Chapter 8

“My pulse,” I said. “Obviously. But if you think I’m doing this for free, you’re mistaken.”

Something almost like amusement crossed Lucian’s face.

“You’re negotiating while a bolt wound bleeds through my shirt.”

“I’m surviving. There’s a difference, and you taught it to me yourself.”

Water dripped behind me. The cistern stank of damp stone, rust, and blood. My wrists ached beneath the iron cuffs, and my throat burned where the smoke-scented man had cut me during my escape. Above us, the Citadel had awakened to the search. The horn still vibrated in my skull.

The hooded woman had already proved she could put a bolt through someone from a distance. The smoke-scented man knew the passages better than I knew the streets of home. Now I was trapped underground with the Crown Prince, negotiating a lie that might keep us both alive.

“Name your price,” Lucian said.

“Ten minutes alone with the King’s full archive. No supervision. No chains.”

“Absolutely not.”

“Then find another story, Your Highness. I’m done bleeding for free.”

“Five minutes,” he said. “Cassian present. Chains off.”

“Seven.”

“You’re pressing your luck in a sewer.”

“I press it everywhere. Get used to it.”

A muscle ticked in his cheek. “Seven minutes. Cassian present. Chains removed. Nothing else.”

“How generous.”

He tried to stand and pain flickered across his face. The bolt wound had slowed its bleeding, but the fabric around his shoulder remained dark. I moved to his uninjured side and helped him up, my cuffed hands awkwardly gripping his waist. His shoulder brushed mine.

A strange current stirred beneath my skin.

Lucian went still. I looked up and found him watching me. Neither of us spoke. Then he withdrew.

“Keep moving.”

The passage narrowed before opening into a service alley behind the kitchens. Cooking smoke drifted through the air, mixed with the cold dampness of the night. Boots struck stone in the distance; someone shouted an order.

“When we leave this passage, say nothing unless someone questions you,” Lucian said.

“That depends on the question.”

“Elena.”

“I can’t promise to be agreeable. It would be dishonest.”

He gave me a warning look and stepped into the alley. I followed, keeping my head down. We had barely reached the corner when a torch appeared.

“Your Highness!”

Commander Cassian approached with six guards, swords drawn. His eyes moved from Lucian’s shoulder to my bloodied hands.

“Report,” he said.

“She attacked me again,” Lucian answered. “She tried to escape. I caught her, and she attacked me.”

Cassian studied the wound. “With what weapon?”

“She was trying to get away.”

“That wasn’t my question.”

“No. It wasn’t.”

Cassian had examined enough battlefield injuries to recognize a crossbow wound. Lucian could blame me for the circumstances, but he could not make the bolt disappear.

“Take the prisoner back to the dungeon,” Lucian ordered. “Double the guard. No one enters her cell without my permission.”

Cassian didn’t move. “How did she inflict that injury while wearing chains?”

“Are you questioning my account, Commander?”

“I’m asking how it happened.”

I held out my wrists. “Perhaps he’d like to know why I’m still alive if I’ve made so many attempts on his life.”

“Silence,” Lucian snapped.

His explanation was carefully incomplete: I was responsible for the circumstances that led to his injury, he said, but he did not claim I had fired the bolt. Cassian heard the distinction. His narrowed eyes told me he was not satisfied.

The guards escorted me back to the dungeon. Before they shut me in, I heard Cassian insist that Lucian let him examine the wound. Their voices faded down the corridor, but the unease remained.

Inside my cell, I stared at the blood drying beneath my fingernails. I could still remember the bolt striking Lucian, the way he had pulled me out of the attacker’s line of fire, and the pain I had felt when I helped remove the barbed head. It had not been sympathy or imagination. His pain had become mine.

I would not confuse necessity with kindness. Lucian was still the man who had nearly ordered my execution. Whatever had passed between us changed nothing about that.

I needed answers, and the King’s archive remained my best chance.

A lock turned. Two guards entered with Cassian.

“The prince wants to speak with you,” the commander said.

“At this hour?”

“He appears to have developed an interest in your company.”

“How unfortunate for him.”

They removed my cuffs and led me through the royal wing. The Citadel remained restless: guards hurried between corridors, servants kept their eyes lowered, and orders echoed from the lower passages. Whatever had happened in the cistern was still being investigated.

The King’s study stood open, warm lamplight spilling into the hall. Lucian waited beside the desk, his shoulder freshly bandaged.

“You wanted access to the archive,” he said.

“Seven minutes, with my chains removed.”

“I remember.”

“Then I assume this is where you tell me I’ve earned it.”

“No.”

He placed a small silver ring on the desk. Its worn face bore a crest: two overlapping crescents around a divided sun.

My breath caught before I could stop it. I had seen that symbol in my mother’s hidden papers and on the parchment found behind the wall. I forced my expression still.

“Do you recognize it?” Lucian asked.

“No.”

“I haven’t told you where it was found.”

My stomach tightened. I had answered too quickly.

“Someone tried to kill you tonight,” he continued. “Someone who knew the Citadel’s hidden passages. Now this ring has appeared. Tell me what you know about the crest.”

“I know nothing about it.”

“You’re lying.”

“You’ve made that accusation before.”

“And you’ve given me reason to repeat it.”

He moved closer. I could see the strain in his face as he guarded his injured shoulder. Then pain flared beneath my ribs, sharp, sudden, and unmistakably not my own. I gripped the desk. Lucian went rigid at the same moment.

The sensation vanished, leaving us staring at each other.

“What did you do?” he demanded.

“Me? I have no idea what that was.”

“Neither do I.”

The admission escaped him before he could hide it. His expression hardened.

“That changes nothing,” he said. “You’re still a prisoner and a suspect in my father’s murder.”

“I didn’t say it changed anything. Stop looking at me as though I’m responsible for something neither of us understands.”

A guard appeared at the door, breathing hard. “Your Highness, we found something else in the lower passage.”

“What?”

“A second ring.”

Lucian looked at the one on the desk. “The same crest?”

“No, Your Highness. This one bears the royal seal.”

The room fell silent. The King was dead, yet something bearing his seal had been found near the cistern.

“Bring it here,” Lucian ordered.

The guard hesitated, staring past him toward the window. I followed his gaze. The curtains stirred, though the window was shut.

Then three soft knocks sounded from the stone wall beneath the window.

A voice whispered through the darkness.

“Ask Elena what Solis means.”

My heart stopped.

Lucian turned toward me. His eyes held more than suspicion now.

And I had no answer that could save me.