Brood of Vipers, Maggie Claire [e novels to read .TXT] 📗

maniacal, ruthless training completed, it is now time to face the tunnel. “I spent years in that prison cell waiting to go mad, wishing I would just die and get it over with. And now I’m here, nearing the one day of which I never dared to dream.” Helena rubs her hands through her hair, still reveling in its silky texture and clean scent. “Now that I’m so close to escaping those cells for good, I can admit how badly I want to be free. I can almost taste it, Ithel,” Helena confesses, crossing her thin, toned arms as she asks the question she longs and dreads to utter aloud. “Do you really think I have any chance of surviving the tunnel?”

Ithel rises from his perch on the armchair by her bed, moving until he stands right in front of Helena. His fingers walk down her cheek as he watches the bobbing of her throat. Softly he recalls the way it felt to brush his lips across her forehead, the tip of her nose, the hollow at the base of her throat. He groans at the memories, wishing he could pull Helena close. His hands clench by his side as he imagines placing them on the small of her back, holding her tightly to himself. He’d never let her slip away again. No, Ithel scoffs as past mistakes taint his memories. I cannot let her break my heart again. He’d keep Helena like a cherished locket, close to his heart at all times, but always on a chain, easily removed from around his neck. His fingers tighten on her chin, keeping her locked in place as he whispers, “I can’t really believe no one has survived the tunnel. It’s possible that every one of the spies Alaric’s used in the past went through this same trial. Our king is not creative enough to use more than one means of determining a prisoner’s mettle. Only the strongest will make it. And in my opinion, if anyone has a chance, it’s you, Helena. You have the drive and endurance to face what lies in the tunnel. I have no doubt you will succeed.” Then, before allowing himself to act on his romantic fantasy, Ithel drifts away on the breeze, mumbling, “Get dressed. I’ll return when you’re ready.”

Helena’s hands are cold as she reaches for the lightweight pants and sleeveless shirt Ithel chose for her. Her fingers tremble as she reaches up to brush her cheek, tracing the places Ithel had touched. Shivering as her eyes drift close, she can still feel the kiss of the wind he’d created as he fled from her presence. “Oh, Ithel….” Her voice fades, racing on the breeze as if it could somehow catch her former lover and drag him back to her side. I wish you knew everything in my heart.

After about a half an hour, Helena stands before the mirror one final time. “You can make it through this,” she tells her reflection, her jaw setting as a determined fire flickers to life. “You have to—this isn’t just about survival.” This is about revenge, about making recompense for a litany of wrongs caused by Alaric, perpetrated by his soldiers, and silently condoned by all the citizens of Déchets who did not speak up when they should have done. This is about protecting my daughter and Ithel and the Ddraigs and keeping the Carreglas from Alaric’s greedy clutches. This is about saving another nation from ruination, even if it means I must bring down my own.

Ithel returns to the infirmary with the sunlight blazing through the open windows behind him. Gulping once, Ithel moves closer and wordlessly ties a blindfold around Helena’s eyes. His fingers graze the back of her neck as he tightens the thick material into her snarled hair. Her shoulders tense and pull toward her ears. Ithel is a distraction I do not need right now. Ithel lightly grips her elbow, silently urging her to move forward. Calm, quiet, patient. Helena breathes the mantra over and over with every step, her lower jaw beginning to tremble. Yet despite her resolve, Helena hesitates at the doorway and pleads, “Don’t come with me, Ithel.”

“Helena—”

“Please,” Helena pleads, her heart fluttering in her chest as she cries, “It has nothing to do with us. I just cannot face this knowing you are watching. I don’t want you to watch me die.”

“I do not have a choice, Helena!” Ithel rips the blindfold away to stare into Helena’s eyes. Her furious, angry, defiant eyes, the very ones that still haunt his dreams. “I am just as much a slave as all the people who have given you their life’s strength to heal you every day since we pulled you out of the prisons. Can you not see that?”

“What are you talking about?” Helena demands, shocked by his sudden revelation. “You are a slave?”

“I mean, if you get hurt in the tunnel, I have been spelled to force my energy into you for healing, even if it brings my own death.” Ithel’s voice shatters as he pulls her unyielding form closer, finding comfort in her proximity even as he grieves his own circumstances. “Every one of the ‘guards’ used in this trial is a slave, Helena, including me. I am supposed to keep you alive at all costs. Alaric told me you’d enjoy the irony of the situation; he said you’d really get a kick out of standing over my body as your energy drains mine dry.”

“But why didn’t you tell me sooner? And how did you end up enslaved in the first place? When I left, you were still in the border guards! What happened?” Helena cries even as she struggles against his closeness. The familiar scent of his skin is almost too much to bear.

“I defied the king,” Ithel breathes into her hair as he pushes her gently aside. “After you left me, I lost my mind. Neither the palace nor the border guard stations offered me