Page 12 of Prisoner of Darkness and Dreams
“Eventually, everyone becomes a victim of the Temple, Wadestaff. The sooner you wake up to that, the moreinnocent peopleyou can help save.”
He looks at me pityingly, and it makes my hackles rise.
“I don’t need a lecture on victimhood from King Alaric’s son,” I snap.
His eyebrows shoot up, and I feel a flare of satisfaction.
“What makes you say that?” he asks.
“You look like him, and the princess. Plus, you talk like a noble. I once had a Godom lord share with me some gossip he heard of the king’s tawdry love affair and bastard son. Gossip is its own currency, so I stored it away for the day it served me. And here we are. So what is a king’s bastard doing running around with the rebels? Couldn’t get daddy’s attention growing up, so this was what you did to make him notice you?”
Harman laughs, but I can tell he doesn’t like my accusation.
“Like I haven’t heard that one before. No. I joined the Hand because, I, unlike you, believe in doing something that has meaning,” he says.
“Fuckmeaning,” I bite back. “I believe in survival. I have people who are depending on me?—”
“And so do I,” Harman cut in.
“Sure, but unlike you,Ibelieve in giving people a chance to live—not in throwing them to the wolves so you can feel good about yourself.”
I’m so sick of these people’s disgusting self-righteousness. They have no idea what it takes to claw your way out of the dirt, to build a solid and real life for others as well as yourself. It might not be pretty or nice, but it’ssomethingin a world that never wanted to give me a single damned thing.
Harman just shakes his head, moving toward the door to follow in the prince’s wake. On the way, he passes me a card with a symbol on one side—a hand with a sun at the center of the palm—and a name written on the other.
“For better or for worse, you have power and influence, Corrin Wadestaff. If you ever decide to put them to good use, contact that aesteri, and he’ll get a message to us.”
I flick the card onto the ground and step on it with the tip of my polished shoe.
“No thanks. I’ve seen firsthand where lofty ideals will get you.”
Marina lies in my arms as my tears wet her cold skin. The knees of my pants are soaked through with her blood.
Harman just nods, like he expected my response.
“You can’t play nice with the Temple forever, Wadestaff. Revolution is coming, and sooner or later you’re going to have to pick a side before the choice is made for you.”
Chapter 4
Morgana
The darkness is good. It dulls the edge of the pain, and when I emerge from it, blinking in the weak light of my cell, it doesn’t hurt as much anymore. At least, not physically. I can’t stop replaying the sound of Kit’s screams and the look on his face as I killed him.
The memory catches me like the sudden slice of a knife. For a moment, I feel nothing, and then the sensation comes: a deep, throbbing grief emanating out from my chest. It knocks the breath out of me, and I know if I don’t focus on something—anything—else, I might forget how to breathe altogether.
I sit up, examining myself as a distraction, concentrating on the minute details of my skin. The Temple must’ve had some healers look at me, because the wounds from my torture look old, either scabbed over or pink with fresh skin. They itch, which is a small price to pay after the agony of the torture, so bad I must’ve passed out from it right after?—
Again, I pull my thoughts back. Away from that painful place. If I linger on it, I won’t be able think clearly enough to make a plan.
I’m going to find a way out of here.
If Caledon had me healed, it means he wants to keep me alive. Probably so he can keep pressing me for information. I already told him about thepotion, but maybe he’s after details about the rebels, or even my trip to the Filusian court. I have to make sure I don’t give him the chance to take anything else from me—especially since, without Kit, I’m not sure what he’s got up his sleeve to make me talk.
There I go again. The name of my friend lurks in the shadows of my mind. If I’m not careful, it’ll drag me down to some place I’m afraid I won’t climb out of.
My stomach rumbles, and I’m shocked I can still feel hungry. But it does tell me one thing. Even if I’ve only been passed out for a few hours, that makes about one full night and a morning since I last ate the dimane-laced food. And my hands aren’t bound, either. Maybe their healers advised against it.
Which means that the dimane bars on my cell door are the only obstacle to me using magic—and they’re not infallible. The mineral makes your magic difficult to access, like a sleeping animal that’s hard to rouse, but youcanpush past that, if you have enough power.
