll visit me again,” he whispered. “I know she will. And then she’ll tell me what to do.”

Lysandra lowered her voice. “Did you tell them what Phaedra said about the sorceress?”

It pained her even to say such a thing aloud, but it was what Gregor believed. Helping him hold on to his beliefs might give him the strength he needed to hold on to life.

He squeezed his eyes shut. “I tried to say as little as I could. I need to be patient. Phaedra will visit me again. She wouldn’t abandon me like this.”

If this Phaedra really existed, then Lysandra hated her for what she’d done to her brother. For what she’d said to him.

“When the sorceress’s blood is spilled, they will finally rise. And the world will burn.”