Elara's POV
The voice vanished as quickly as it had come, leaving only silence and the interrogators' frightened faces.
"What was that?" one of them whispered, his blade shaking in his hand.
"Nothing," the lead interrogator snapped, but his voice wasn't steady anymore. "Just the wind through the dungeon vents. Now—"
He grabbed my chin, forcing me to look at him. His fingers dug into my jaw until I tasted blood.
"Who are your dragon contacts?"
"I don't have any," I said through gritted teeth. "I've never met a dragon in my life."
His fist slammed into my stomach.
I doubled over, gasping, the chains rattling as I fell to my knees. Pain exploded through my middle, making it impossible to breathe. When I finally sucked in air, it felt like swallowing fire.
"Wrong answer," he said calmly. "Let's try again."
The hours blurred together after that. They showed me letters—perfect copies of my handwriting, arranging meetings with someone called "The Scorched One." Plans to poison the king. Promises to open the palace gates.
"I never wrote these!" I screamed until my throat was raw. "Someone forged them!"
"Your handwriting. Your seal. Your signature." Another interrogator spread the papers in front of my face. "Even the ink matches the batch you ordered last month."
That detail made me freeze. How could they know that unless... unless someone close to me had helped plan this. Someone who knew everything about my life.
"Who did this to me?" I whispered. "My father? Adrian?"
The lead interrogator's smile was thin and cruel. "Does it matter? You're going to confess either way."
He nodded to the others.
They grabbed my left hand and slammed it flat against a wooden table I hadn't noticed before. My fingers spread across the rough surface, and I saw the tools laid out beside it. Hammers. Pincers. Things I couldn't name but knew were meant to cause pain.
"No," I breathed. "Please, don't—"
"Last chance," he said. "Confess, and this stops."
"I can't confess to something I didn't do!"
He picked up a small hammer.
"Then we'll start with your fingers. One at a time. Until you remember the truth."
The first strike made me scream so loud I thought my throat would tear. The second turned my vision white with agony. By the third, I was begging.
"Please! Please stop! I'll say anything, just please—"
"Then say you're guilty."
"I—I can't—" Tears poured down my face. "It's not true, I swear it's not—"
The fourth finger. The fifth.
I was sobbing now, great heaving gasps that hurt my bruised ribs. My left hand was a mass of swollen, broken fingers that wouldn't move right. The pain was so big it felt like my whole body was made of it.
"Confess," he said again, reaching for my right hand.
"I'm innocent," I whispered, the words automatic now. "I'm innocent. I'm innocent."
He sighed like I was a disappointing student. "Very well. We have three more days before your trial. Let's see how long your innocence lasts."
They left me chained to the wall, my broken hand cradled against my chest. The cold stone pressed against my back. Water dripped somewhere in the darkness. And the pain—the pain was everywhere, pulsing with every heartbeat.
I don't know how long I sat there. Hours? Days? Time stopped meaning anything.
But then I heard footsteps.
Not the heavy boots of guards. These were lighter. Familiar.
A torch appeared in the corridor, and behind it—
"Isolde?" My voice came out as a croak.
My half-sister stepped into view, beautiful even in the dim light. Her golden hair was perfect. Her dress was clean. She looked like she'd just come from a party while I sat broken in the dark.
"Oh, Elara." She pressed a hand to her mouth, her eyes welling with tears. "What have they done to you?"
"Help me," I begged. "Please, you know I'm innocent. Tell them—"
"I can't." She knelt just outside the cell bars, close but not close enough to touch. "Father showed me the letters. The evidence. Elara, how could you?"
The betrayal hit harder than any fist.
"You don't believe me either?"
"I want to," she said, and she sounded like she meant it. "But the proof is so clear. And Father said... he said you've been acting strange for months. Meeting with suspicious people. Sneaking out at night."
"That's a lie! I never—" But then I remembered. Three months ago, I had snuck out. Once. To visit the orphanage outside the city walls, bringing food and blankets. I'd gone in secret because Adrian said it wasn't proper for a future queen to mingle with common children.
Had someone been watching me? Twisting even that innocent act into evidence of treason?
"Isolde, please." I reached toward her with my good hand. "You've known me your whole life. Do you really think I could murder anyone?"
For a moment—just a moment—doubt flickered in her eyes.
Then she stood up, smoothing her skirt. "I came to say goodbye. The trial is tomorrow. After they find you guilty..." She couldn't finish the sentence.
"After they kill me, you mean."
She flinched. "I'm sorry. I truly am. But perhaps... perhaps this is for the best. You always were different, Elara. Special. Maybe too special for this world."
She turned to leave.
"Wait!" Desperation made me reckless. "If I'm going to die anyway, at least tell me the truth. Did you help Father frame me? Did you want Adrian that badly?"
Isolde looked back, and for the first time, I saw something cold in her eyes. Something that had always been there, hidden beneath the sweet sister act.
"Goodbye, Elara," she said softly. "I'll make sure Adrian remembers you fondly."
Her footsteps faded away, leaving me alone in the dark again.
I slumped against the wall, too empty even for tears. Tomorrow I would stand trial. Tomorrow they would declare me guilty. And the day after...
The day after, they would take me to the ice caves. The place where they sent people to die. Where the Destroyer—the ancient dragon who burned kingdoms—would come and end my suffering.
Maybe that would be a mercy.
I closed my eyes, trying to ignore the throbbing pain in my hand.
And then I felt it again. That impossible warmth in my chest. Growing stronger now, like a flame waking up after sleeping for years.
My eyes snapped open.
In the darkness of my cell, a tiny spark of fire danced above my unbroken palm—silver and beautiful and utterly impossible.
I wasn't imagining it. It was real.
And somewhere far away, I could have sworn I heard the sound of wings.