Page 76 of Bound to the Shadow Prince

Because I don’t know if Meryliese would have been his friend. I don’t know if they would have spoken. I don’t know if she would have lived through that first long year in which all my wood ran out far too quickly.

I like to think that Meryliese would have shared with him, but what if Erynne had given her the same dagger she gave me? What if Erynne had given her the same instructions—to kill the Fellian in the tower before he killed me? Erynne is all wrong about Nemeth. He is fierce when he needs to be, but he’s also a good, kind man.

I’m more torn than ever.

Placing Nemeth’s hand carefully back on the bed, I pull the covers over him and get to my feet. With a lamp in my hand, I head upstairs for my trunk, where I’ve left Erynne’s letter. Maybe reading it again will give me more clarity of mind. I head up to my old room, and again it feels oddly empty and strange. To think that there is so much life in a room shared with Nemeth and his things. I don’t even mind the cozy clutter of his books, because it feels like we’re snug in a den together.

Or perhaps it’s the “together” part that I’m so enamored with.

I sit on the floor in front of my trunk and pull it open. Erynne’s letter is waiting there, and I unfold it, running my fingers over the parchment as I do. The light hits the thick paper with a strange angle, and as it does, I notice something peculiar. Certain letters seem to be bolder than others. Here is a large C, and in the next line, an overlarge H. I thought Erynne had sloppy writing, but perhaps it’s an encoded message?

Holding my breath, I whisper each letter aloud.

C-H-E-S-T-L-I-N-I-N-G.

By all the gods. How could I have missed this?

I jump to my feet, frantically searching the room for the chest that the letters came in. Which one was it? The one with the brass buckles or a plain one? Have we yet burned it? I race back downstairs, heading for the first floor storage room, where Nemeth painstakingly detailed our supplies and made plans for them to last us. I find the chest in question, and, panting with anticipation, I pull it free and flip it open. Still full of herbs. I pull the bags out and when they are removed, I can see a dainty fabric glued to the bottom of the chest itself, with a delicate repeating pattern. I skim my fingers over the fabric, holding the lamp up to see. Sure enough, there is a hint of a bulge, and when I run my fingers over the lining, there’s a give, as if a thick sheaf of parchment is underneath.

Using my fingernails, I pry the lining up and snatch the letter inside. It’s folded and sealed with Erynne’s scented wax, the impression of House Vestalin’s symbol staring back at me. I flick a finger under the wax and unfold the letter.

A small pouch flutters into my lap as I do.

This time, the message is brief.

Candra,

I am told the Fellian yet lives in the tower with you. The war goes badly and we need to send a message. I’ve sent you the tools. Do not be a coward.

For Lios,

Erynne.

I stare at the letter and read it again.

And a third time. Because I cannot believe what it says. Erynne knows I didn’t kill Nemeth and now she’s demanding that I do so? She’s sent poison along? I push the sachet off my lap in horror and skim the message again, looking for more hidden messages. There is nothing I can see, no strange letters more pronounced than others.

The writing is unmistakably Erynne’s, as well.

They know he’s alive…how? There must be a spell of some kind that tells her of our doings. If she gave me a magical knife that answers questions, it stands to reason that she would have a second for herself. She can’t see inside the tower itself, I don’t think, or she would know that Nemeth and I share every meal. That he takes care of me. That the idea of killing him is unthinkable.

For the first time since I’ve arrived, I don’t feel helpless guilt over my sister’s commands.

Instead, I’m enraged.

How dare Erynne ask for this? How dare she demand that I kill my only company? The man who has been nothing but kind and protective to me? Who saved me from those men below? My cheek still throbs from the smack across the face I was dealt. I think of Nemeth’s poor wing, and how distraught he was over the wound. How he didn’t want to show it to me because he felt responsible for his wing’s destruction.

How wings are useless in a tower.

My heart hurts. Here I’ve been so focused on my own struggle that I’ve failed to acknowledge Nemeth’s. However hard it is for me to be here, it’s equally difficult—or more so—for him. I can’t imagine having the freedom to fly and then being trapped here in the tower. I’ve always been forced indoors due to myillness, never very far away from a nurse or an assistant who can administer my potion.

A potion that I have to administer to myself tonight, since Nemeth is probably going to be unconscious for the remainder of the day, drunk and relaxed.

I head for the garderobe, and I toss the packet of poison in without hesitation. Then I’m going to start a fire to cook a meal, brew my potion…and burn my sister’s letter.

The gods can take Erynne’s plans and send them straight to the Gray Lands. I’ve got plans of my own and they don’t involve killing Nemeth to send a message of any kind. She thinks I’m a coward? I’m going to show her a different sort of bravery and do the very thing I’m terrified of.

I’m going to marry Nemeth.

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