Page 28 of Of Stars and Lightning (Sun and Shadows #1)

Twenty

SAWYER

SAWYER FOLLOWED THE guards all the way down to the dungeons.

After Sol seemed to be possessed by Loumallet himself and officially joined their hate-the-King club, the kingsmen ordered them out so they could escort Cas back into the depths of the castle.

Sol and Nina only moved aside when Sawyer declared she would go along with them.

The kingsmen warned the King would not like that.

Sawyer told them to go fuck themselves.

She trailed behind the four kingsmen all the way to the other end of the castle, utterly annoyed when Finigan joined them somewhere on the journey. The rosewood door that led to the lower levels loomed in a hidden corner, easy to miss unless one knew what they looked for.

And oh, did she.

The tepid air hit her immediately as the door opened, forcing a cough and a flood of unwelcome memories.

Cas ambled between the kingsmen, his wrists shackled in copper cuffs to suppress his magic. The four men strategically placed themselves at his every angle, as if afraid the Prince would flee, even as constricted as he was.

Uncharacteristically smart of them.

They circled down and down the groaning staircase for what seemed like forever.

It spiraled into the ground below the castle and Warren’s Temple, which hovered beneath Irene’s old throne room.

The cylindrical structure made Sawyer yearn for the freedom of the outdoors.

She wouldn’t say she was afraid of small spaces, but the moldy walls, the dim atmosphere that seemed to only thicken the further they descended, would make anyone uneasy—even a Fire Wielder.

She let a spark of fire free at her fingertips. The kingsmen didn’t protest, surely thankful for the speck of light. But Fin scowled. “You disgrace Emberdon using your fire to light a place like this.”

“You disgrace Winderlyn with your existence, yet here you are.” Sawyer didn’t balk when his expression filled with hate.

Finally arriving at the bottom, Fin pushed the towering dungeon doors open with a shove of his shoulders.

Everything beneath the castle was interconnected through the kingdom’s ancient tunnels.

The rulers before Irene, all bloodthirsty bastards, needed a place to dump their prisoners.

Greta Yarrow, Irene’s great-grandmother, decided what better place to have slaves and criminals await their death than right beneath their castle?

When they were smaller, Sawyer and Nina tried to implode the place—then quickly realized the castle would tumble to the ground as a result.

Perhaps that was the reason for the morbid placement.

They walked silently into the cellar hall. Cells expanded along the entire right wall. Last time Sawyer had been down here there had only been twelve cells, albeit several people crammed into them. Now, Sawyer counted fifteen, then the kingsmen finally stopped at the sixteenth.

“In, Xanthos.” One of the men shoved him into the cell.

Or at least tried to.

“Watch it, asshole, he’s still part of the Royal court.” Sawyer stepped forward, fire sparking at her fingertips. But Cas didn’t need the back up. A single glare from him had the men stepping back with only Fin standing his ground.

“That means absolutely nothing, Sawyerlyn.” Fin gave her a once-over, dangerously slow. “You’re looking better than ever, you know. If you ever need some company—”

Sawyer laughed. “I would rather kill myself.”

“You’re more like your mother than you know, then.”

Cas lunged at Fin. In a smooth, calculated motion, he wrapped the dangling chain between his shackles around the lead kingsman’s neck, slamming him back to his chest into an effortless hold.

Fin struggled against Cas, but the Prince showed no signs of pain or intention to release him. “Apologize,” Cas said, voice slow and low. “I’m already serving punishment for killing your comrade, I have nothing more to lose if I kill you too.”

The kingsmen had their swords out in a flash, the metal singing through the silence. Cheers erupted from the other cells. “Kill them!” someone called. “Kill the kingsmen!”

Sawyer exhaled, releasing Fin’s words with the breath.

You’re more like your mother than you know, then.

“One day, Finigan. One day I’ll kill you, and it will bring me so much joy to finally never have to see you again.” Sawyer tapped

Cas's arm. “But that day is not today.” Cas released him, then pushed him forward.

Fin glared at them both, rubbing at his neck between labored breaths. “You have five minutes before I tell your father you’re down here.”

“Just go do it now, asshole. We both know you need to kiss his ass daily.”

The man clenched his jaw, his eyes narrowing on her. “You were a good commander, you know.” He strode past her, sure to shove her aside. “Too bad it got to your head.”

Sawyer waited until the dungeon's door clicked shut and the kingsmen beyond it scattered before she slammed a fiery fist into the wall. “Pricks.”

A sigh resounded through the dimness as Cas slumped against the cell’s far wall.

Sawyer was too busy imagining all the ways she could pummel Fin to notice the kingsmen had locked the cell door before they left.

She sank to the ground in front of it and looked at Cas. “You look like shit.”

“So do you.”

Sawyer frowned at her gown. “This dress comes straight from Ventry, you jerk. It’s pure feather silk.”

Cas inched sideways then slid himself to the ground. “Exactly.”

This wasn't the Prince of Eswin’s first time in the dungeons. In fact, it was that very fact that made Sawyer follow him down here, to make sure the memories didn't implode the little grip on himself he regained through years of careful healing.

His mother and sister had been down here after his father’s execution.

They had been down here for months, all of which Cas had spent mostly where Sawyer sat, reaching, yearning to be reunited with his only remaining family.

When they disappeared, that thread of humanity Cas held on to vanished with them.

Sawyer looked around at the neighboring cell. It was empty save for a tray of rotting food, presumably from its previous dweller. The firelight along the hall shone amber but seemed cold, not an ounce of warmth emanating from a single corner of the subterranean space.

She traced circles on the dirt beneath her. “What’s your sentence?”

Cas's head lolled toward her. “Hmm?”

“What did my father tell you?”

He slid his hand behind his head. “After his kingsmen beat me with barbed whips? Nothing. Just threw me in that cage. I learned about my participation in the Vows at the same time everyone else did.”

Sawyer couldn't hide the grimace, anger permeating through her features. “Cas, I'm so fucking sorry.”

“Don't be. It’s not your fault.”

“He’s my father. I—”

“Sawyer, it was always like this.” Cas sighed. “Before we left, it was like this. He cycles through us like seasons. We all suffer.” He looked at her, all the times she had been in his position hanging thickly in the damp air. “Including you.”

Clenching her jaw, she shook her head. “He will only get worse now there’s an heir.”

Cas managed a dry laugh. “Obviously.”

Although the cover of darkness helped, the man wasn't as good at hiding his emotions as he thought.

Sawyer tapped the cell bars. “So, you and Sol—”

“Don't.”

“You know that's not going to end well, right?”

A muscle in his jaw ticked. “Does it look like I have a choice, Sawyer?”

She pressed her forehead against the bars.

Irene’s own Coronation Vows had been similar. The Rimemere history books say Draven joined the Vows willingly, out of his love for her and despair she wouldn't have him in that way.

Sawyer, though, knew better than to trust those books.

She knew from firsthand accounts that Draven joined to spare her from Arnold, who was the prospect from Melisandre.

The entire South knew of her father’s reputation as a fighter, as a killer, and Draven joined knowing he might pose a challenge for him the other prospects did not.

Cas sat up, and that's when Sawyer noticed it.

He was a fool. Even after them being almost inseparable for eighteen years, he still refused to alert her when the blood was low.

Sawyer thought maybe the man had a death wish.

She shook her head and signaled him forward. “You need to tell me when it starts to get low, Cas.”

He eyed her for a moment, hesitating. The tattoo seemed to lighten with each passing second, and Sawyer had to tap the bars again for him to admit defeat. “I was able to go almost four weeks without it this time.” He stood, shaky but strong.

“And how long was the maximum before?”

“Three and a half weeks.”

She grabbed his arm through the bars as he lowered himself beside her. His skin was cold and covered in bruises. The anger festered in her chest, burning hotter than her flames as she eyed the wounds. “I’ll kill him,” she whispered.

“Leave it, Sawyer.”

She let his arm hang through the cell bars as she sliced a thin, precise cut along her palm. “Never. It's my life mission to make him pay.”

Sawyer inhaled a heavy breath and brought her bloody palm down on his forearm.

Her blood sizzled against the markings, spreading into the scarred edges, filling the tattoo. Cas relaxed against the bars.

Irene’s magic had truly been one of a kind.

Not only was she able to fully master her Wards, but she had studied the ancient, god-written scriptures of the Western Stones before the island and contents were incinerated in battle.

From those coveted texts, she learned binds and spells—Dark Magic—that only the most powerful Wielders possessed knowledge of, the sort of magic the Immortal Relics were rumored to channel.

Those Relics were legends, artifacts crafted by the gods themselves that scattered with time.

“I hate this.”

Sawyer looked up at Cas, a distant expression on his face as he trailed the stone’s engravings with his gaze.

“I know,” she whispered. “It’s not fair.”

Queen Irene was brutal with Draven’s punishment.

She not only executed him, but she forced Cas to resign his title as Prince of Eswin and his freedom.

The punishment for his father conspiring against the crown was for Cas to be bound to Yarrow blood for half a century.

Stray too far from the Yarrow bloodline, and the tattoo ink would kill him, crafted from Irene’s blood itself.

No one besides them both knew of this. Everyone simply thought he was bound to Rimemere, as he was exiled from Eswin.

Brutally ironic.

They had discovered her blood resealed the volatile Dark Magic within the tattoo by accident during a sparring drill a month after she had arrived in Rimemere, after her father’s coronation. She had been eight years old. He had been thirteen.

It hadn’t always been that way. The tattoo was fine and full since it was branded when he was eight, but once Irene died and the Jinn attacks became more frequent, the magic that held his tattoo began morphing too.

Sawyer helped him every two weeks ever since. “You know, Sol might be able to —”

“No,” he cut her off.

“But her blood might be more useful—”

“I said no.”

The tattoo filled completely, and Cas wiggled from her grasp, turning away to look at the inside of his cell.

She knew the pain remained. He had let the detail spill a few years ago. His forearm ached perpetually, a reminder that the blood used wasn’t from the original spell caster. But Irene was dead. Her siblings were dead.

Sol was the next best thing.

“She might be able to make it stop hurting,” Sawyer whispered.

Footsteps sounded outside the dungeon entrance. “I’m not telling her about this.” He cut a glance to her. “And neither are you.”

She stood, her temper rising. “She owes you that much, you know. Her mother did this.”

“Exactly, Sawyer. Her mother. Not her. Not you,” Cas told her as he settled into a solid metal cot by the side stone wall.

Sawyer peered at him. “You know only one of you can survive the Vows, right?” She tapped her fingers on her thigh. “Unless we find out how Irene made that exception years ago.”

He was silent for a moment, as if truly thinking about it. But then he closed his eyes. “I don't really care.” Sawyer sighed and shut her own eyes.

Fool.