Wicked is the Curse.

32 | Such a feat

Chapter 32| Such a feat.

The cells were a miserable sight to behold. Her shoulder throbbed and her stomach was beginning to grumble, making her keenly aware that she wouldn't be getting the chance to sit at the banquet table. Her mouth watered, just thinking of the rich food she wouldn't even get the chance to taste.

Laochra had accompanied her, his grip gentle on her elbow until they were out of view of the Pretender. His silence was heavy, akin to that of a disappointed father. When the cells were in sight, he finally spoke. "You have a great skill for getting yourself in trouble, Aire."

"I do not try to." She spotted the same guard from yesterday at the door.

He glowered at her.

She grinned.

Laochra sighed. "Aire..."

Perhaps he was right. And if Laochra had any ideas what she was planning to do while the banquet was in full swing, he would sit outside her cell's doors until dawn. Or kill her. Depending on how severe he thought her actions were. 'Dramatic as always,' Aevran would have drawled, his hair like sun-silk in the dark dungeons. He would have been gliding behind them, a half-amused smile on his face but his eyes watchful and sharp.

As always, the thoughts of Aevran were too painful. Deeper than any wound could cut without killing her. So, Aire thought instead of the time she had landed on a tree branch and saw death in a constellation of stars above her. That had nearly been worse.

"Ferdia asked me to leave this with you," Laochra eased the cell door open. Even though she had rotted another Aether soldier, he was not defensive around her. He pressed a small clay pot into her hands, the soil dark and fresh.

"A little something to keep me company?" She cradled it in her hands.

The side of his mouth quirked. "A chance to practice."

The cell door was closed and Laochra left her there in the darkness. Aire slumped against the wall, down onto the fresh bedding. Did her guard leave that there for her? She would have to thank him.

"Sweet one," the Bloodbound's voice was soft. Curious. "What happened this time?"

She probed her shoulder and bit down a hiss. Wynn had done more damage than she assumed, but Brice's Wield still lingered like a sliver of fire along her shoulder, soothing what pain throbbed. She could feel it now, each pulse of magic weaker. She dreaded when it would fade in the dark.

"I lost control. Again."

"And you hurt yourself?"

"No." Aire shook her head. "I was sparring, and the man was going to pull my shoulder out."

Chains slid against the stone. "Why?"

"I am convinced the Pretender commanded him to do so." She looked towards his cell. He had moved in the soft clink of chains, across his cell to stand at the bars. He stared down at her stoically, cloaked in shadow. There was no expression on his face, but she felt an undercurrent brewing.

"What soldier did this to you?"

"So, you can congratulate him?" She queried. "Or perhaps scold him for not committing to breaking my shoulder?"

"I could give him some advice."

"Oh, you could?" She arched a brow, turning to look up at him. "You've broken many shoulders, have you Bloodbound."

The sharpness in his expression softened. "You would imagine so, Wielder. Tell me, what Aether soldier did this to you."

"Don't be so nosy, Bloodbound."