Last Stand (The Black Mage Book 4)

by Rachel E. Carter

  I was too weak to look up. There was so much pain that I couldn’t risk the movement to crawl to my knees and check.

  It was probably the same meal as the last. Rotting meat they wouldn’t give the hounds.

  I raised my head, just the slightest, when I heard the bars click into place. A hand dropped a rough sack and nondescript bottle just beyond my reach.

  I stared.

  “It’s a salve.”

  My head jerked up, and I saw one of Mira’s hand-selected mages staring down at me, his brows knit together in a frown.

  “A s-salve?” My lips cracked as I spoke.

  “To treat your wounds.” The man’s face drew tighter. “He said for you to apply it yourself.”

  “H-he?”

  I was too late; the mage was already walking away.

  I stared at both items, unwilling to react. It was only after the mage exited the room that I finally pulled myself forward, ignoring the sudden wave of agony, to examine the items up close.

  It took me five minutes to crawl the space of my cell.

  The brown sack, I realized, was a woolen blanket. Nothing pleasant, very coarse, but thick and heavy to tackle the endless cold. If I wrapped it tightly, it might even sever the flow of my cuts.

  Inside the bottle was a dirty gray substance.

  I tested it with the tip of my finger. It was cold to the touch and smooth, like mucus. It wasn’t unlike the salves my brother used in the infirmary.

  With less trepidation than before, I applied a small bead to the corner of my face.

  At first my eyes stung and all I could do was hiss, but a second later, the pain subsided, and a cool, dulling sensation replaced the terrible ache from before.

  I hastily dabbed some more along the deeper cuts on my thighs and arms. It stung something terrible and my vision spun. My stomach roared, and I was forced to heave up the little contents I had in my stomach.

  But minutes later, the blood started to clot. The raging ache became a dull throb.

  The salve was an alchemist’s potion. A very costly one.

  Darren?

  My mind raced, but in the end, I couldn’t be bothered. There was too much pain, too much of me to heal, and if it was him… I didn’t know what to think.

  With unsteady patience, I applied the salve to the rest of my body. In time, as the deeper parts began to heal, I was able to reach more. It took me most of the night, or what I thought was the night—I wasn’t sure—but in the end, I had treated everything.

  The worst of my pain was gone.

  After which I was finally able to relieve myself. I was dehydrated and sharp hunger pains chased my gut, worse now that I had lost what little I had managed to keep down the first two days of interrogation, but for the first time, I was grateful for deprivation instead of abundance. I had managed so far to keep to the buckets—their foul odor of which I was now more than accustomed—but I was afraid it was only a matter of time before I couldn’t. My brother hadn’t in the end.

  That last day, he had been huddled in a pool of his own filth, too weak to move.

  Eventually, with the rough blanket wrapped tightly around my chest, I was able to settle into some kind of rest. But even that was disturbed. I couldn’t stop chasing the memory of Derrick and what his life must have been like in those final days. The days I could finally share.

  Heavy knots pulled at my lungs. It wasn’t the kind of pain I could put out with a salve. It wasn’t the kind of pain I could escape.

  My little brother had been so alone. Mira and the others had done things, the same terrible things they did to me now. My heart twisted into a hundred jagged pieces to know I had been inside these palace walls when they happened. That I hadn’t been able to save him, even in the end.

  My hand jerked to my neck, to the leather cord and Derrick’s ring, the only part of him I had left. It was slippery with blood, but the copper circlet was still there, still heavy in my palm.

  This was the reason I could never give up.

  Derrick had faced his final moments a hero. They hadn’t broken him, even when they broke everything else.

  Whatever fear was plaguing me, it was nothing compared to the horrible knowledge that I would never be able to say good-bye to my parents, to Alex and Ella…

  I couldn’t let the villain win.

  Even if that meant dying a traitor at the hands of his brother.

  Darren arrived the next day without the two guards at his side. He came alone.

  “Good, you used it.”

  It was him.

  I blinked and pulled myself up on my knees. It wasn’t as easy as it should have been, but compared to the first three days, I was thriving.

  So was hope, as much as I resented its presence. Sending me that salve meant nothing. The prince was a war mage, like me. He knew the best way to extract a confession. Build a prisoner up and then break them back down. It was one of the first things they taught us during the apprenticeship.

  Or maybe he—

  He promised to kill you in a week.

  The first thing I noticed was his right hand.

  “What happened?”

  Darren’s jaw clenched, but he said nothing.

  There was a crude wrap around his wrist. It didn’t hide the swelling knuckles beneath or the darkening bruise. He’d broken all five of his fingers. They still looked broken.

  Why didn’t he go to a healer?

  “If you are done staring at me,” the prince said loudly, “it’s time for us to talk.”

  “I wouldn’t call interrogation a talk.”

  His eyes flashed crimson rage. “So eager to reach the end?”

  “Wouldn’t you be?”

  Darren ground his teeth and approached the cell.

  He’s angry today, I realized. He had emotion—hate-filled emotion—but it was something.

  He felt something.

  I studied his eyes. They weren’t just livid; they were bloodshot with dark creases… and was it just me, or did his face look leaner than before? His clothes were wrinkled and old. He didn’t look anything like the Darren I remembered.

  That Darren was always in control.

  “I’ve changed my mind.” Darren shoved a key into the cell lock, throwing open the door. “I don’t want you to talk.” He spat the last word as he advanced, every part of him bristling with rage. “You are going to listen.”

  I scrambled to stand. “Darren—”

  He slammed me against the wall, both hands pinning my arms as he locked me in place. I thought he shuddered from the impact to his hand, but I couldn’t be sure.

  He lowered his mouth to my ear.

  “I used to think you were beautiful,” he whispered, “and now I think you are the ugliest thing in this place.”

  A reply clawed its way up my throat, but I couldn’t speak, not with the anger flaring in his eyes.

  “You tricked me.” His breath was hot on my skin. “I was a prince and a prodigy, and you were nothing. Just a lowborn. Just a little girl. Nothing special.” His next remark was seething in hate. “And despite everything, I fell in love.”

  I held my breath as he touched the side of my face.

  “Gods, I thought you were too good for me.” The prince’s laugh was bitter. “I was a wolf warning the lamb to stay away when that little lamb was preparing to stab me in the back.”

  I flinched, my eyes jerking to his. “It’s not what you think. I didn’t want—”

  “You still look so innocent.” He shook his head. “Even as you lie to me.”

  “I’m not lying!”

  His eyes locked on my own, and for a moment, neither of us moved.

  “You said you were looking for proof.” His mouth was a hard line. “Tell me, did you find it?”

  I didn’t bother to say anything; Darren already knew the answer.

  “So you never found proof.” His fingers dug into my shoulders until it hurt. Was he hurting himself, too? “And you still expect me to believe
my brother is a traitor. Not the girl who lied and stole a map.” His hands shook with his rising words. “A map she was going to sell to Pythus to betray her country and everything we ever stood for.”

  The worst part was, everything he said was true.

  “I know how it looks.” I was trembling. “I stole that key and I was going to use the map to help the rebels, but Darren, Blayne is not who you think he is—”

  The prince released me in disgust, taking a step back.

  “He and Lucius staged everything! Caltoth has never been the enemy, the rebels—”

  “You never could accept your brother’s death, so you made him the hero instead.”

  “It’s not denial—”

  “I helped Derrick escape,” Darren growled, “for you. Even knowing he was a gods’ forsaken rebel, I betrayed my own brother for you.”

  I reached out for his wrist. “Darren, please—”

  The prince caught my hand with a look of disgust.

  “You are going to die a traitor, is that what you want, Ryiah?”

  “If that’s what it takes.”

  His whole face was mottled and red. “You would rather die than give them up!”

  “You expect me to give up the people that are fighting to save Jerar?” I pushed back. “Why don’t you give up your brother! He’s the real traitor.”

  “I expect you to give up a lot of misguided fools.” Darren’s fingers were clenched around my wrist. “For me.”

  I faltered. What?

  “Give. Me.” Darren’s eyes burned like coals. “A reason. To. Let. You. Live.”

  I couldn’t speak. I couldn’t even blink. He was standing there in front of me, his breath coming out in quick, shallow pants.

  In another second, I knew Darren would turn and run.

  I ran first. I slammed the cell shut, pressing the door to my back so that he couldn’t leave. It was the two of us inside a cage of rusting bars. To leave, he’d have to fight me, and something told me the Black Mage wasn’t prepared. Not today.

  “Move away from the door.”

  “No.” I braced myself, folding my arms. Even if he hurt me, and he probably would, I was going to make him do it here. Now.

  Darren snarled. “You think I won’t kill the traitor in my way?”

  I held my breath.

  The prince advanced on me like prey.

  Stay still.

  His fingers were inches away, a dagger at my chest as he leaned in close.

  I looked up and met his angry gaze. The sharp sting of metal pressed against my ribs. The pain was nothing to what he and the others had done earlier that week; he would have to inflict a whole lot more, and we both knew it.

  I held the prince’s stare as he increased the pressure, the two of us locked in some unspeakable match.

  “You really are prepared to die.” His eyes narrowed to slits. “You would do it right here, wouldn’t you? Right now?”

  “Yes.” It was hard to swallow.

  “For them.”

  “For Jerar.”

  Something in his composure shattered. The blade vanished.

  “Did you even love me at all, Ryiah? Or was it all some sort of twisted game for you?”

  “I—”

  “No, don’t.” Darren’s laugh was mad. “You are going to die in five days. It doesn’t matter either way.”

  I caught his neck with my hand. He flinched violently, but I held on.

  “I’ve always loved you.”

  He took a slow, hitching breath.

  “I never stopped, Darren.” My fingers tightened as desperation seeped its way back into my throat. Please. “I love you, still.”

  I felt him shudder, and for a moment, for a moment I thought I broke through.

  Then he wrenched my arm away and shoved me aside.

  I was too startled to move.

  Darren slammed the cell shut and shoved the key into the lock, grinding it violently as he twisted.

  “Darren—”

  “You really are the greatest liar I’ve ever met.” His voice was like ice. “I almost believed you, again.”

  “I’m not lying!” I grabbed the bars, screaming, “Darren!”

  He didn’t reply; he was already walking away.

  The next morning, Darren didn’t return.

  But Mira and her legion of Combat mages did. It was only fitting. The Black Mage had given up. I had a whole new nightmare that was chasing my waking hours, making it impossible to rest.

  Never mind the physical torment.

  A day later there was a loud, jarring screech; someone had opened the prison door.

  I opened my eyes and took a deep, retching breath, praying whatever Mira did would be quick.

  But it wasn’t Mira I found.

  Darren.

  I thought he wasn’t going to return.

  The prince didn’t say a word.

  He didn’t look at me once. He didn’t speak. He didn’t do anything.

  I stared at him across the room.

  An hour later he left.

  The next day no one came at all.

  13

  “You can’t make the choice to die.”

  Everything ached, but his voice was enough to jolt me awake.

  I opened my eyes; Darren was inside my cell, leaning against the back of the bars, watching me. He looked better than before; someone must have forced him to bathe. He had more color in his face too. I wasn’t sure if I should be happy or sad.

  It was the day before my beheading, and the boy I loved was doing well.

  “You are my wife,” the prince repeated, “and you chose the Crown. You chose us. You can’t take that back.”

  “Darren…” My throat was raw and it hurt to speak. “…you know… where I stand.” I hadn’t expected to see him again, and now that I had, I didn’t know what to say. From the expression he wore, I knew today would be the worst session of all. Somehow his resilience cut worse than anger or silence or visits from Mira.

  I didn’t want to hurt him any more than I already had.

  Darren knelt before me and took a rattling breath. I couldn’t react even if I wanted to; the others still had me bound and chained from the evening before.

  “Perhaps your life is not reason enough.”

  I looked up at him, my heart caught in my throat.

  “Perhaps I need to remind you the penalty for the rebel’s family instead.”

  No.

  “Yes.” He watched the horror trigger on my face; his expression remained unreadable. “Your parents. Alex and his wife, Ella. Your friend Ian… You might be ready to sacrifice yourself, but are you ready to sacrifice them?”

  I struggled uselessly against the chains, ignoring the searing pain from injuries not yet healed.

  “Darren, they aren’t rebels!” Three were, but he didn’t know that. “You can’t punish them for my crimes!”

  His eyes were garnet stars in a sea of black. “I would. If that’s what it took.”

  I was still struggling. “But I won’t give you the answers either way!”

  “Then you sentence them to die.”

  No. No. This wasn’t Darren; he wouldn’t do this.

  “It’s your choice, Ryiah.” Darren pulled away.

  “But it’s yours!” I was straining against the manacles. “Darren—”

  “No.” His words were like thunder. “You are responsible for their fate. Not me. You could save them, Ryiah. All it would cost is the rebels.” He ran a fist up along his neck. “You think we won’t find them? That I don’t think there is something suspicious about the keep and that rebel’s escape? That I’m not questioning every single word you ever said?”

  “Darren.” I pulled myself to my knees as far as my shackles would allow. My voice broke. “I-I can’t.”

  The prince held still, unmoving. Then: “You can, but you won’t.”

  My pulse hammered wildly against my throat. “But they aren’t rebels!”

  “It does
n’t matter, not to me.” His laugh was cold and unfeeling. “It should to you.”

  I didn’t answer. I wanted to, but I couldn’t betray everyone who had given their lives to this cause.

  Even if I wanted to.

  Something must have shown in my eyes, because the next thing I knew, Darren was shaking my shoulders, shouting into my face.

  “I just told you that I would spare your family. And you still choose the rebels!”

  “Darren—”

  “Gods, you would betray everyone, wouldn’t you?” His eyes bore into mine, angry and crazed. “How did they convert you to their cause? What did they promise you?”

  “I already t-told you everything.” Heat was rising to my face. “You just refuse to listen.”

  “Power, was that it?” Darren’s fingers dug into my skin. “The crown prince isn’t good enough? You want to rule the country yourself?”

  “I never wanted to be queen!” I spat the words in his face. “It has nothing to do with power and everything to do with the truth!”

  “Truth?” He was yelling right back. “Really, Ryiah? You want to talk about the truth?” His hands trembled with rage. “Derrick was a rebel and a traitor, and you were so blinded by your own grief that you decided to make my brother the villain instead of your own!”

  Blinded by grief? “I’m not the one who is blind, Darren!” Why wouldn’t he listen to me? What would it take? “Blayne isn’t who you think he is. He killed your father. He staged an entire war! You are blind because you’ve always been his protector instead of seeing him for the monster he really is!”

  “Where is your proof, Ryiah, where?”

  “Darren—”

  “Derrick was feeding you lies!” Disgust and despair tore apart his words. “You’ve had so much trouble coping with his death that you’d rather die for his cause than live for the truth.”

  “Darren…” There was a knot at the center of my chest. There was nothing I could say to make him believe me. I saw it in his face. He thought I was a liar, and I had broken his trust. There was nothing I could say.

  Worst of all, I had no proof.

  “Do I mean anything to you?” Darren punched the wall above my head so hard his knuckles bled. “Anything at all, Ryiah?”

  “O-of course.” Tears welled in my eyes.