He wants the noctis to crave hunting them.
I signal for the lead guard to give me the keys and he obeys. As I open Charlotte’s cell door, her gaze snares mine. I can't tell what I find there. I expect the usual: the fear of death, fear of pain, denial of both, and crazed desperation for anyone to change the circumstances. Oftentimes, when I've stared into the eyes of someone who's life I hold in my hands, there is an absurd amount of pleading and bartering, as if that has ever saved anyone.
But she bears no such things.
Whatever anguish she'd felt in the throne room, it's all but iced over, like winter's first snowfall in the northern regions. There's nothing but darkness in those amber eyes, a nothing as dark as a barrel of ale laced with hemlock.
And I want nothing more than to stare into those poisonous depths for days.
Thereshe is.
The fighter.
The survivor.
I send the guards in, telling them to keep an extra eye on her.
"See you in the Shadowthorn," she says as she's shoved out of the cell and down the hall.
Despite myself, I smile. A true genuine smile that makes me forget just about everything—what today signifies for the noctis, what I'm about to do—and for the briefest of moments, I have no cares in the world.
For the smallest of moments, I actually look forward to what she's suggesting. I actually wonder what it will be like to meet her outside of these prison walls, unbound, amid the trees.
Then I remember who I am. A noctis prince. A monster, in her eyes, forevermore, just as she will forever be food in mine. Not to mention the fact that I won’t be seeing her in the Shadowthorn because I won’t be there.
My aunt clears her throat, reminding me of her presence and the reason I've come down here today.
A forlorn breath of a laugh eases from my lungs, and though I know Charlotte can no longer hear or see me, I find myself responding to her anyway, wishing I had done so sooner.
"I doubt it,” I utter just before the door shuts us in darkness. "But wouldn't that be interesting."
"Are you just going to stand there talking to yourself, or are you going to let me out?"
Like snapping out of a trance, I glance to the keys in my hand and then to Fox's locked cell.
"What happened?" she asks, her auburn hair sitting surprisingly flat and groomed atop her head. "Why didn't you wait for them to be gone?"
Her tone makes me uncomfortable.
"I misjudged them, is all. It doesn't matter. It all worked out.I got the keys, didn't I?"
Her nostrils flare almost as wide as her eyes bulge. "You didn't have keys? What was your half-brained plan if you didn’t have keys? Jiggle the bars until they broke free? Trust me. I've tried that. Doesn't work."
"You're in quite the shit mood for someone who’s about to have her freedom and see her children for the first time in months."
Fox hangs her head. "I know. I'm—I'm sorry. I don't know—I'm nervous. Hope is a dangerous thing, Malachi. When I saw you with those guards—"
Finally, the right key fits. The lock makes a metallic clang as it turns and the door opens.
Cautiously, almost in disbelief, Fox steps across the threshold and toward freedom, toward her family.
"You thought it had all been a lie," I say softly. With the door open, no more bars between us, and the heartfelt admission she's just made, I'm tempted to offer her an embrace. But I remember myself. I remember who I am to the humans, and my arms stay cemented to my sides. "I made a promise. I wasn’t going to break it. We should get moving though. We don't have much time before the Hunt begins."
"Do you know where he's keeping them?" she asks, a glow already returning to her dull skin. "Do you know where my boys are?"
A gentle smile lifts my face, and for the second time that day, I feel light. Weightless.
"Come on," I tell her, ushering the both of us out of these dingy halls and into fresh air. "Let's go save your sons."
