CHAPTER 17 : I AM NOT YOUR PRISONER

“The girl must reach the altar alive.”

I stared at the message again—a third time—hoping something in those words would shift. They didn’t. The black symbol pressed into the wax glared up at me, familiar from my mother’s records, from that sealed chamber beneath her grave, from the bodies of men who tried to keep me quiet.

Now, an army surrounded Bloodmoon territory. Someone wanted me, alive, brought to an altar.

I looked at Darius.

“Where is it?”

He folded up the parchment, calm as ever. “We need to question the prisoner first.”

“That’s not what I asked.”

“I heard you.”

“Then answer me.”

His jaw clenched. The guards by the door exchanged nervous glances, but I barely registered them. All I saw was Darius—the man who’d somehow become the center of every mystery in my life.

He knew something. I saw it in the way his shoulders tensed, his grip tightened on the parchment, the flicker of fear that crossed his face when anyone mentioned my death. I was catching up to his tells now—the little things he hadn’t learned to mask.

“You’re hiding something,” I said.

He looked at me. "I'm trying to keep you alive."

“That’s not the same thing.”

“Seren—”

“No.” I shifted, cutting him off from the door. “This isn’t going to work. Every time I want answers, you decide what I should know, where I should go, which danger I can face. You keep telling me it’s for my own good, but you expect me to trust you because you say you’re protecting me.”

He looked away—still hard, still controlled.

“I’ve never asked you to trust me blindly.”

“You’ve never given me much choice.”

The words hit harder than I meant.

Silence settled over us. Darius glanced down at the parchment. When he looked up, the anger had faded, replaced by something much more vulnerable.

“I don’t want to lose you.”

I froze. It was the first honest thing he’d said since the prisoner showed up—and it opened up a whole new set of questions.

“Why?”

He looked away.

“Darius.”

He paused, voice rough. “Because I know what happens when you’re not protected.”

“You mean what happened in my first life?”

He didn’t argue. Silence did all his talking.

I stepped closer. “You were there when I died. You said you tried to save me. You still have nightmares. And now an army wants to drag me to an altar, and you refuse to tell me anything about it.”

“I know how that sounds.”

“Then explain it.”

He tensed around the message. “I can’t explain everything yet.”

“Can’t, or won’t?”

No answer.

That old frustration boiled up again. I’d trusted blindly once—trusted that love meant accepting every secret, every half-truth. That mistake cost me my life. I refused to make it twice.

“Fine,” I said.

He eyed me. “Fine?”

“If you won’t talk, I’ll find answers myself.”

I turned for the door.

“Where are you going?” he demanded.

“To question the prisoner.”

“You’re not—” He stepped forward. “You’re not going near him.”

I stopped. Looked back.

“Then we’ve got a problem.”

His eyes went dark. “Seren, don’t test me.”

“I’m not. You don’t own me.”

We stood staring for several breaths.

Finally, Darius sighed, rubbing his face. “Gods, you’re impossible.”

“And you’re used to obedience.”

“Most people know the difference between courage and recklessness.”

“Most people haven’t been executed for a crime they didn’t commit.”

That shut him up. I’d said it before thinking, but I didn’t take it back. He looked at me like I’d just struck him somewhere he hid behind armor.

Maybe I had.

“I won’t lock you away,” he said, quietly. “But I won’t let you walk into danger without a plan.”

“Good. I have one.”

He raised his eyebrows.

I pointed to the parchment. “We question the prisoner together. We break down every mark on that message. We find out where the altar is and why someone wants me there alive.”

“And if the answers put you in danger?”

“I decide what to do with them.”

He stared, weighed something, then nodded. “Together, then.”

Not an apology. But it was something.

The prisoner was in a room beneath the fortress—two guards outside, hand on their weapons. Inside, the man sat chained, a dried cut above his eyebrow, pale and nervous. His gaze went straight to me.

“The girl,” he muttered.

I sat down opposite, voice calm. “My name’s Seren.”

He smiled, just a little. “I know.”

“Then you know I won’t waste time. Who sent you?”

“I was given an order.”

“By who?”

“I never saw his face.”

Darius stood back, cool as ice, watching the prisoner like he’d watched a hundred others.

“Convenient,” he said.

The prisoner flinched.

I noticed that. “You’re afraid of someone—it’s not us.”

He glanced toward the window.

“Answer her,” Darius ordered.

“I was told to deliver a message and wait by the western ravine. If the Alpha refused, I was supposed to make sure the girl understood—the altar was the only place to learn the truth about her mother.”

My hands curled tight.

“My mother?”

“That’s what I was told.”

“What truth?”

“I don’t know.”

“Who gave you these instructions?”

“Already told you—I never saw his face.”

I leaned in. “Did he mention the Blood Moon?”

Something in his face changed. Small, but it was there.

“Yes.”

“What’d he say?”

The prisoner hesitated.

Darius stepped forward. “Think carefully.”

The man’s eyes darted between us. “He said the ceremony has to happen before the Blood Moon peaks.”

My stomach twisted.

“What ceremony?”

“I don’t know.”

Fear was leaking through his practiced mask. He knew something—maybe not the whole story, but enough to be scared.

I studied the symbol stamped into the message.

“Have you seen this mark before?”

He nodded.

“Where?”

“On the men who recruited me.”

“How many?”

“Six. Maybe more.”

“High Council members?”

“I don’t know.”

“Uniforms?”

“No. Plain clothes. One had a scar across his throat.”

Darius stiffened.

I caught it. “What?”

“Nothing,” he said, too quickly.

I turned back to the prisoner. “Did the scarred man give you the message?”

“No.” He shook his head. “He gave orders. A different man handed me the envelope.”

“Describe him.”

“He wore a silver ring—black stone, had a mark engraved in it.”

“What kind of mark?”

“A crescent, split by a line.”

My pulse kicked up. I’d seen that symbol scribbled in my mother’s old journals, next to names she’d crossed out, the ink biting through the page.

Slowly, I pulled out a copied drawing from my pocket—the one from her hidden chamber. I slid it across the table.

“That one?”

The prisoner stared, then nodded. “Yes.” Real fear crossed his face. “That mark means the debt is due.”

The air shrank with the words.

“What debt?”

He shook his head. “I don’t know.”

“Who owes it?”

“I don’t know!” He shouted. The guards outside stirred, Darius moved closer. The prisoner looked between us, panicked.

“You think I’m in this because I carried a letter. I was paid. That’s all.”

“Then tell us where the altar is.”

“I don’t know.”

“Who does?”

He swallowed hard—then, “The Alpha.”

I turned to Darius, sharp.

He didn’t budge. Silence was answer enough.

The prisoner slumped. “He knows where it is. He knows what happens if the girl gets there.”

I stood fast, chair scraping back.

“Enough.”

He recoiled. I couldn’t tell if he was lying or just repeating what he’d been told. Either way, he’d given us something: someone tied the altar to my mother’s death, the Blood Moon, and a debt that hunted my family for generations. And Darius—he had secrets he wouldn’t share.

I turned to him. “We’re leaving.”

He followed, no argument. That scared me almost as much as everything else.

Back in the command room, Darius placed the message under a lamp.

“Let’s take a closer look,” he said.

I crossed my arms. “Or you could start by telling me what you know about the altar.”

He ignored that, focusing on the paper. I moved beside him. The message itself was strange—thin paper, sealed up tight, black symbol outside, another faint mark pressed into the lower edge.

I tilted the paper toward the light. “There.”

Darius studied it. His expression flickered—barely—then his face locked down again.

“What is it?” I demanded.

“An old seal.”

“Sure. But what does it mean?”

“It’s probably connected to your mother’s records.”

I frowned at him. “No. Look at the lines. Her journal symbol has three points. This one has four.”

He shrugged. “Different branches used different marks.”

“You sound sure.”

“I read the council’s old records.”

“So—tell me what the second mark means.”

He folded the edge over his thumb. “I’ll have to compare it with the archives.”

“Or you could just tell me if you recognize it.”

“I don’t know it well enough.”

I stared at him. The lie wasn’t in his words. It was the way he wouldn’t look at me—same as when he saw the prisoner’s ring, when he heard about the scarred recruiter, when I asked why the enemy wanted me alive.

Darius had a history with this mark. Something personal.

I didn’t push. Not yet.

Instead, I flipped the parchment. The back felt rougher—faint indentations near the seal. I angled it at the lamp. A few pale strokes appeared, almost unreadable, but enough to suggest someone had written something here before.

“Someone wrote on this before,” I said.

Darius leaned in. “Maybe.”

“Can you see the words?”

“No.”

I traced the edge. “Is there another sheet attached?”

He took the message, looking it over. “I’ll have the archivist look at it.”

“Why not do it here?”

“I don’t want us ruining evidence.”

Fair enough, but frustrating.

I stepped back. “Fine. Send it to the archivist. But I want a copy of every mark and word before it leaves.”

“You’ll have it.”

“And I want to see the original altar records.”

His expression tightened.

“Seren—”

“No. We agreed to investigate together.”

“I remember.”

“Then stop acting like you can decide which parts of the truth I get.”

He considered me a long time. Then, finally, nodded. “I’ll arrange access.”

I should have felt like I’d won something, but it felt more like a small victory in a war I still couldn’t see.

Darius gathered the papers, leaving the sealed message behind.

“I need to talk to the captain. Stay here.”

I gave him a look.

He paused, hand on the door. “Please,” he said.

That softened something inside me—not all the suspicion, but enough to remind me there was a man under all that command, genuinely terrified for me.

“I’ll stay. I want to check the maps anyway.”

He almost smiled. “Of course.”

He left. I waited for his boots to fade, then went back to the message. The lower edge nagged at me. I held it closer to the lamp, tilting side to side. The indentation looked like the beginning of a name, but the light wasn’t good enough.

I needed something brighter. The lamp on the other table was burning out, so I walked over to replace the wick.

That’s when I heard footsteps in the hall. Too soon for Darius. The door stayed closed.

Then I caught a quiet scrape from the narrow passage beside the command room. Someone was moving in the storage chamber.

I moved quietly to the door—slightly open.

Through the crack, I saw Darius. Alone, holding a small scrap of parchment. A flame burned in a metal dish. He glanced over his shoulder, then lowered the fragment into the fire.

The edges blackened, curled, collapsed.

I pushed the door open. Darius spun around, shock plain in his eyes—for once, not hidden.

I looked at the burning paper, then at him.

“What are you doing?”

He tried to move for the dish, but it was too late—the piece was gone.

“Seren—”

“Don’t.”

My voice came out steadier than I felt. I walked in, eyed the ashes curling in the dish.

“You said we were investigating together.”

“We are.”

“Then why burn evidence?”

He didn’t answer. The last fragment crumbled to nothing.

“Was it part of the message?”

His jaw went tight. “It’s complicated.”

“Then explain it.”

He reached toward me. I stepped away. Hurt flashed across his face.

I almost wished I hadn’t noticed. Almost.

Whatever he was hiding, he’d made his choice: he’d seen the same evidence I had, decided I couldn’t be trusted with it, then burned it behind my back.

“What was written on that paper?” I demanded.

Darius stared at me a moment, then spoke, voice low. “Something that could get you killed.”

The floor seemed to shift.

“By who?”

He said nothing.

I stepped closer, refusing to let him slip behind silence again.

“Darius, whose name was on that paper?”

He met my eyes, and for one awful second, I thought he’d finally tell me.

Instead, he looked away.

That’s when I understood: this wasn’t just about the altar. It was about someone Darius was willing to protect—even if it meant lying.

I glanced at the ashes.

“You have until sunrise to tell me what you burned.”

His expression hardened. “And if I don’t?”

I swallowed the ache in my chest. “Then I’ll find out myself.”

I walked past him before he could answer.

Behind me, the last ember faded. Another bit of truth gone with it.