Chapter 78: Disappointed
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Mira
The Cell
The first thing Mira felt was the cold. It seeped into her bones, deeper than any wound. Deeper than any guilt. She tried to move; and couldn't. Iron bit her wrists. Her arms were stretched above her head, chained to the slick stone wall behind her. Her legs gave out, and she sagged against the restraints with a pained gasp.
The room smelled of mildew and dried blood. A cell. Underground. Far from torchlight. Far from mercy. Her head throbbed. A crust of blood clung to her hairline. When she breathed, her ribs stung. She'd been beaten. Not for information. Just for existing. Footsteps approached.
Mira looked up, blinking blearily as the door creaked open and torchlight spilled in like a wound. Lady Nerine stepped through. The strategist wore sapphire-trimmed robes today; flowing, flawless, far too clean. Her blue-black hair was coiled like a serpent across one shoulder. Jewels sparkled at her throat, each one cut like a shard of ocean glass.
She held no whip. No knife. Just a steaming cup of tea. "My poor little traitor," Lady Nerine purred, voice as soft as velvet over bone. "Awake at last. I was beginning to worry you'd died of boredom before I had my fun." Mira said nothing. Her throat was raw. Her eyes, defiant. Lady Nerine sighed, as if Mira's silence was a personal insult.
"You remind me of a jellyfish I once kept," she said, sipping delicately. "Transparent. Beautiful. Stung like sin. But so fragile, in the end. It dissolved with the right touch of salt." She set the cup down on a table Mira hadn't noticed before. Laid out on its surface were delicate instruments. Hooks. Needles. Pliers. None stained. All clean. "Tell me something sweet, darling," Lady Nerine murmured, kneeling to Mira's level. "Do you still dream of her? The princess? Or did the Druid's vines crawl deeper into your head than we thought?"
Mira's lip cracked as she smiled. Blood trickled down her chin. "I dream of you choking on your own jewels," she rasped. Lady Nerine smiled, slow and delighted. "Oh, good. You've still got spirit." She rose to her feet. "Let's see how long that lasts." The door closed behind her with a hiss of steel. Mira exhaled, slow and trembling, and closed her eyes.
"Hold on, Vael," she whispered. "I'll come back to you. Even if I have to crawl through hell."
The silence after Lady Nerine's departure was deafening. No torchlight remained. Only a sliver of moonlight snuck through a crack in the stone, casting a thin white scar across the floor. Mira slumped in her chains, her breath ragged. Every inch of her body ached; not just from the beatings, but from the sheer weight of failure. She'd made her choice. She'd betrayed Ruwan. Betrayed the cause she'd been born into.
And she would make that choice again. Because Vael had looked at her like she wasn't just a weapon. Because Sam had treated her like she could still be something more than a dagger in someone else's hand. And for that; for them; she'd suffer. She let her head rest against the wall and listened. Somewhere deeper in the dungeon, water dripped at irregular intervals. Her arms were numb, her lips cracked, her stomach clawed at itself.
Then; footsteps. Measured. Heavy. She forced her head up as the iron door creaked open again. Torchlight spilled in, painting rust-orange across the damp stones. Lieutenant Rellis stepped inside, his expression unreadable. He carried no whip. No blade. Just a simple waterskin in his gloved hand. Mira blinked slowly. "Come to gloat?" Rellis ignored her. He approached with rigid, mechanical movement; like someone performing a task he neither liked nor understood. "I brought water." Her throat tightened. "Poisoned, I assume. Efficient."
He didn't rise to the bait. He crouched in front of her, unscrewed the cap, and raised the skin to her lips. "Drink." She stared at him. "You're the one who dragged me here. Took my knives. Watched your men strip me of every inch of control."
"I was following orders," he said flatly. "You're still doing it." His jaw flexed. "Drink." Despite herself, she did. The water tasted of iron and mildew. It dripped from her chin as she drank too fast, nearly choking. He didn't stop her. Just let her finish, then recapped the skin and stood again. She coughed once. "No moldy bread? Not even a crust for the prisoner who killed four of your men?" His eyes narrowed. "You killed six." She smirked through the blood. "Did I? Hells. I'm slipping."
He stared at her for a long moment, the torchlight throwing shadows across the hard planes of his face. "You'll break," he said at last. Not cruelly. Just… certain. She let her head rest back against the wall.
"Then you'll be Disappointed."
He said nothing more. Just turned and walked back to the door. He hesitated there, silhouetted in firelight. "She enjoys it, you know," he said quietly. "Lady Lady Nerine . Pain. Defiance. It's a game to her."
"Good," Mira whispered. "I like games." The door closed with a groan of steel. Mira exhaled. Slow. Trembling. The cold was still there. So was the pain. But something else now, too; resolve. Rellis stood at the cell door longer than he should have. The torch in the corridor hissed beside him, casting long shadows across the stone. Behind the heavy door, he could still hear her breathing; labored but steady. Mira. The traitor. The assassin. The woman who'd killed six of his men without blinking. But she'd drunk the water without spitting in his face. She hadn't begged. She hadn't broken.
And something in the way she'd said "Disappointed" kept echoing in his skull like a loose hinge swinging in the wind. She should've been easier to hate. His knuckles rested against the iron handle, unmoving. She wasn't crying. Wasn't cursing. Just waiting. He exhaled, frustrated at himself for lingering. For caring; even in the smallest way. She was dangerous. Poisonous. Loyal to no one but her own convictions. Yet she had chosen to protect the girl. And something in her eyes; bloodied and bruised; hadn't been defiant alone.
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It had been mourning. His hand tightened on the door. "Lieutenant." The word cut the air behind him like a silk-wrapped dagger. Rellis stiffened and turned. Lady Nerine stood in the corridor, her silhouette framed by firelight and malice. Her sapphire-trimmed robe whispered as she stepped forward, trailing the scent of crushed lavender and cruelty. "Leaving so soon?" she purred.
He straightened. "She's restrained. Fed. Hydrated." Lady Nerine's smile sharpened. "How diligent." Their gazes held for a moment too long. He saw the glint in her eye; like a predator scenting uncertainty. She knew. Of course she knew. Rellis inclined his head, masking his disquiet, and stepped aside. "She's all yours, my lady." Lady Nerine ran one jeweled hand along the edge of the door as he passed, her fingers dancing lightly over the iron like it was an instrument waiting to be played.
She didn't watch him go. The door creaked open. Torchlight spilled inside again. Mira, still hanging limp in her chains, raised her head just enough to see the woman step through. Her throat was raw, but she managed a rasp of humor as Lady Nerine entered, "oh, is this the good cop–bad cop routine?" she croaked. "Because honey, I invented that game."
Lady Nerine shut the door behind her without a word. Her sapphires glittered in the low light as she crossed the room; slow, deliberate. She didn't answer. She didn't need to. She picked up something from the table. Mira couldn't see what. But she could hear the soft metallic click. And then Lady Nerine smiled. "Let's begin."
The hallways of the Amir Estate were quieter at night, but never silent. Somewhere in the upper chambers, gears clicked and pulleys shifted; mechanisms built into the old bones of the keep. Patrols marched like clockwork, their boots striking the marble floors in rhythms Rellis once found comforting. Tonight, they made his skin itch. He passed through the second atrium with its fire-glass mosaics, ignored the half-hearted nods from posted guards, and reached his chamber without incident. The door clicked shut behind him, muffling the world. Still, it followed him in.
The room was modest. Spartan, even. A small hearth glowed in one corner. Maps and duty scrolls lay scattered across the desk. A half-polished cuirass rested beside his cot. Orderly. Unchanging. But Rellis didn't sit. He braced both hands on the desk, shoulders tense, and stared down at the ink-streaked map of Emberhold's outer perimeter. Her eyes wouldn't leave him. Dark. Daring. Bloodied, but not broken. Eyes that had looked straight through him; past the armor, past the rank; to the man beneath. And she hadn't begged. She hadn't pleaded. She watched him, like she was the one passing judgment.
Damn her. He slammed a hand down on the desk, hard enough to scatter the scrolls. The flame in the hearth jumped. He tried to ground himself; listing facts, like a soldier should.
Mira is an enemy.
She's a traitor to the Amir and Eberflames.
She's a murderer.
She's dangerous.
She is not your concern.
But the truth splintered between the words. She hadn't killed for pleasure. She hadn't struck first. She'd only drawn blades after they tried to subdue her. And gods help him, she fought like someone with something to protect. Someone who had already sacrificed too much. And that damned whisper she'd muttered when he gave her the water…
"Disappointed."
Why had that word hit so hard? Rellis ran a hand over his face, then sat down heavily on the edge of his cot. His armor creaked. His thoughts didn't. He'd followed orders his whole life. From Emberhold to the Frostline Campaigns. But tonight, something had shifted. A fracture in the steel of his obedience. He leaned forward, elbows on knees, brow furrowed. Maybe it was just the way she looked at him.
Like she expected better.
Like he was better.
The fire crackled softly behind him.
Rellis didn't move for a long time.
The fire burned low.
Rellis sat in silence, his armor half-undone, fingertips resting on his knee like he'd forgotten they could move. Outside, Emberhold buzzed with midnight drills and footfalls. Inside, the barracks room was quiet; too quiet. But his mind was louder than ever.
Twelve Years Earlier, The Frostline Campaign
Lornvale Pass
The orders had seemed simple. Clear a rebel holdfast in the northern cliffs. Interrogate survivors. Secure the ridge for a signal post. Rellis was seventeen; eager, green, loyal to every barked command. Then the snow began to scream.
Not howl.
Scream.
That's what he remembered first. The way the wind twisted, the way the sky shook; not with thunder, but with a low, grating wail that came from beneath the ground itself. Then the mountain cracked. And from the fractured glacier crawled a creature that should not have had bones. It was huge, hulking, shaped like some perversion of a bear; but its hide was iron riveted with glass, and its face split into five serrated maws, all screaming at once. Its joints steamed black fire, and hatred poured off its body like a heatwave from hell.
He had called it a Fang-Torn Brute. One of Wrath's Children.
Born in the wound Wrath carved into the earth during the Old Wars. Hatred made flesh. It hunted hungerly, and it sensed them. The first man to break rank was boiled inside his own armor. The second turned on his commander, eyes gone black, stabbing wildly until Rellis slit his throat just to stop the screaming. Rellis remembered the Vice-Chief's voice like a war drum: "Do not look into its mouth! Do not think about failure! It feeds on them!"
But Rellis had already made that mistake. He'd hesitated. Thought of the boy he'd left behind in Lowmere. The promises he had broken. The rage his father used to beat into him like discipline.
The Brute saw it all. And it charged. He should've died. But the Vice-Chief threw him to the ground and struck the creature with a molten-brand spear, carved from a sunken pyre tree. It pierced the creature's hide, and the snow boiled red. The Brute didn't fall. But it retreated; bleeding hate, screaming names it shouldn't know. Rellis had wanted to believe the spear saved him. But what really saved him… was obedience. A single command; stand; had rooted him in reality. And from that day, he followed orders like scripture. Until now.
The fire cracked. Mira's voice echoed in his mind. "Oh, is this good-cop-bad-cop routine gonna work on me?" The way she'd smiled, despite everything; despite the chains, the wounds, the cruelty. He remembered her eyes as Lady Nerine entered the cell. Not broken. Not pleading. Daring.
"What if disobedience… doesn't mean death?"
"What if it means survival?"
The idea itched under his skin. And for the first time in twelve years, Rellis didn't know who the enemy was.