Page 36 of Twisted Bonds

It’s better than nothing. Be grateful for what is given.

The voice in my head is a distant echo of my brother’s chiding. Cor’than was always more optimistic than me, opting to see the best in others. Much like our sister, Eyveriel. A stain of old grief trickles into my chest as her face dances in my mind’s eye.

I wonder who she would be now, had I not failed her so catastrophically. I certainly wouldn’t be the same. My mind drifts from the uncomfortable subject. There are too many unknowable things. The questions, even an idle pondering, feel insurmountable.

My fingers drum away a distant tune I vaguely recognize against my thighs. The small quake caused minimal damage in my cell. Only a few pebbles lay scattered along the floor. The way Mira screamed and the crashes I heard next door…

But he healed her. Somehow, he came and saved her. I should be grateful for that, and I am. My stomach just twists at the thought of his hands on her, touching her. He’s probably upstairs, taking advantage of her gratitude now.

Her hands slide up his chest. He lifts her shirt over her head.

A deep swell of nausea twists in my core, my face turning red hot as the images flash one after the other. I don’t even know what she looks like, and yet I can’t stop the impulse to torture myself with thoughts of her with the others.

I glance down at my hands, now still against the faded black fabric of my pants.

It’s not like she’d ever want me, anyway. It’s better for her to find happiness, I tell myself, swallowing a lump in my throat. With a sigh, I push myself off the icy stone wall and start pacing the narrow cell. The space is constricting, oppressive. My thoughts chase each other in endless circles, making me dizzy.

I need something to do, anything to distract myself. Finding a pebble amidst the debris on the floor, I toss it against the wall. It bounces back, landing clumsily near my foot. A game of sorts then, something to dull the restlessness.

Hours roll into one another as I lose myself in the mindless activity. The stone wall numbs my fingers and each echo of pebble on stone fills the silent gap between my thoughts.

By the time dinner arrives, I know Mira will not be returning to the dungeons. Licking my lips, the decision weighs heavily on me. For months I’ve stayed in this cell. When Tairyn first brought me here that night after our taproom banter, I was furious. I raged against him. Against the injustice of my imprisonment.

Yet Tairyn remained calm and unmoved by all my rantings. He offered me comfortable rooms with nice views and books for days. I still do not understand his motives. Why keep me captive at all?

Instead, I spat in his face, and screamed until my own was red as a tomato. “If you’re going to keep me prisoner, don’t put me in a nice room just to assuage your own guilt. I’ll stay in the dungeons because that’s where prisoners are kept.”

I’ve never once questioned or regretted that choice. I am his prisoner, unable to leave the confines of this secret estate of his. I refuse to let him pretend otherwise. So, in this cell I’ve rotted, spending countless hours staring into nothingness, wondering what might stare back.

But the longer I wait for Mira to return, the more my resolve fades. By breakfast the following morning, I finally know what I must do. The idea makes my skin crawl. It goes against everything I believe in walking through that barred, yet unlocked door.

Yet there will be no other way to ensure Mira is safe. To make sure that cruel prick hasn’t done something to her. I’ll leave the dungeon, ensure she’s safe, and return quietly. I may be betraying myself by leaving, but I refuse to give Tairyn the satisfaction.

Still, I take until nearly lunchtime to push that cell door open, creaking along the iron hinges like a song of my defeat. If guilt had a taste, it would probably taste like the cold, metallic sting of the door handle. A part of me feels as though I’m betraying my own morals by just stepping a single toe into the dingy dungeon corridor, the only light from flickering torches lining the walkway.

No use in worrying about that now.

I climb the stairs two at a time, eager to find her. I can already see Tairyn’s smug face in my mind at my sudden change of heart regarding my imprisonment. With each step, my anxiety grows, and I try to shake it off. I have Mira to think about, and that is far more important than my dread of Tairyn’s gloating.

As I walk along the deserted corridors, I catch sight of a servant girl. She jumps at my sudden appearance, almost dropping her tray of dishes. Probably at my mangled appearance too, if I’m being honest. The scar across my cheek makes me enough of a monster. Add in the grime from a dungeon with no sunlight for months. I can only imagine the horror she feels laying her eyes upon me.

“Where is she?” The question is out of my mouth before I can think better of it. She must know instantly who I speak of because she stammers out vague instructions about the suite of rooms on the top level.

I don’t wait for her to finish before I’m moving, navigating the winding corridors and climbing the seemingly endless stairs. This place is more of a maze than I imagined, having only been outside the dungeons once the day I arrived.

Eventually, as my chest heaves from the effort of climbing stairs and listening to different rooms, I find a wooden door with life behind it. A simple sound of muffled movement, maybe a chair leg scraping against the floor.

It could be Tairyn. Or another servant. Maybe he even hosts guests here. I don’t pretend to know the workings of this estate.

I brace myself for a potentially awkward intrusion as I knock my white knuckles lightly against the wood grain.

“Come in,” a familiar voice calls out, soft yet commanding. A jolt of relief shoots through me. It’s Mira. I push the door open and step inside.

The suite is spacious, filled with plush furniture and warm lighting. A beautifully voluptuous human woman sits on a lounge chair near an open balcony door, a book in her hand, her hair falling loosely across her shoulders. Her hazel eyes flash as they meet mine, a mix of surprise and confusion.

For a moment, I’m a statue. Stunned and wide-eyed, I take her in, letting her scent fill my mind with a small hope. How can my mate be so beautiful? My heart twists, waiting for disgust to reach her eyes as she realizes who I am.

“C-Callum?”

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