Release(79)

Sitting up on his flimsy cot in the tiny room, resting his head against the stone wall, he decided he was glad he wasn’t dying a virgin. That was one thing to be grateful for, he supposed. Forcing himself to think along those lines, he decided he was glad that Risciter was gone as well. And he was glad that he’d been in love, and that he’d had a moment, only hours ago, really, when he thought that life was damned near perfect with Ariana in his arms, their bright future laid out in front of them.

But that was all he could manage in gratitude. He wasn’t glad. He wasn’t pleased. He’d been captured, forced through a sham trial, and they were going to execute him for crimes he hadn’t committed. To think that the rest of the galaxy would think he’d killed Lilla, the closest thing he’d had to a mother after his own mother had died. It was cruel. Twisted. Keirth found he hated the idea of his name being sullied in that way.

Deeply, most of all, he realized just how fiercely he wanted to live. His life could have been about so much more than revenge. But now...this was all he had. He bitterly considered that his plans, made when he was fifteen years old, had worked out exactly the way he’d imagined them. He’d killed Risciter, and now he would hang for it. Why had he ever dared to dream of anything more?

And when he thought about it, he wasn’t actually grateful that he’d loved Ariana. If he hadn’t, this would be easier. There’d be no ache for what he was giving up, and he wouldn’t have to worry about her. No, it had all been a brutal joke, experiencing any of it. He’d had hope for a life only to have it snatched away from him as soon as he got close to having it.

Keirth glared at the walls of his prison cell, and the night raced past him much too quickly.

* * *

Ariana groggily opened her eyes. Everything was dim in the room she was in. Where was she? The walls were gray. There was no furniture except the bed she lay on. The room was so small...

That was right. Winfield. She’d woken up in this room before. How many times? Two? Three? How long had she been here? And was it too late to save Keirth?

The last thing she remembered was being inside a doctor’s office. He’d had a kind voice, and he’d asked her to tell him what had happened to her. They had her so drugged. They were always forcing her to swallow pills, and the pills made everything so fuzzy. The doctor had seemed like a nice man. She’d hoped he might be able to help her. She wanted help, so she’d told him everything, the whole story. He’d been quiet, and when she was finished, she’d held her breath, hoping he’d tell her that there was some way to fix everything.

But instead, he’d told her she had delusions, asked her why she was clinging to this version of her memory. Told her he wanted to help her uncover reality.

She’d been angry. She remembered yelling. She remembered getting up out of her chair—

Now she was back in the gray room. She hardly had the energy to try to get out of bed. They must have sedated her again. How long had she been here? She remembered waking up a few times, but she hadn’t been awake for whole days, had she? And how long had she slept? She had no news of the rest of the world. No news of Keirth.

If the situations were reversed, Keirth would fight for her. He would rescue her from jail. He’d do it. She knew he would. She had to save him. She had to force herself to move. To think.

She lifted one of her arms. It was as heavy as lead. She let it drop back against the bed. What was she going to do?

The door to the gray room opened, and bright light streamed in. Ariana squinted, covering her eyes. Were they coming to give her more pills? She couldn’t take them, not this time. But they always looked inside her mouth, under her tongue. They always stroked her throat and forced her to swallow. What was she going to do?

But instead a voice said, “You have a visitor.”

And Ariana recognized the silhouette in the doorway as Aunt Tildy.

Ariana did her best to sit up in bed. She managed to prop herself into a half-reclining, half-lying-down pose with some effort.

The door closed behind Aunt Tildy and the two of them were alone. Aunt Tildy pulled up a gray chair and set it next to the bed. The she settled down in it. She rummaged through her purse for a flask. Unscrewing it, she offered it to Ariana. “Nip?”

Ariana shook her head. What was Aunt Tildy doing here?

Aunt Tildy shrugged. She took a long swig from her flask, considered it, took another swig, and then capped it and put it away. “You know that my maid Tira was having a fling with Risciter’s valet earlier this season, don’t you?”

Ariana furrowed her brow. Aunt Tildy had come to gossip about the maids’ love lives? She felt muddled and confused. “No.”