Page 67 of Enslaved

He halts. For a moment, I think he won’t turn around. Then he whirls on heel, facing me down the long passage between us. “And what of Sis?” he says. “What of Har and Dig and . . . and what’s the last one’s name again?”

“Calx,” I whisper.

“Yes. Calx. What of them? You’re telling me you don’t love them? Or Lir?”

I lower my lashes but take care to answer in a calm, steady voice. “I care for them. Of course I do. But . . . but Oscar . . . Oscar is my whole heart. If I could, I would be with him now. And I will save him. No matter what it takes.”

“And you thinkthiswill save him?” The Prince waves his arms in a grand sweep, as though in one gesture he can encompass Ivor and all the sundry bargains I’ve made over the last several days. “Stop deluding yourself! You cannot save him. How can you not see the truth? Some people cannot be saved because they do not want to be saved.”

“You’re wrong.” Tears pour down my cheeks. Gods, I didn’t even know I was crying until just now. I sniff loudly and shake my head. “You’re wrong.”

You’re not seeing rightly.

“Oscar needs me. He needs someone to understand him. To be present with him. If I’d been there all these years, he wouldn’t have sunk so low. If I’d been there . . . If you hadn’t . . . if you hadn’t done this to me . . .” The words stagger. With an effort, I force them out, my voice rough and breaking. “You should have just let Lodírhal kill me. Then I wouldn’t have to live with the knowledge that my brother is out there, alone. Dying by slow degrees. Every good thing in his life stripped away.”

Suddenly the Prince is right in front of me. How he crossed that distance so silently, so swiftly, I cannot say. But he’s there, and his hand grips mine as though he would pull me back from beyond a brink. “You must stop torturing yourself over that boy. Let him go! Free him and free yourself.”

I shake my head.

“I will not sell your Obligation to Ivor.” His voice is thick. If I didn’t know any better, I’d think he was holding back tears. “Your quest ends here.”

“No,” I whisper. “I have obliged you to aid me. Until I have the bloodgem necklace in my hand, you must do as I say.”

Save him . . .

Save him . . .

“This is it.” I pull my gaze to his face, look into his shimmering eyes. “This is what must be done.”

“Darling,” he breathes. “Please.”

“I charge you by the Obligation which stands between us to sell my contract to Lord Ivor.”

He looks as though I’ve driven a dagger into his gut.

I continue, relentlessly: “When you have done so, you must return to Illithorin’s Waste and claim the Water of Life from Oasuroa. Take it to Queen Seraphine and see her son restored. Then she must fulfill her bargain, granting Lord Vokarum his kiss. When that is done, you must take Idreloth her head. Claim the bloodgem necklace. And bring it to me.”

Part of me knows I’m insane. It’s both lunacy and cruelty to place this burden on him. Part of me knows I am sick. And some very small part of me, some tiny shred of awareness, feels the weight of Noswraith hands clamped down on my shoulders, pushing, pushing, pushing.

I draw myself straighter, meet the Prince’s gaze and say it once again. “By the Obligation which stands between us, I . . . I . . .”

He’s resisting. I feel it already. I can see the pain in his face, the tension in his brow. “Don’t do this.” He grinds the words through gritted teeth. “Don’t make me.”

I want to relent. More than anything. I even open my mouth to take it all back, to release him, to break his Obligation to me once and for all.

Instead another voice speaks through my mouth: “I command you. Go.”

The Prince draws a ragged breath, his eyes fixed, staring.

Then he pivots on heel and marches away, leaving me behind in the dark of Summit Night.

To my great relief, George Nobblin is not standing guard at the library front desk. The junior librarian who lounges there, half-asleep, scarcely looks my way as she waves me through.

I offer a polite nod and step gratefully back into the familiar stacks. It’s strange to see it all shrouded in night-gloom. No glamour-lights have been hung about the place, for the fae would not bring their revels here. All is quiet and still, with most human Obligates serving at the ball. I meet no one as I make my way deeper and deeper into the shadowed seclusion.

What have I done? My heart pounds so painfully, I press a hand against my chest. I feel faint, sick. And trapped. So terribly trapped. How could I have been so foolish?

But no, no. I did what I had to do. There’s no other way to lift Oasuroa’s curse. I’m willing to make whatever sacrifice is necessary, and . . . and . . .

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