"He thought he was forgetting, just as I have been forgetting. The pieces he could recall, yes, they were fictions told by our mother, but told so often they had become memory."
"So what changed?" I asked.
"You," he said. "You awoke his powers. But I suspect his injuries are what finally forced his body to use his natural abilities."
I nodded. It made a sort of sense, though I would have to discuss it later with Fen. How did he feel about this? Did he despise me for revealing him as Fae? For changing his life forever?
"So, what next?" asked Asher.
The only thing left.
"We hope," I said. "We hope." Dum spiro spero. While I breathe, I hope. I could practically hear my mother's voice in my mind, saying those words to me so many times over the course of my childhood. What I would give to have her with me now, to seek out her wisdom, to find comfort in her arms.
Asher, however, did not look hopeful, and with a resigned look, he walked away. It was the last time I saw him. Two weeks ago.
Now, I slouch against a cold wall, wrapping my arms around my knees for warmth. There are no clocks down here. No natural lighting sources. I have no way of tracking time other than the once a day slop a guard brings in for me to eat, if I can stomach it. I wonder if I'll be granted a last meal, like I would on my world. But it seems unlikely. I'll die with the taste of this rot in my mouth.
My greatest fear, my deepest sadness, is that others have to suffer with me. My mother, whose soul still lays trapped in a hell dungeon waiting for me to fulfill my contract. The man I love, who will die by my side, his only crime that of loving me back. Es and Pete, who will never know what happened to their friend.
The Fae. They will continue to be enslaved, and those who resist will be killed until there are no free Fae remaining.
And the magic on this world will die.
Do the vampires even know what they're doing? What they're condemning themselves and everyone around them to? I tried to explain, but they accused me of lying to save my own skin.
It's not my skin I'm trying to save.
Well, not just my skin.
But it doesn't matter now.
All I can do is wait.
Wait for death. Wait for the end.
Maybe this world is better off without the magic of the Fae. Maybe it is better off without me.
Minutes pass. Hours. Days. Time loses meaning in this dank, damp pit of despair. I have no idea how long I have to live. It is an odd thing, to know you're about to die, and to be powerless to choose how you will spend your last moments. There are so many things I have left undone in my life. So many words left unsaid to those I love. And now it is forever too late.
A commotion outside my cell alerts me to the guards changing shifts. They always have one or two watching over me. It started with two, but lately they've reduced the watch to one. Maybe they figure I have nothing left to fight for. Maybe the war rages on with the Fae and they need more soldiers than guards. I tried asking once, but no one would speak to me. So I just watch and think. But today, I am surprised to see a familiar face.
"Marco?"
His dark eyes flick to me, and he frowns, but doesn't answer. He stands in the spot of the guard, just out of reach of my cell, but close enough to see me, his broad shoulders filling the space and blocking out the little light from the orb.
I scramble to the bars, clutching them in my hands. "Marco! Did Fen or Asher send you? Are you here to help me?" There's a desperate pleading in my voice that makes me cringe, but I don't care. This is the first hope I've had since my fate was decided. But then Marco turns away, and my hope plummets.
"Marco? Why won't you talk to me? Please let me out. We must save Fen. We must get out of here. You were my personal guard. You swore to protect me!" I'm nearly frantic now, tears clogging my throat as I speak too loudly in the cavernous space.
He turns to me finally, his eyes cold. "The Fae killed my family when they attacked Stonehill in this last battle," he says quietly. "My parents, who were farmers. My little brother, who loved horseback riding and wanted to be a soldier when he grew up. My little sister, who wanted to be a guard when she grew older. Just like me." He shakes his head, a lock of brown hair falling into his eye and making him look boyish in his sadness. "I can't let you out, Princess. I'm sorry."
I don't know what to say. How can I defend myself? How can I defend what I've done by releasing this magic into his life? Into the lives of the innocent people who live here. Why can't the right choice be easier to see? Why must it all be shrouded in gray?
Marco and I share no more words, and my thoughts turn to the afterlife. Does dying in this world change what happens in the next? Or would I experience the same fate regardless of the world my life ended on?
After a time, my existential crisis is put on hold by more pressing concerns of the flesh. Namely, my growing need to relieve myself. I've been loath to use the pot they provided, with guards watching my every move, but eventually the urgency of my need trumps my modesty. So I pull the pan as far away from Marco as I can and do my best not to make a mess of myself. It's not a pleasant experience, made worse so by the clearing of a throat.
I'm just finishing up when I hear something tap the bars, and I nearly kick the pot over. A man stands at my cell door.
Only the light of flickering orbs illuminates this corner of hell soaked in darkness, but even without seeing his face I know who stands there. Will he really be the last person I see before I die? Lovely. "Hello, Levi."