Scarred (Never After Series)

This is my first time in the dungeons, and they’re exactly as I expected them to be. Dark and dreary and smelling of must.

My head pounds from the remnants of the laudanum and I clank my chained-up wrists against the dank stone wall, knowing they’re much too strong for me to break.

I have no clue how long it’s been. I’m not sure if Tristan is still alive, although, as insane as it sounds, I think I’d know if he was no longer in the land of the living.

Despite everything, there’s still a small ember of hope flickering in my chest, and that keeps me holding on.

All is not lost until it is lost.

A door slams open and small cracks of light filter through the iron-barred window of the concrete door. My stomach cramps, icy tendrils of fear worming through my psyche as I wonder if it’s the king coming to claim retribution for my sins against him. Or maybe it’s a guard wanting to take advantage of a chained-up girl with no way to escape.

Turns out, it’s neither.

The cell door swings open, and Marisol, wide eyed and wild-haired, rushes in, her hand covering her mouth as a muffled sob breaks free. She runs over and scans me from head to toe.

“Marisol,” I croak, my voice shaky and strained.

“Milady,” she whispers. There’s a key in her hand, and relief pours through me until I shake.

“Quiet. We have little time.” She looks behind her as she unlocks my chains, blood rushing through my limbs as they drop to the ground. I wince as the feeling comes back into my extremities and I heave myself forward onto my knees, gritting my teeth through the ache of my muscles as I push myself to a stand.

“How?” I ask, rubbing my wrists to help the blood flow.

Marisol smiles. “Together we rule, divided we fall.”

Shock freezes me in place. “You’re a rebel? But you spoke of them so cruelly, I don’t—”

“Once upon a time, I was young and foolish and desperately in love.” She pushes me forward, out of the cell, lowering her voice to a whisper as she leads us to the back corner of the dungeons until we’re facing what looks like a solid stone wall. “He was a penniless man with no title to his name.” She shakes her head. “But I loved him more than anything.”

She turns toward me then, gripping my shoulders tight. “You asked Ophelia about her family, but you never cared to ask of mine. If you had, you would have learned that my father is a social climber. So…” Tears spring to her eyes. “It should be no surprise he threatened to kill my child, in order to keep glory to our name.”

My heart clamps down, somersaulting with pain for what she’s saying.

“But someone came to my aid, and took my precious baby, hiding him deep in the shadows along with the man that I loved. He fed them, clothed them, and promised safety as long as I helped usher in a new dawn.”

My breathing stutters, hope flaring to life in my chest. “Tristan.”

“The scarred prince.” She nods. “The rebel king. He saved my family. It was imperative no one knew of our connection. So yes, I said despicable things. But only because my son’s life depends on us succeeding. I could not trust you, and therefore, I could not speak.”

I open my mouth, my brain trying to catch up and re-slot the pieces of the puzzle into fresh places. “I—”

She shakes her head. “There is no time for this, milady. You must go. Edward is waiting for you in the black forest. He will take you to the shadowed lands, and you can lead the rebels here to save our king.”

“He’s alive?” Tears burst from my eyes, and relief drums through my veins until my legs threaten to collapse. “Tristan’s alive?”

“He is.” She nods, her hand pressing against the stone until a secret passage opens wide. “Now go, before they catch us both.”

Edward’s not alone. Sheina stands next to him, holding my boots, trousers, and black cloak, my daggers lying on top. Emotion swells like a balloon at the sight of her, and I fall into her arms, the clothes dropping into a heap at her feet.

“Shh, milady. Everything will be okay.”

“Sheina, I can’t—I don’t…” My body trembles as I hold her against me.

She strokes my hair, rocking us back and forth, tears streaming down her face as fully as they pour down mine.

“Don’t worry, Sara.” She pulls my face up to hers. “We will save him.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” I whisper. “You could have trusted me.”

She smiles. “I could say the same, best friend.”

I smirk and move my gaze to Edward, who bows. “Milady.”

Stepping in close, I grab his hands. “Tristan trusts you. Can I?”

His jaw tics, eyes blazing as he bows and kisses the back of my palm. “I swear it.”

Nodding, I step back, turning to grab the clothes on the ground, grateful that I can get out of this soiled and torn dress. “Sheina, help me out of this.” I twist back to Edward. “And then take me to the rebels.”

It’s a thirty-minute trek through the forests and back alleys into the shadowed lands, but we make it in one piece. And now I’m in the second story of The Elephant Bones Tavern, staring out of the double doors leading to the Juliette balcony, anxiety filling me to the brim as I stare at the hundreds of people standing outside, spread so far, I wonder how many acres they must cover.

“Morale is low,” Belinda—the woman I’ve only seen once before when she rolled a severed head to my feet—hisses as I strap blades to my thigh and take the pistol from Edward’s hands and place it in a holster on my side.

She watches me, her gaze wary.

“You don’t trust me,” I say.

She tilts her head. “You are the king’s.”

I reach out, placing my hand over hers. “I am your king’s. And I will save him with or without his people.”

Her grin spreads across her rotten teeth and she waves her arm at the door. “Well then, time to convince his people.”

My stomach flips, nerves threatening to tear me apart from the inside out, but I swallow them down, closing my eyes and trying to reach through the ethers; to find Tristan’s power and channel it until he infuses my every cell.

With a deep breath, I step through the doors and out onto the balcony.

The air grows still and tense.

I lick my lips as I look out over the rebels, the hyenas, putting faces to the thought of them for the first time. There are small children staring up with wide eyes, women and men with sorrow in their eyes and exhaustion lined in their pores.

Ragged and worn, but glorious.

These people are the lifeblood of Gloria Terra, just as we are in Silva, and they deserve to be able to live free.

“I am not your king,” I start.

“No shit,” someone yells out.

My chest tightens. “I’m terrified to be standing before you, so much so that every fiber of me wants to turn around and run away. But your leader is in trouble.”

Closing my eyes, I picture Tristan, swallowing around the agony that strips me bare at the thought of never seeing him again; never feeling his lips brush against my skin, or his love devour me whole. I think of all the whispered secrets he spoke into my soul, of how I was his filthy girl, and how he couldn’t wait to see me in a crown and at his side. Of his vision for the future, and the memories of his past.

My eyes pop open.

“I don’t pretend to know what it is you’ve gone through, but I’ve seen struggle and I’ve known strife.” I hesitate. “When I came to Saxum, it was to kill the Faasa’s, every last one, including the scarred prince.”

Rumbles sound through the crowd.

“But then I got to know him—” My throat swells. “And he made me believe in a better way.”

My eyes scan their faces, noticing Belinda has moved to the front of the crowd down below, Edward and Sheina standing at her side. My eyes lock on my friend, and she nods, giving me strength.

“It’s over,” a woman says. “They caught him. We’ve lost.”

“You would give up so easy?” I argue. “How many times has he proven himself to you over and over? And yet at the first sign of struggle, you turn your back?”

I shake my head, praying that my words hit their mark. I don’t know any of this for sure. I’m only going off what Tristan has said, trusting that he speaks the truth.

Belinda steps forward, turning toward the crowd. “He saved me when I went into the castle and was promised certain death.”

The rumbles grow louder.

Then Sheina steps forward, and my heart pounds. “He brings you food, he clothes your babes.”

Gratefulness wraps around my chest and tugs. “He’s risked his life to give you yours,” I cut in. “But this isn’t just about him. I will get him back with or without your help. This is about standing up and seizing the moment. About vengeance for every time they’ve killed someone for simply speaking truth. For every curse, and every name, every bruised and broken bone as they screamed you weren’t worthy.”

Faces change in the crowd, an electric feeling pulsing through the air, building higher with each second.

“I’m not great with words,” I continue. “I can’t wrap the atrocities of what has been and realities of what will come in a pretty bow and make it look like it’s in your favor.”

I slam my fist against my chest. “But together we rule, and divided we fall. I am asking you—begging you—to stand with me. There is no one better to lead you than Tristan Faasa. And he deserves your fight, the same way he has always fought for you.”

Belinda is the first to fall, her head bowed, a loud wail crying from her throat. And then, as if in slow motion, others follow.

One by one, they sink on bended knee, a chant starting slowly. At first, I don’t understand what it is they say, but it grows and rolls over the air and hits my chest as surely as if they struck me in the heart.

“Long live the queen! Long live the queen!”

Tears spring in my eyes as I look over them, staring down at the people—my people—the lifeblood of Gloria Terra, trusting me to lead them to their king.

“We are warriors!” I raise my voice until it’s soaring over their heads like arrows. “This is the revolution! And it’s time for us to take back our home.”