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All Paths Lead to Death

Anya

I dipped in and out of sleep. The stone floor was cold and unyielding—but it was my dreams that haunted me. Filled with visions of Mirrors and flowing water and yawning dungeon caverns with sharp monster teeth ready to swallow me up.

I startled awake at the arrival of another visitor. This time when the door to the dungeon opened, only the faintest light permeated from the hall outside, suggesting that it was after nightfall. Judging by how my body ached from hours curled on the floor, it was probably close to midnight, if not edging into the following morning.

There was only one person who’d come to see me at such an hour.

I didn’t get up when he came into view. I remained on my side, staring blankly at the bars of my cell, the grit on the floor illuminated by the light of his lantern. Boots paused at my door, and then he lowered into a crouch, blue-green eyes finding mine. They were red-ringed with sleeplessness, or perhaps a worse sort of torment. He had a bruise on his cheekbone and a split eyebrow that was barely scabbed, and in spite of my anger and hurt, I wanted to know how he got it. I wanted to strike the bastard who’d done it, because—

Fates help me .

—because I loved Idris.

What other emotion could possibly explain the magnetic pull of him, even now? Even after what had happened? My shock, panic, and fury had been dulled by the night, and now all I wanted was to tuck myself into his strong arms. To believe there was an explanation for why yesterday had gone the way it did.

Why he couldn’t save me.

His betrayal isn’t as straightforward as you might think , Hammond had said.

I had to believe that my trust wasn’t in vain. That the care and affection he’d shown me—on the road and across campfires and as I laid naked in his arms—was still real . What emotion, other than love, could make me so desperate to uncover a satisfactory reason for his duplicity?

It was genuine exhaustion—and perhaps a touch of stubbornness—that kept me on the ground as he regarded me. I might’ve loved him, but he’d still hurt me.

“Anya.” His voice was as rough as the stubble on his face, raw as the cut on his brow. “Talk to me, please.”

“Unless you have the keys to release me, what is there to say?” I mumbled, allowing my hurt to show.

Idris swallowed thickly, a sound I felt in my own throat. Loose stones ground under his boots as he lowered himself to the floor, sitting parallel to my door with his long legs outstretched, one arm reaching through the bars.

“Come here,” he begged, holding out his hand. “Please, Dearest.” His voice cracked on that last word.

It was the term of endearment—never uttered before, so unexpected in this dark place—that had me moving. I pushed up off the floor and crawled over to him, sliding my arms through the iron between us to nestle into his embrace. His arms were gentle as they pulled me against the bars; his mouth was hot on my temple, my tear-torn cheeks, my trembling lips. The metal was a cold press against my face as we kissed through the door—the perfect embodiment of the distance I felt from him even now, my heart barred off and wary.

He ran a thumb across my cheek, the callouses of his palm rough on the sensitive skin. His hands were so big , and I leaned into the cradle of his touch, both burning and soothed. Ashen and sparking.

Then the moment of tenderness passed, and I pulled out of his grasp to sit on the ground beside him. I tried to rest my head on his shoulder, but the bars of my cell were too narrow, forbidding me from the comfort. But Idris snaked his arm through, resting a palm on my thigh, clutching at the heavy fabric of my dress.

Dearest .

I grazed a finger just below the bruise on his cheekbone. “Who did this to you?”

“It’s nothing.”

Having seen him face monsters, his statement about the minor injury was objectively true. But I wanted to know who’d managed to injure a knight who, to my eye, was all but untouchable in his fighting skill.

“Idris,” I prompted.

“I was disobedient,” he said—not embarrassed, pitiful, or angry—just stating fact.

So, he’d let them do this.

“Disobedient how ?”

He quirked a brow.

My laugh was devoid of mirth. Maybe he truly had been powerless during my trial.

“Your verdict is tomorrow,” he stated.

“Do you know what my options will be?”

He glanced sidelong at me. The speckled purple on his cheek looked like a spray of twilight, a sprig of lavender. “If he offers you an Oath, you should take it.”

The plainness of his words surprised me—then made my gut clench. “And end up like you?”

He winced. “Is that not better than being down here? Never seeing sunlight again?”

I moved away from him, out from under his palm on my leg. His hand fell to the stone as I stood. “That’s your plan? For me to give up—give in? Is there truly nothing you can do to help me?”

He rose slowly. “My leash is short, Anya.”

“A couple nights ago, you said I would return to Waldron-on-Wend—when all the while, you knew .” My voice shook. “You knew you were marching me to my end, didn’t you?”

A sigh gusted out of him, and he rubbed a hand over his face—flinching when it passed over the barely scabbed cut. He began to pace, agitated as a pent-up animal.

His lack of response was answer enough. My anger flared, branding me with decision. “More than anything , I want to go home,” I told him. “I will settle for nothing less. Hammond told me of an alternative, the Well of Fate—”

He wheeled toward me, gripping the bars. “You mustn’t.”

“Why not?”

He growled frustratedly.

This time, my laugh was ice. “If you can’t tell me—”

“Anya,” he pleaded, “it’s certain death. Trust me.”

He appeared genuinely terrified by the idea, wild-eyed and gravely serious.

But my anger was a gale, gusting over me with a reckless force. “How can I possibly trust you?” I shrieked.

Shouts sang from the depths of the dungeon, answering my outburst with horrible whines, howls, cries.

Idris jerked his attention toward the stairs leading down, and I saw the moment he pictured me there, another wave of fear quaking across his strong features.

I pointed in the direction of the wails. “I would rather face a thousand monsters than live out the rest of my days down there.”

“Then take—” He broke off abruptly, licking his lips like he tasted something vile.

An Oath , he’d no-doubt been about to say.

But that was its own prison—clearly.

I sank to my knees, resettling into the potential for a real conversation. “Can we be honest with each other, Idris?”

He slid his palms down the iron bars until he, too, knelt. His voice was feather-soft as he repeated the sentiment from the cabin. “Ask me anything you like, and if I’m able, I’ll answer.”

So, we would play our old game, then.

I started boldly. “There was a book on Oderin’s desk,” I began, “detailing the nature of Orders, both widely known and secret.”

Idris raked his fingers through his hair. “ Fuck , Anya.”

“You said you took Grinnick’s place. Was his a criminal sentence? Is yours ?”

I knew he couldn’t answer that, but the way he paled in the light of the lantern told me everything I needed to know.

I pressed my lips together and nodded. “I read of quite a few criminal Oaths while I waited,” I went on. “Order of the Shrewd. The Order of the Fierce. The Order of the Valiant.”

He flinched when I named the last one.

I smiled joylessly. “You are quite valiant, Idris.”

He shook his head in—was it disagreement? I had the sense that it wasn’t a contradiction to which Order he served, but the word itself. Why did he think so little of himself? What experiences had beaten down this incredibly kind, brave man so thoroughly?

“What was your crime?”

“Loving my brother,” he answered gruffly.

“So, he died, and you took his place willingly ,” I concluded. “What was his crime?”

“Loving me.”

I felt his words like a punch in the gut. It didn’t take much of a leap to understand what’d happened. Two boys, alone on the streets. Idris had stolen bread and fallen for the baker’s girl. What had Grinnick stolen, and how had he been caught? As the older brother, I didn’t doubt that his crimes were larger than baked goods. I thought of Hattie, not my younger sister by blood, but by bond. Like Grinnick, I would do any number of illegal things to keep her safe.

“If yours is a sentence, when does it end?” I asked.

Idris’s eyes darted away from mine, to a random corner in the hallway. He made a fist, bit his knuckle.

“Your sentence is…already over?” I guessed.

When his eyes found mine again, he nodded, his brows tipped up with regret.

“Your Oath is over ?”

“No,” he said.

My voice became shrill. “But you are no longer required to keep it, to—”

“I saw you,” he blurted, sounding miserable. “In my Mirror of Fortune. I saw you.”

I stiffened, aghast.

He ran his hand over his face again, this time reopening the wound above his eye. It began to bead and weep, the crimson sparkling wet in the lantern light, but he seemed oblivious as he continued. “What you saw in your Mirror of Death,” he said slowly, his lower lip wavering on his words, “ I saw in my Mirror of Fortune.”

“Your Fortune is my Death?” I asked, disbelieving.

“I didn’t see a face in my vision,” he said, eyes holding mine. “Only water, and a filthy dress, and my hands—” He broke off, staring down at his hands as if he couldn’t believe what they were capable of.

“But the monsters warp your Fate,” I said—then realized what that meant. “If you give up your Oath, your Fate is no longer warped.”

Which meant his Fortune could come true. I could see his logic, but… my Fate wasn’t yet fixed. That had to count for something.

“I don’t believe it,” I said, shaking my head.

“Do you really want to risk—”

“Not that,” I interrupted. “I can’t say I’m completely surprised that our Fates are more entwined than I originally knew. What I can’t believe is why you didn’t fucking tell me when you realized—” Now it was my turn to wipe my hand over my face, to gather myself. My gaze found his and held, unflinching. “What I can’t believe is that you could’ve given up your Oath to help me, and you chose not to.”

“I can’t retire my Oath if it means killing you.”

“You’re already killing me.”

His face quaked. It took him a few seconds to recover. “Even if I had broken my Oath during your trial and lied to the Lord about what you saw, he would’ve known the moment my leash snapped,” Idris said. “And to break it dishonorably—without ceremony—could risk the Lord restarting—” He broke off again, clearly running up against his magical limitations, but I knew what he meant. “It wouldn’t have boded well, either way,” he finished lamely.

“And you didn’t think to retire the Oath after we—” My voice faltered. “You knew that you wouldn’t be able to lie to the Lord about what I saw. You knew that the Lord would take issue with it. You must’ve seen this coming, no? And you chose your Oath—a life of loneliness and danger—over me.”

“The Mirror…”

“No,” I said. “No, I don’t buy that. You could’ve left years ago, before you met me. Which means this is about your brother. About your Fates-damned guilt over whatever happened to him.”

He seemed struck, taken aback.

I shuffled forward on my knees and gripped the bars of my cell, needing to be closer to him to ensure my next words were heard. “I didn’t know your brother,” I said, “but as someone who’s looked after countless people I loved, I can say with certainty that—no matter what happened between you—he wouldn’t have wished you further suffering. It sounds to me like he did all he did to save you from suffering. By embracing the very thing he’d tried so hard to shield you from, you disrespect his efforts. That’s not an act of valiance or love, Idris, but self-punishment. If you truly wish to honor Grinnick, why shackle yourself to his memory? Why not live the life he wished for you? Live the life that was taken from him?”

His eyes glistened. His next words were firm, but breathless. “Everyone I’ve ever loved has either left or died because of me.” He hung his head, the dark waves of his hair falling forward, obscuring his face. “You are better off without me.”

“Wait.” The word was weak, watery. I couldn’t keep the heartbreak out of my voice as I clarified, “You…don’t wish to give up your Oath? Not ever ?”

“The Mirrors.”

“Fuck the Mirrors,” I said. “You wouldn’t even consider it?”

He lifted his gaze to mine, but barely.

“Was it all a lie?” I whispered.

“Anya…”

“Be honest with me.”

“It’s for the best that we part ways. That you—” His jaw ticked. “That you never see me again.”

My hands slipped from the bars, and I rose to my feet, needing distance. “Now that I’m in a cell, you’re leaving ?”

He claimed this was for my benefit but—maybe I was the exact sort of burden to him that I feared. What else could it be? His leaving now—when I needed him most—was proof that I wasn’t worth the effort. I was only worth what I could offer. And I couldn’t offer anything from a cell.

“You really aren’t going to help me?” I went on. “After your actions contributed to this mess I’m in?” I bit my lips together with my teeth, eyes lifting to the ceiling. “It’s not your Oath standing in the way of us—of my entire future—it’s you , Idris.”

“I am nothing more than a danger to you,” Idris argued.

“You are so much more than a danger to me.” The words came unbidden, laced with tender implication. “So much more,” I whispered.

His gaze darted away from mine, a rejection in and of itself.

My nails bit into my palms. “I thought you were a man who kept his promises.”

“I am,” he said, narrowing his eyes on me again with unmovable resolve. “I promised you I would not do you harm, and I am determined to keep that promise by staying far, far away.”

My heart was splitting open, molten rage exposed. And what about the harm of breaking my heart? I wanted to ask, but my mouth wouldn’t form the words. My shame was too potent. He was leaving. He didn’t want me. Or, at least, he didn’t want me enough to stay—to try . For the second time, I was being left by a man on the other side of iron bars.

“You’re better off taking an Oath,” he said levelly, “serving your time, and—”

“ Better off ?” My fists balled tighter, tears streaking down my face. “I will not.”

My anger was fueled by heartache, but I refused to feel heartbroken now. Not when anger lent me strength. Not when heartbreak was the least of my concerns.

“Anya—”

“Fuck you.”

“ Please , Dearest—”

“Don’t call me that.”

“ Anya ,” he pleaded, his voice cracking. “You can’t go to the Well of Fate. It’s a breeding ground for—for—for—”

He was bumping up against his Oath. It was easy to deduce what he meant. But I was done trusting Idris Togren.

“If you won’t help me,” I said, “then I have to help myself.”

“You’ll die ,” he insisted.

“And yet you insist I die alone.”

He glanced away.

“All paths lead to death,” I went on. “So, I might as well take Fate into my own hands and die on my own terms.”

Idris opened his mouth, but I held up my hand, halting whatever he was about to say. Anger was my buoy.

“It’s funny,” I mused, “how this feels so much like a betrayal, and yet you haven’t broken a single promise. I have to hand it to you, Idris, you are clever.”

“I can’t give you what you want,” he said tightly.

“You’re right,” I said bitterly, goading him. “We didn’t make any commitments to one another. Just for the night , right?” I spread my arms. “You are absolved from all post-fuck guilt. You don’t owe me a Fates-damned thing.”

He looked miserable, stricken. Good .

“Anya, what we shared—”

“It doesn’t matter what we shared. You’re leaving.” I pointed at the stairs. “If you wish to break my heart and go,” I said, “then fucking go .”

He stared at me, a mix of tender yearning and harsh determination on his face. A part of me dared to hope—even now—that he was about to change his mind.

Flashing in his blue-green eyes, I saw the future I had imagined for us, one surrounded by verdant hills fed by the waters of the Wend. Late nights curled up by the hearth at the Pretty Possum. Introducing him to the town and watching them fall in love with him as I had. I imagined a future in which he didn’t drown me in the river. In which I didn’t die in a nest of monsters as I sought absolution. In which I didn’t rot in a cell.

As I stared into his eyes, I imagined a future filled with promise and love and hope .

Then he tore his eyes from mine and sulked back up the stairs, leaving me and that future behind.