Page 89 of A City of Flames

My stomach churns, and desperately I want to touch my chest to soothe my heartbeat. His words sound like he’s convinced compared to the way he’s staring at me.

Thinking the longer he looks at me, I’ll give away everything I feel towards the trials, I head past him. “I should get back to Freya.”

His arm quickly covers my midriff at the side of him, wrapping around it and stopping me from walking any further. A touch so cold that through my leather attire, it freezes me, and I look at him. His gaze is resolute as he says, “If anything is ever wrong, Nara, you can always tell me.”

Everything is wrong.

And perhaps he can see that, see through me even if I am always the person who hides my emotions well. But I can’t tell him now. He’s a venator who’s served for years. Why would he side with me?

“I know,” I say, quiet while removing his hand. I know he doesn’t believe me as I part from him and walk off, not turning even though I can feel his gaze following my every step.

* * *

Over the next few days, Freya and I planned what I would do to talk with the shifter. She concluded that it’d be our best option if I went during an arena fight since everyone else would be focused on what was happening out in the pit. I knew whatever we chose to do was a risk for us—a risk for me, where I’d be opening fresh wounds from what I’d faced with the queen.

And last night, while I laid in bed, clutching the blade Idris gifted me in one hand and in the other my crescent, I thought of my mother.

She once said you can have the clearest vision of what you want from your future and the steps you plan to get there, but the more you visualize it, the more it will likely change. She believed destiny had a role in that—that we aren’t supposed to know what comes at us in life, so if we are to plan what happens next, destiny changes it, and it becomes unknown again.

My life right now is unknown again.

I clench my fists as I pass the cells, exhaling in need to comfort myself. Freya had the brutal task of distracting some venators before I snuck down here. Even though she’s not close to her father, the venators were keen to know how to get in the general’s good graces from his one and only daughter.

Hearing the racket from the arena dripping through the walls of the dungeons, I still myself. The pathway then narrows the further I stare down at it. I close my eyes, the fabric of my tunic sticks to my back, and I shake my head, clearing the oncoming thoughts over the dragon.

When I slow my breathing, I open my eyes and carry on, never glancing to the sides of me or the cacophony of prisoners. I slow my steps once I remember how close I am to the dragon’s cave where she was being held, and to my left, I stop, turning to face that same shifter. He’s on the floor, his hair rugged and outgrown, knees up to his chest, and the same chains rest on his wrists and ankles.

I move closer, and from his bowed head position, he looks up. I swallow as I take a good look at the blood, fresh and dry at the same time seeping from where his chains lie. They must dig deep within his skin.

Inwardly, I shudder, but the shifter tilts his head, and a smirk on his pale lips appears—like the rest of his gaunt figure.

“Well, this is new,” he says, dark eyes narrowing as if to see me better. “They must have taken my request to have someone desirable torture me instead.”

“I’m not here to torture you,” I keep my voice at ease, but his comment alone makes me rethink whether I want to or not.

His laugh is rough like that’s hard to believe until he stops, and his gaze focuses on me too long that I shift uncomfortably. “I recognize you.” He points, the chains dragging across the floor. “You were here not long ago... with the queen.”

He’s curious, but I know he doesn’t trust anything right now. Why would he?

“She’s not with me,” I say, slowly and his brows lift. “If that’s what you’re wondering. I actually came down here without her authorization in hopes you can give me answers.”

“Why would I do that for a mortal I do not even know?”

“Because I have something that can help you.”

“And what could that possibly be?”

I take out the vial of ash from my sheath and hold it under the crackling fire, lighting everything in its path. “It’ll help any pain you’re feeling. All I ask is for information in return.”

The single wave of hope I have over him knowing more about the queen hangs by a thread. He can easily know nothing of the sort.

He stares at the vial in my hand for a few minutes, then looks at me, tipping his head back, half bored, half amused. “Aren’t you a venator?”

“Not exactly.” My answer makes him chuckle doubtfully. I’m starting to believe I never was one to begin with.

The shifter rests his forearm on top of his knee, his clothes shredded and dirty before he clicks his tongue and says, “Seems like an unfair deal to me.”

“I can get you out,” I blurt out as he starts looking away. If I have to beg, I will. “I just need time.” I can already imagine Freya shaking her head at me for even suggesting I get a shifter of all people out.

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