Her claws were digging into Octavius’ shoulder. There was no blood yet, but it still had to be painful.
He mumbled, “Don’t… hurt him.”
She instantly opened her hand. “Castien, oh, thank the gods.”
Octavius tapped his wrist. “Can you look at me? Focus, Castien.”
His eyes drifted to the healer. He spoke very slowly, “What did you do?”
“The book had a code – perhaps several. We were able to decipher part of it.”
Throbbing pain made it difficult to think. The book. Frances' book. Was the trance gone, then?
Tentative relief hovered like a frightened dog that had been beaten too many times. His head felt light despite the pain. Hope was a dangerous thing, but he grabbed onto it with both hands. He might be free. Today. Right now.
He frowned. “What do you mean, part of it? Is the trance broken or not?”
“You tell me.”
“My head hurts,” he grumbled. But the distance of the trance had vanished, the chains on his mind absent. He was in control of himself.
Cautiously, he said, “You certainly did something. We should test… if…”
In the recesses of his memories, a half-formed image flashed behind his eyes. He frowned. A sense of urgency came with it. Another ghost of a memory surfaced, then vanished too quickly to be caught. The dungeons.
Octavius was talking. He wasn't listening. What had he forgotten about the dungeons?
Broken memories collided behind his eyes. Fragments, fractured thoughts like recalling a dream. But this was important. He had to piece it together.
He groaned and sucked in a breath, waving his hand for silence. “I need to tell you something.”
Octavius said, “Let's confirm the conditioning is gone, first.”
The guards stiffened as the healer spoke the words. “Pick up the dagger.”
Residual pain throbbed in his head. His fingers twitched. He curled his fists and didn’t touch the weapon. The cold stone walls of the dungeons appeared and disappeared. Green eyes flashed.
The healer nodded. “And Yelena? What comes to mind for the Queen of Nadraken?”
No whispers, no tug in his chest. Only… “Hatred.”
A vicious smile curved Anais’ lips.
Octavius didn't look particularly happy, but he nodded again. “I'd like to do a few more tests, but I believe you're free. It's over.”
If only things were so simple. If only he could rush to Anais’ side and hold her without a guard shoving him back. Throw her onto his bed – or hers, or anywhere, really – and bury his nose in her hair. Kissing her made him feel alive. He would worship every inch of her body until she demanded he finish the job or was forced to leave for court. Then he would wait for her return and do it all over again.
He wanted Vern to look at him without hostility, Madeline without pity – he would have even rejoiced at Jerome’s callous dismissal of a harmless fool.
But it wasn't over.
The tendrils of pain in the back of his mind crept forward.
There was something he needed to tell them. Why couldn't he remember?
He drew in a shuddering breath. “You need to… Did you assess Jerome? He was in the dungeons. Yelena ordered…”
He remembered the red marks on Jerome's chest. The captain had been whipped. He said he wasn't given anything, but that could have been a lie.
