Page 43 of Cinder
He sank into misery as the soldiers dragged a hood over his head. It felt excessive—what was he going to do now? Break his bonds and fly away?
The thought sent a terrible silent bark of laughter through him, threatening to turn immediately to a sob. The ground beneath Cin turned from the path, to the dust of the yard, to a stone cold enough for the chill to seep through his shoes. The path sloped down—underground. His treatment seemed to roughen with each step, the soldiers shoving and growling at him.
Lights flickered beyond Cin’s rough-spun hood, growing bright enough that Cin could see the imprint of each orange glow through the fabric. The soldiers shoved him to the side, then down, forcing him onto a stool. They yanked his bound wrists and when Cin leaned, he could feel them tied to something behind him. One of the watch pulled his hood off.
The full musk of the room assaulted Cin’s senses. He gagged from the combination of the stench—filth and sewage—and the dampness that clogged his nose and throat. His eyes adjusted to the lighting immediately, the five lanterns filling the small stone chamber to the green crust between the near-black blocks. In his peripheral vision, he could just make out the bars his wrists hadbeen tied to: the bars of a cell. His future. The fear that slithered through him at that thought made him wish the soldiers hadn’t broken his fall after all.
They stood around him, half of them staring him down while the others watched the doorway. Through it, he could hear the near scuffle of footsteps, and the far gurgle of an underground river, and something else beneath it all—a moan, he thought. Or a dozen of them, crying in unison. How many others were down here? How long did they last before God forgot their souls entirely, and their bones grew the same mold of the walls, every sparkle of magic and life they’d once known caving into aching hollows of empty want?
Someone was clearly coming to condemn him to that now; if not God, then a mere mortal. Perhaps Cin had lost the privilege not only of a divine smile, but of a scowl as well.
The soldiers straightened fully to alert as the last of them led a shorter, thin figure into the room. It took Cin a moment to recognize them, piecing together the points of their ears and the uncertainty in their eyes. They wrapped their fingers around their wrists one after another, twisting as though to reassure themself that nothing remained there to tie them to their old enslaver. As the elf lifted their gaze towards Cin, they flinched.
Cin’s heart caught in his throat. He wanted to plead with them:look at me, I saved you.Now save me.
But how could he ask that of them, when their troubles had been of none of their doing, and his had been all his own? He had not needed to kill the elf’s enslaver in that moment. Cin had simply... wanted to.
He’dwantedto stop the pain the man had already caused from spreading. But as Cin hunched there, his wrists bound behind him and the elf he’d saved shifting nervously in front of him, he could feel the desire twisting deep in his gut. He’dwanted that man dead from the moment he’d heard the elf’s scream.
Just as he’d wanted to see Dorthe’s late husband bleeding out across the town’s cobblestones. Just as he’d wanted to plunge a knife into the throat of the man whose partner ran to cry behind the well after the fight, cradling bruised wrists and raw cheeks. And because of that desire, he’d never get the chance again.
Someone was finally, finally, going to stop him.
The elf met Cin’s gaze for just a moment, before nodding to the soldier at their side. “He’s the one.”
They left without another word.
That was it, then, truly. Sitting there, listening to the elf’s footsteps fade out, Cin thought of the prince: a small, half-hearted imagining of the ball proceeding somewhere far upstairs. It was the most he could let in without breaking. Because either Prince Lorenz had made this all happen, or if it had happened despite him, and Cin... Cin might never know which. He had been betrayed, or he was the betrayal, and either version hurt.
As the sound of the elf vanished, Cin expected the soldiers around him to leave or to act, but they continued to stand at attention. Waiting. Dread built in Cin’s chest with each breath that passed. He could still hear the moaning in the quiet, no longer human, but the divine cry of a thousand-eyed angelic being weeping through a hundred mouths stolen from those who could no longer gnash their pulverized teeth. He wished desperately that he could have seen Perdition one last time—to know she was safe. Even to know if she wasn’t.
Finally, a new set of footsteps approached. They seemed to take the whole span of the night to reach Cin’s chamber, slow but steady: an impending executioner’s blade. And as the small group finally entered the chamber, Cin’s brain seemed to shut down. Those on the outside wore what looked as though theornamentation on the castle’s gate guard had been transferred onto the soldier’s practical uniform: beautiful but deadly. And as Cin’s mind finally caught up with reality, he realized why.
In the center of the pack of guards walked two people Cin had only ever seen at a distance: figureheads shining in the light of their own regal lineage, all the poise and beauty and arrogance of their son, but none of the playfulness.
Standing in the center of the dungeon chamber, prepared to condemn Cin personally, were the queen and king of Hallin.
Eighteen
Cin sat, bound, before the royal couple of Hallin and he swore they could discern every sin he’d ever committed. Queen Idonia was the first to step forward, and for an instant Cin saw his sibling in her place. Her dark hair was perfectly arranged, chin held high, and manicured brows lifted ever so slightly like she was judging the world with each slow movement of her thick lashes. She wore a deep green half-dress as ornamental as Prince Lorenz’s usual outfits, cut open in the front to reveal her billowing pants and tall boots, their rims now smudged in the grime of the underground chambers. Her crown for the evening looked made of the thinnest silver strands, twirled together around a maze of diamonds.
King Warner stood just behind her, as aloof as his partner. He’d dressed in teals and golds, his jacket so long it was nearly a dress itself, and his own crown—slim and silver—sat over brown hair that reminded Cin of his son’s, short but thick and seeming to move in a breeze that didn’t exist. He had his son’s plumpnose too, but there the similarity stopped; the king’s lips were full and his eyes far wider, almost shifty in their motion.
As both the monarchs focused in on Cin, he felt like one of Floy’s bugs under a microscope. He tried his best to bow his head to them, hoping, praying, that the respect could still gain him some favor—a quick death, a last meal, something. He could feel the blood leaving his cheeks as he straightened. His voice came out weak and cracking. “Your Royal Majesties.”
“He is so young,” the king murmured to his wife. What Cin could hear of his tone sounded anything but sympathetic, a hint of disgust entangling his words.
“Old enough.” Queen Idonia sharpened her gaze on Cin. “You would be wise to tell us the truth,” she said, and she seemed closer suddenly, as though she could invade Cin’s space with her voice alone. Low and dark, she asked, “What did you do to him?”
A chill ran through Cin, completely unrelated to the cold in the room, as though the distant moaning creature of his imagination was sinking its claws into his shoulders in preparation for dragging him to the hellish depths. He could see the wealthy man’s blood spilling down, could feel it seeping through the wrinkles in his hands, clinging there like a brand.What did you do to him?
Sinner.
Cin attempted to swallow the saliva collecting in the back of his throat, but he choked instead.What did you do to him?Killed him, of course. But there was something in Cin’s chest screaming that he was getting this wrong. It was the wrong question, the wrong answer.
The queen pressed forward. “Why did you kill our son?”
Cin’s world went dark and bright all at once, everything and nothing as his chest caved in. “Lorenz?” What had happened to Prince Lorenz? How had he not—
