A Heart So Fierce and Broken (The Cursebreaker Series Book 2)
A Heart So Fierce and Broken: Chapter 20

Giving me a day of liberty seemed like an unusual choice last night. A luxury afforded in friendship.

I see now that it was a calculated move to demonstrate what I have to lose.

As sunset draws near and heavy clouds roll across the sky, I begin to seek a path to escape. My thoughts spin, but each path seems futile. Dustan must notice my restless watchfulness, because four guards now trail me everywhere I go.

I don’t know what Rhen will do when I refuse to yield. He cannot torture me forever.

Then again, perhaps he can. I definitely cannot endure it forever.

The thought sends an icy breath of fear down my spine. When Lilith tortured us, we knew our bodies would eventually give out and the season would begin again. Even if her cruelty had no limit, we did.

A knock sounds at my door at the very instant the sun vanishes beyond the forest. I stand frozen between the hearth and the window. Every fiber of my body wants me to run.

There is nowhere to go.

I think of that bracelet stashed inside my mattress in the loft at Worwick’s. I close my eyes and imagine the other side. I imagine passing through the veil. I imagine Harper’s world, the garish lights and loud machines. I wish for magic. Hope for it. Pray for it.

A knock sounds again.

My eyes open. Nothing has changed.

Dustan moves forward to take hold of the door handle. Rhen stands outside, flanked by six guards.

“Do you yield?” he says.

I wish I could run. I wish I could fly. I wish I could reverse time and undo the curse that bound us to this castle, that bound us together and gave us this shared history that’s impossible to shake while so much is at risk.

“No,” I say.

“Take him.”

The guardsmen approach with the chains. I should run. It would be futile, but every fiber of my being is screaming at me to fight. Maybe it’s Rhen’s presence that keeps me still. Maybe it’s my memories of being the obedient guardsman. Maybe it’s the broken look in Rhen’s expression that makes me wonder if he’ll go through with any of this at all. He keeps waiting for me to yield. Maybe I’m waiting for him to.

Then the shackles are locked in place, and I don’t have a chance to do anything.

Few people line the dim hallways as we walk. I expect to be taken to the dungeon, but we make the turn down the staircase to the Great Hall, then head for the heavy glass doors that lead to the courtyard where I spent the morning with Harper and Tycho.

A guardsman pushes the door wide, revealing the torchlit space beyond. A small crowd has gathered.

He’s not going to yield.

My feet stop, almost of their own accord. The guards begin to drag me forward. My heartbeat roars in my ears.

“Stop.” Rhen’s voice. The guardsmen halt.

He turns and walks right up to me.

“Grey,” he says softly. “Do not make me do this.”

I cannot look at him. Each breath that fights its way out of my throat is fractured and broken.

I war with the same thoughts I’ve had for days: If I tell him the truth, he’ll kill me. He will have to kill me. I’ve seen what he’s done to protect Emberfall—to protect his throne.

If I say nothing … he’s going to make me wish I was dead.

When I was a guardsman, I would have laid down my life for him, so it seems like this choice should be easy, but it’s not. This is not stepping in front of a blade.

There is no blade. I am no threat.

When I say nothing, he turns away.

They drag me through the doorway. My eyes rake over the gathered crowd. No Harper. No Tycho.

Good. I can endure this crowd. I can endure this torment. Tycho is safe somewhere, hopefully guarded by Harper’s kindness. Hopefully being sent home with the bag of coins Rhen promised.

Despite the dozens who have gathered in the courtyard, the space is nearly silent. A horse kicks against the wall of the nearby stable. My breathing seems to echo.

I have no idea what Rhen intends, but the guards tow me right up to the castle wall, then reach high to affix my chains to a hook suspended there.

A sudden stillness overtakes me. It’s a whipping hook. There are others along the wall, but none have been used since Rhen’s father sat on the throne. If a member of the castle staff wronged King Broderick in some way, he’d have them flogged out here for all to see. He’d leave them hanging here, too, for hours, until insects would gather on the wounds.

My eyes are fixed on my wrists, suspended above my head. My breathing slows fractionally. I imagine it will hurt, but I can survive a flogging. This is far preferable to being dragged by a horse or having my bones broken one by one.

I close my eyes and wait for the first bite of the lash.

Instead, I hear another set of feet being dragged along the cobblestones, someone else’s fractured breath, so much quicker and more panicked than mine.

My heart stops even before he speaks. “No,” he says. Chains rattle, and I know he’s struggling. “Please. I don’t know anything.”

Tycho.

My hands jerk against the chain. There’s no give, and I can’t see anything but bricks and darkness. “Rhen!” I yell. “Don’t do this. Let him go.”

A thin whistle splits the air. I barely recognize the sound before leather lays into my back.

It hurts a thousand times more than I thought it would. It’s worse than a blade. Worse than an arrow. The lash seems to bury itself in my skin before dragging free. I cry out without meaning to.

Another thin whistle. I brace myself, but this lash doesn’t hit me.

Tycho screams.

I see stars. I plant my feet against the wall and brace against the chains.

Another whistle. Another lash lays into my back.

I can’t breathe. I can’t think.

Another lays into Tycho.

“Rhen!” I can’t hear myself speak. I’m not even sure I am speaking. “Rhen, stop! He’s a boy—”

Another lash. This one is lower, and I swear I feel it touch my spine.

I’ve stopped hearing the whistle. I just hear Tycho scream.

Then he’s babbling, the words thick with tears. “Please. Stop. Please. Please. Please.”

He’s talking to the guards, to Rhen, to anyone. He’s not talking to me.

But he knows I could stop this.

Another lash tears into my skin, bringing pain like fire. The stars in my vision multiply. I’ve pulled so hard against my chains that I can no longer feel my hands.

Tycho screams again. He chokes on his breath and makes a gagging sound.

He is no one to this fight. He is nothing to Rhen. He deserves none of this. My rage seems to swallow me whole, burning me up with fury. Stars fill my eyes with blinding light.

Another lash strikes me, but this time I barely feel it. I hear the crack of the whip striking Tycho, and his resounding scream.

Something inside me snaps. A crack of lightning fills the air, a blinding white that steals my vision, as if the sun fell to earth. Wind rushes through the courtyard, raking across the wounds on my back, stealing my breath. For an instant, I think I’m dead. I can’t see. I can’t hear.

Then it’s gone. The stars in my vision shrink down to nothing. The wind is gone.

The courtyard is silent.

I wait for the next lash, but it doesn’t come. Blood is trickling from the wounds on my back, hardly noticeable on top of the raging pain. All I hear is my breathing, quick and ragged.

I struggle against the chains, expecting another lash to catch me in the back, but none comes. I manage to brace my feet against the wall, then twist against my bindings to see what I can of the courtyard.

Everyone has collapsed. Each person lies in a heap. Some have collapsed on top of each other.

None move.

I search the wall for Tycho and replace him twenty feet away, hanging from his chains, unconscious.

Or dead.

My breathing is ragged for an entirely new reason. I use the chains to lever myself up the wall, until I’m high enough to unhook my shackles. It takes longer than it should, and my arms keep threatening to give out. Once there, I brace against the hook and pant with exhaustion. Every breath, every movement, causes pain in a new way. I lost count of how many times they struck me, but my back feels laid open.

I unwind the chain, then drop to the ground.

A bad choice. My injured leg gives out, and I stagger, falling to my knees. My vision goes hazy and I need to shake my head and blink.

I touch a hand to my side, where the lash curved around. The wound is deep and bleeding freely.

Rhen is not far off, collapsed on the cobblestones like the others. He is breathing and uninjured. He could be sleeping.

What happened?

I can wonder later. I need to free Tycho. I need to escape.

When I make it to his spot on the wall, I discover he’s breathing, too, but it’s a labored wheeze, and his back is a crisscrossed mash of bleeding lines. Tears soak his cheeks. He vomited on himself at some point. I try to reach high enough to free him, but my back protests and I cry out, sagging against the wall.

I try once more and fail. My vision goes hazy again, and I shake my head to clear it.

A shout goes up from somewhere in the castle, then another.

I redouble my efforts, but I’m too weak to lift his weight enough to pull the chains free.

A shadow appears beside me, hands closing on Tycho’s waist to help lift. “Here,” says a soft female voice. “I’ll help you.”

Lia Mara. The girl from Syhl Shallow. My thoughts are so addled and my eyes are blurry and I wonder if I’m hallucinating. “How—how did you—?”

“Hurry!” she says. “The guards in the castle did not collapse.”

I hurry. I grit my teeth and leap for the bar, levering myself up the way I freed myself. Sweat drips into my eyes, and my muscles tremble, threatening to give way, but with Lia Mara supporting Tycho’s weight, I’m able to twist his chains and brace against the wall. I need one inch. I throw every ounce of strength into it.

His chain clears the hook. Lia Mara tries to ease him down, but Tycho all but collapses to the ground. I nearly fall right on top of him. My fingers dig into the cobblestones, but I can’t move. My arms are twitching with fatigue, and my thoughts loosen and drift.

Lia Mara is on her knees in front of me, her hair glowing red in the torchlight. “You have to run.”

I can’t run. I can’t even stand.

“Go,” I say to her.

Her eyes go from me to Tycho to the castle.

“Go,” I say again. My voice breaks. “You won’t replace peace here.”

The shouts reach the courtyard, and then guardsmen and castle servants are flooding through the doors, pouring into the open space. Lia Mara slips into the shadows.

“Find Healer Noah!” a woman shouts, followed by a man yelling, “Secure the princess!”

“No!” Harper’s voice calls across the courtyard, high and panicked. “Where is he? Where’s Rhen?”

“Here!” shouts a guardsman.

Suddenly Harper is there, crouching over the prince. “Rhen,” she says. “Rhen, can you hear me?” She picks up his hand. “He’s breathing,” she says. “Noah, he’s breathing.”

I blink and Noah is beside her. “Strong pulse,” he says, a hand against Rhen’s neck. “Seems like a syncopal episode.”

“A … what?”

“He fainted.” The healer moves to Dustan’s prone body, lying just beside Rhen, then presses a hand to his neck. “They all did.” He sounds confused. “Lay them all flat,” he calls to the dozens of guards and servants now swarming the courtyard. “Jake! Make sure they have an open airway.”

Harper looks around. “So they all just …”

Her eyes lock with mine.

I have no idea what I look like, but it must be as bad as it feels, because her face pales and she locks a hand on Noah’s arm.

“Grey,” she breathes.

I blink again, and she’s on her knees in front of me.

“Oh, Grey,” she whispers. Her hand replaces mine. Tears glisten on her lashes. “Grey, I had no idea.”

To my right, one of the fallen guardsmen is beginning to move, shaking his head vigorously.

I brace a hand against the ground. I need to run.

“They need to get to the infirmary,” says Noah. He’s crouched by Tycho, and his voice is tight with fury. “I think this kid is in shock.”

“They’re waking up!” calls a voice from across the courtyard.

I can’t be taken to the infirmary.

Harper’s eyes meet mine.

“Please.” The word sounds like it’s been ripped from my throat.

She doesn’t need me to say any more. She stands up and starts giving orders. “Carry the prince to his chambers! Boil water and have warm compresses prepared. Take any unconscious guardsmen to the infirmary. Jake! I need you.”

Her brother comes to her side, pushing through the crowd of people. “Harper, what—” He breaks off as he sees me and Tycho lying in the shadows beside the castle. A long breath escapes him. “Holy—”

“Jake,” says Harper in a rushed whisper. “I need you to get them out of here.”

His expression hardens right up. “No way. I get him out of here and we’re never getting home.”

“Look at what Rhen—look at what he—” Her voice breaks. “You think you’ll be going anywhere if he gets a chance to finish the job?”

Jake’s eyes shift to me, and while his expression is grim, he is not kind and merciful like his sister. He drops to the ground beside me, putting himself at eye level.

“If I help you, I want your word that you’ll take me and Noah home as soon as you can.”

“Yes,” I grind out.

“Swear it,” he says. “Swear an oath.”

“I swear it.” I have no idea how I’ll keep this oath, but I’ll swear, and willingly, if it means getting me and Tycho out of here. “I swear to you that I will return you as soon as I am able.”

“Done.” He stands. “Harper. What do you want me to do?”