Solivagant

Chapter Forty

It was so dark.

Asher huddled against the wall, staring at the door. The shallow rasp of his breathing was far too loud in the silence. Another tear fell from his burning eyes, and he swallowed.

He had been right. Rivas finished healing his forearm the morning after Laura's strange visit. Then he'd broken it again. And again. Asher had fought, screamed, tried to run, but there was nothing he could do to stop the Valkir from snapping his upper arm in half as well.

No. Asher clenched his teeth, trying to ignore the dull pain pounding through the entirety of his arm. Don't dwell on it. It's over.

But it wasn't. Rivas had said only one thing as he numbed Asher and half-healed the damage. His voice had been quiet, wavering, and somehow that made it worse. Next time, I will break your collarbone.

Rivas had closed his eyes, then, his demeanor falling apart, and left. Asher had just watched, his vision blurring as he wept. He was just a boy. How was he supposed to stand this?

Asher sniffed, burying his face in his good hand and forcing himself back into the present. Giving in would change nothing. Even if he did what Soren wished, the king wouldn't simply leave him alone. He needed to remember that.

At least the sharp, searing agony was still partly gone. Asher glanced at his arm, awkwardly propped against his knee. Rivas hadn't bothered to use splints this time, and the surface of the wounds wasn't entirely sealed. Perhaps his muscles were intact enough to hold his arm in place; even so, every time Asher moved he felt the distant, fiery ache flare up.

Asher stared at the dried blood on his arm, a bout of dizziness striking his head. Saev, he was tired. How long had he been waiting, terrified Rivas would return and yet yearning for the man to come and numb the pain? It felt like much of the day had passed, and perhaps even a good part of the night, but there was no concrete way for Asher to tell. He certainly wasn't going to call for the Valkir—assuming one was nearby—to ask.

Asher closed his eyes, trying to force himself to stop crying. Rivas hadn't come back: that meant he was safe for now, but also that he hadn't drank or eaten for a long while. He needed to calm down, or he might end up severely dehydrated.

Something pricked at Asher's ears. He frowned, cocking his head. Silence. Had he just imagined a noise?

No. There it was again—a scrap of sound. After a few heartbeats, it solidified into a distant voice. Asher pressed tighter against the wall, his breath catching in his throat as it became clearer that the speaker was coming nearer. It couldn't already be morning. It couldn't. He was sure he still had at least a few hours.

A minute crawled by; then Asher heard footsteps start echoing down the hallway, far too fast and uneven for a normal walk. He kept his eyes trained on the door, his heart racing in his chest. Was somebody sprinting? Rivas wouldn't bother to run like that, nor would any other Valkir. He doubted it was Laura: even if Rivas had let her go, it would be idiotic for the girl to risk being caught like that again. As strange as she was, Asher didn't believe she was stupid.

Far too quickly, the runner slowed to a brisk trot. He was close, perhaps only a few yards away. Asher broke into a cold sweat, tremors running down his spine. If his strength hadn't failed him, he might have gone to the cell door and demanded that the stranger show himself.

"Ash?"

Shock blazed through Asher, freezing him in place. Even pitched low and laced with fear, he recognized that voice.

Before Asher could recover, Wade—Wade, hair ruffled and face streaked with dirt, appeared in the hallway. He glanced into the cell and skidded to a halt, letting out a cry of relief. "Skies, Ash, you're alive!"