A Court Of Shadow and Blood

☆ The Late Princess ☆

She was not a stranger to the dark. Even when it consumed, gathered and crowded and pressed, even when it stared at her and told her dark secrets she did not want to hear-she'd tamed it. Tamed them. And they'd fallen under her hand, the terrible whispers turning into singing.

But now it was silent. She could not hear their voices, nor could she hear her own magic.

She wondered if Lilith had inherited any of her power. She hoped she had not. It would mean a target on her back, and her horrible childhood would be even worse. Eblis remembered a time she'd spoken to Rhys about this, when they were far younger and newer to the world and their father still ruled and their mother still lived.

She coughed, her throat burning even as the rest of her convulsed with the cold.

If she didn't die soon, she might just finish herself off. But, despite herself, there was some flare of indignant hope in her chest. For, Prythian had survived Hybern once before, and nothing was stopping them from doing it again.

Except for her.

For what she'd done to gather that army.

Her legs shook as she tried to stand, such emptiness rocketing through her. Because of her, the army might be never ending. Her idea, her chance for fame and favor, had swayed Prythian's odds to the losing end. The army that was controlled by others and forced to fight. It did not matter their skill; though she'd spent time training these forces, it was not out of a daemati's reach-especially a strong one-to implant fighting knowledge into another.

She gripped the bars of her cell, listening to the faint rustles of other prisoners who refused to speak, and the moans of those who were far too gone to be of any help. Her hands trembled on the metal. That hope was quick to snuff out.

***

She stood there for a long time. She stared at nothing, until she eventually rested her forehead on the beams and felt the chill work into her skin. Every once in a while, she would feel the throb of pain from her wounds.

Eblis was kneeling on the ground, still clasping the bars and resting her head against them, when she heard footsteps. She perked up.

Was she finally going to be killed?

That different kind of hope-dark and sinuous-was dashed away for another when she heard a small whisper of sound.

Her name.

"Spymaster Eblis?"

She choked, pressing her face against the bars even tighter, eyes straining. "Who is it?"

"Requeza." Fingers touched her face, and she flinched back. Her spy murmured an apology, but reached forward again and scraped a calloused finger along her cheek. Eblis leaned into it.

She sighed. "I'm so sorry. I failed you all. I brought you into this."

"Don't say that. Don't give up."

Her lips tightened, her eyes closing to the female's gentle and inquisitive touch. "I have no other choice, Requeza! I failed everyone. I'm going to be killed and so is Madalyn. Prythian is going to fall into ruin," she said, and her voice cracked, and suddenly she was crying. Real tears-ones she hadn't shed in far too long. "We're all going to die," she whispered.

Requeza pinched her skin. "Spymaster, we have not given up. We still live. We still fight." But the spy seemed unsure of herself then, as if seeing Eblis that way weakened her resolve. Eblis did not blame her.

"Save yourself, Requeza. Get the others out. Find your happiness." She was desperate, she realized, to make her spies realize just how futile anything they did would turn out to be. Eblis had failed spectacularly.