Janto stumbled in the dark of the underground passage leading to the dungeons in the hillsides. They were disguised as barrows, their aboveground windows and roofs covered with grass. It was important prisoners be allowed sunlight no matter what they had done. No one deserved to live in the dark.
Serra, apparently, did not share that conviction. It had been a week since the wedding. Janto’s initial panic subsided once his father received a bird from Enjoin. But knowing Serra was safe opened the floodgate of his anger. How could she do that to him? He was now the prince who had been jilted for Madel, and maybe that would be tolerable if true, but Serra had never been devout. There had to be another reason she left. Their love could not have simply changed—he would know, wouldn’t he? But he had barely seen her in months and so much had happened. No, Serra is not like that. There has to be a reason. She would not give up on him without explanation, especially not now when he needed her more than ever. He had planned to tell her about the dreams after the wedding, tell her how killing the stag had been more of a curse than a boon. He needed someone to understand. He wanted it to be Serra, but now …
Disbelief warred with the hurt as he grasped at the rough edges of stone tiles used to reinforce the passage’s walls. He had only been to the dungeons a few times before. They were rarely used after Turyn’s War. Town councils settled most grievances. Only when the charge was more serious, like treason, did prisoners end up here. Vesperi qualified as a potential threat, not because she was Meduan, but because she had indicated no desire to defect. Indeed, she seemed to revel in the base selfishness of her people. Yet he made his way to her through the cold, damp passage, because he had nowhere else to go. “I dream of Vesperi constantly, and it is the only thing that feels familiar now Serra’s gone,” was not exactly dinner conversation for his parents.
The passage took on an olive-green hue as he neared the cells. Two guards outside Vesperi’s straightened up as he approached.
“May Madel’s hand guide you, Ser Firl, Sar Pella.”
“Your Highness.” Sar Pella raised her elbows as high as she could with a pointed halberd in hand. “You must be here for the Meduan? She has had no visitors since your father two mornings ago.”
“Yes. I need to speak with her.”
He breathed a sigh of relief when they asked no further questions. He had no explanation to give them. Unless “Serra is gone and I don’t think she’s coming back” would suffice.
Sar Pella opened the door while Ser Firl took position behind them, one hand on his halberd and the other shielding his eyes from the burst of light that filled the passage. Janto went in, and the door shut fast behind him.
A gasp, and then a peal of laughter. “Why are you here? Need someone to make you feel virile now your princess has absconded with your manhood?”
“Why do you do that?” This was precisely what he needed. All thoughts fled his mind but the irritation this woman made him feel, always fighting, always on guard. Knowing how she’d react, that she could not hurt him without true feelings motivating her attacks, was a relief.
“Do what?” She smirked. “Speak the truth?”
This time he laughed. She could have given him no better opening. “Speak the truth? If you are so fond of that, then why won’t you tell us why you came to Lansera? You are not a defector—you revel in the repugnant habits of your people, take joy in flinging barbs and feel satisfaction when they sting. And you do not speak truth. If you did, you would admit that you know me. It would give your taunts more weight.”
Confusion sprang over her face, but she recovered quickly. Perhaps she does not share the dreams, but she has to know something. Madel would not have thrown her across his path otherwise. It was too much of a coincidence. He had tried to make sense of it on his own but no longer. She had to help.
“Silver, Vesperi. Tell me about the silver that enshrouds you, follows you everywhere.”
“I do not know what you mean.”
“That is a lie. I know it is a lie. I have seen it too many times.”
“Seen it? But how could you have—”
He whooped at her slip up, adrenaline flowing like water over a falls, and he would follow it wherever the depths took him. Serra was gone. How much farther down could he go? “I have followed you, chased you through many woods. You flit from hill to bush, from town to countryside, but always, always the silver is your calling card. It can be a brilliant flare, but usually it’s a spark I chase, night or day. A spark that brings me from the cave and leads me around many, many bends.”
“It was you.” She circled him, trembling with shock. “That day in the mountains. I sent you away from my trail. Was that how you found me? Did you wait to track me later?”
Her words made him giddy. I am not crazy. “I dreamed that. I dream it every night.” It has all been real. And just that fast, his reverie broke. He wished some things were not real at all. Serra, why?
“You are insane.” She watched him, eyes wide. “You were there in the flesh. I saw you. I should have killed you when I had the chance.”
He did it before he could stop and think. His dagger was very sharp—honing it against stone had been soothing these past few days. It sliced right through the three worn coils of rope binding her hands.
“Do it.” He did not know what power she possessed but was more certain it existed than ever. “Go ahead and do it. Do you think I care right now if you try? I have lost her already. I have already lost my life.”
Vesperi looked between him and her released hands with open shock. She rubbed them, moved each finger slowly to make sure she could. Then she jammed an arm toward the window, out at the open sky, and a moonbeam reached back. Its radiance made him turn away. When he recovered, she had lowered her arm and sat back down on her bed.
He did not know what he had expected, but it was not this, not Vesperi rocking back and forth, holding herself and shaking her head. He moved as fast as he had with the dagger to rest a hand on her neck. With another beneath her chin, he lifted her head.
“Why am I still here?” He didn’t know if he was relieved or more upset than before.
She did not meet his gaze, just clasped and unclasped her hands. “I don’t want to kill you. And I do not know why.”
Her voice was so quiet, he barely heard the words. When she fell silent, he kissed her forehead and stood. “That is one of the sweetest things I have ever been told, coming from you.”
At the door, he paused and she met his gaze. He had recognized her before, in that net. Her irises were molten chocolate now, not silver, but for the first time she was truly the woman in his dreams.