Page 66 of Break Her Heart
It had been days now. Days of near-silence unless we were buried in texts or hunting answers. Days of his eyes skimming past mine like he couldn’t bear to look too long. The space between us stretched wider by the hour, each inch lost like a pulled thread unraveling something I wasn’t ready to let go of.
I flipped through another tome from the endless stack on the table in the archives, usually only stopping when I founda drawing with a sword, but this tome seemed to be a log of different creatures. One had long tendrils and rows of teeth. Another looked like a giant cat with wings. I turned to the next page and brushed my fingers over the face staring back at me. She looked human. More beautiful than most. Almost perfect. But she had pointed ears.
“What is this?”
Benedict came to me. “That is a fae. The human-like faeries in Alentara.”
I nodded. “That’s what Carrow was.”
August leaned over the table, brows furrowed as his fist slammed on the table. “I can’t just keep digging through things and hope something will lead me in the right direction. Not now that time is limited.”
This is your fault, Winnie.That’s what he wanted to say.
A long pause passed between the two of them, heavy and uncertain.
Then Benedict said, “There’s someone who might know more. One of the old ones. He was locked away in the dungeons decades ago after he went feral. No one sees him. No one speaks to him. But I am certain he was there during the last ritual. He was close to Carrow.”
August stiffened. “You’re talking about Varric.”
The name alone made the room colder.
Benedict nodded once. “He’s not entirely sane, but sometimes he speaks in riddles that match pieces of the old texts. It’s possible he knows something about the blade.”
I looked between them. “Then why hasn’t anyone gone to him before?”
“Because he attacks anything that breathes,” August answered. “And he speaks madness. And if Carrow had gotten word that I was trying to stop him when he was here, he would’ve locked me up too.”
I bristled at the thought of a feral vampire, but we were out of leads. And madness was better than silence. As we made our way back up through the winding halls, we stayed silent, careful not to alert anyone. But just as we reached the landing that opened up to the main floor of the castle, a figure stepped into view.
Lavina.
She stood at the base of the staircase, her posture tight and uncertain, as if she’d been waiting for us—or perhaps trying to gather the nerve to walk the other direction. We hadn’t exchanged a word since the night I almost killed her.
My body tensed instinctively, bracing in case she lunged or tried something. I didn’t trust her. Not after everything.
August slowed beside me, his body stiffening like a shield raised out of instinct. He’d never shown her kindness. Not once. From the moment I’d arrived, his disdain for her had been unmistakable—cutting words, cold glances, a constant reminder that she held no favor with him. He didn’t like any of his siblings. He tolerated Benedict more than the rest, maybe, but with Lavina, the hostility was unmistakable. It made me wonder why.
Lavina’s eyes flicked between August and me, then shot to Benedict as he came into view behind us. Her lips curled with something between amusement and suspicion. “Now, what are the three of you doing together?”
August stepped closer to her, a smile tugging at his mouth as he gave a low chuckle. “Go find something to eat. You’re looking a little…gray.”
She stiffened, and I couldn’t help but smile at the reminder of how she looked days ago.
“Oh, did I strike a nerve?” he mused, flashing her a grin before glancing sideways at Benedict.
Lavina huffed and turned away, and August watched her retreat with a pleased expression, scanning the corridor once more. Seeming satisfied that we were alone, he let out alow chuckle, but it faded quickly. His smile fell, replaced by something far more grim.
“Let’s go,” he said, gesturing toward the winding staircase that led below the castle.
The dungeon air was thick and wet, clinging to my skin like rot. The torchlight flickered against stone walls, casting long shadows that danced as we moved deeper. We stopped outside a heavy iron door. The guard posted there looked relieved to have company.
“He hasn’t spoken in weeks,” he warned.
August stepped forward. “He will now.”
The door groaned open, revealing a crumbling cell, and something stirred within the dark. Varric was crouched in the far corner, long limbs curled in on themselves like a corpse half-forgotten. The way he moved—sluggish yet predatory—made the hair rise on the back of my neck. His eyes, milky and unfocused, snapped toward us. His mouth moved first, lips twitching like they were forming words his throat hadn’t caught up with.
“Carrow?” Varric said, voice low.
