—Nerys—
They didn't drag her down the stairs.
They paraded her.
Two knights at her back. One in front. Heavy boots clanging on the stone steps with every smug stride. Nerys's arms were bound behind her, rope biting into her wrists, but she didn't stumble.
She wouldn't give them that.
Still, her legs ached. Her lip bled. One eye was already swelling shut.
"You really thought she loved you?" one sneered. "That little frostbitten freak?"
Nerys didn't answer.
"You two were disgusting. Everyone saw it."
Another elbowed her in the ribs. She coughed, staggered, but stayed upright.
"She looked at you like a lost puppy," the one behind her muttered. "No wonder Adriana threw her out. Probably wanted to vomit."
Nerys's voice was hoarse but steady. "Keep talking. You're just making me stronger."
A fist slammed into the back of her head.
Stars exploded behind her eyes. Her knees hit the stone, but she forced herself up again, spitting blood on the floor.
The knight in front of her turned and backhanded her.
"Trash. Perverted little traitor."
She swayed but smiled through cracked teeth. "Still prettier than you."
That earned her a kick to the stomach. She dropped this time, curling inward. The ropes bit deeper into her skin. Blood smeared down her cheek.
"I hope she gets this letter," the guard behind her said with a grin. "I hope she reads it and believes every word. Bet she's halfway to killing herself already."
Nerys's breath caught.
That—
That one stung.
They wanted her to hear it. Wanted her to feel that weight. The knife behind the lie.
They'd shown her the forged letter before they beat her. Forced her to read it aloud.
Tried to make her rewrite it.
She refused.
So they stopped asking.
Another blow landed across her ribs. Another stomp to the thigh.
By the time they reached the cell, her body felt like broken metal barely holding shape.
The door groaned open. They tossed her inside like garbage. Her shoulder slammed into the wall. She hit the floor hard.
The door slammed shut behind her.
And the darkness swallowed her whole.
She lay there, cheek pressed to cold stone, vision blurred and smeared red. Her heartbeat echoed in her ears louder than any screams.
She didn't cry.
She didn't scream.
She whispered.
"Solene… don't believe them."
She closed her eyes.
And waited for the dark to pass.
—Nerys—
Time lost meaning in the dark.
Nerys didn't know how long she lay on the cold stone floor, but it was enough for her blood to dry in patches across her cheek and for her hands to go numb from the bindings. The silence down here was thick, like the air itself had given up the effort of sound.
She breathed in shallow gasps, each one scraping against the bruised ribs she couldn't cradle.
"Solene…"
Her name lived in Nerys's mouth like a prayer. Or a ghost.
She could see her even now—burning white-blue in the snow, that impossible mix of gentleness and violence. The way she looked at Nerys, like she wasn't afraid of anything but losing her.
Her Solene.
And now… she was gone.
Because of a lie. A forged sentence meant to kill something that had never been theirs to touch.
Nerys blinked slowly. Her vision blurred—not from tears, but from the fuzz of slipping in and out.
---
Flash.
Nerys, twelve, standing in front of Solene's bed with a wooden sword, swearing to protect her from monsters. Solene had laughed, then hugged her so tight her ribs ached.
Flash.
Training yard. Fire in her lungs. Solene watching from the balcony, a flicker of frost curling at her fingertips when Nerys bled. She always hated the sight of Nerys hurt.
Flash.
Snow, exile, a kiss behind a stone wall with the scent of burning pine in the air.
"You're mine."
"Then I'm yours."
---
Pain pulled her back.
Her legs ached. Her ribs throbbed. Her mouth was dry and coated with the taste of iron.
Nerys moved slightly—barely a twitch—and gasped. Her vision dimmed again.
"Solene… please… don't break…"
She didn't know if she said it aloud.
Didn't know if her lips moved at all.
She just needed her to hold on.
Just long enough.
---
—Seraphyne—
The key turned with a soft click.
She opened the cell door inch by inch, black fire swirling around her palm to drown the hinges in silence. She moved like a shadow, breath even, mind sharp. The corridors behind her remained empty. For now.
The moment the door was open, she stepped in—
—and froze.
There she was.
Nerys Cael.
Broken. Bloodied. Alive.
Seraphyne moved quickly, kneeling at her side. She placed two fingers against her neck.
Still warm. Still breathing.
Barely.
She whispered, "Nerys?"
No response.
She saw the bruises. The swelling. The dry blood crusted across her jaw. Seraphyne's hands curled slowly into fists.
They did this.
She shook the thought off and leaned in.
"Hey," she said again, firmer this time. "Can you hear me?"
A flicker. A breath.
Nerys's lips barely moved.
"…who…"
Seraphyne lowered her voice. "Solene sent me."
That word.
That name.
It brought a shudder to Nerys's lips.
"…alive…?"
Seraphyne's throat tightened.
"Not fully," she said softly. "But she's breathing."
She slipped an arm under Nerys's shoulders.
"Let's make sure she keeps breathing."
Gently, she lifted her. Nerys groaned faintly but didn't resist. Seraphyne wrapped her cloak around her, careful not to jostle the worst injuries.
Then she stood, one arm around the woman who'd cracked Solene's ice and bled for it.
And just like that—
She vanished into the shadows.
The rescue had begun.
Chapter Thirteen: Bleed for Her
—Part III—
The halls were darker now.
Or maybe Seraphyne just made them that way.
She moved silently, one arm tight around Nerys's bruised form, her other hand casting a steady trail of shadow that swallowed their presence whole. Her magic curled up the walls, slick and invisible, stretching far beyond what she usually dared. Cloaking not just herself—but Nerys, too.
One breath at a time.
One step at a time.
They passed the first patrol ten paces away.
Boots. Blades. Laughter.
Seraphyne pressed herself against the wall, her shadows sinking into the torchlight like an ink spill. The guards kept walking.
Nerys shifted in her arms. Barely. But enough.
"Don't," Seraphyne whispered. "Not yet."
Nerys's voice was small, slurred. "Who… are you…"
Seraphyne kept moving, every footstep a prayer against creaking floorboards. "Later."
"…why…"
Seraphyne looked down. Those eyes—one swollen shut, the other barely open—still tried to focus. Still wanted answers.
"She's waiting for you," Seraphyne said.
That seemed to stop Nerys's breath.
"…Solene…"
"Yes."
Silence followed.
But Seraphyne felt it—the shiver of a heartbeat that dared to hope.
They turned down a narrow hall—guardless, quiet.
Her magic was thinning.
Her arms ached.
She couldn't remember the last time she'd pushed herself this far. Not since her escape. Not since she'd sworn she would never bleed for anyone again.
But she kept going.
They reached the servant's stairwell. The back hall. The hidden entrance.
Almost there.
Nerys stirred again. This time more awake. "You're… a demon."
Seraphyne smirked faintly. "What gave me away?"
"…you're helping me."
"I know," Seraphyne said. "It confuses me, too."
Another corner. Another breath.
She saw the hidden door—the one Lira showed them.
Relief cracked across her spine like lightning.
She reached it. Opened it with her last flicker of magic.
They slipped inside.
The door sealed.
Only then did Seraphyne let the shadows fall.
She collapsed to her knees, still holding Nerys close.
Both of them panting. Alive.
Barely.
"Rest," Seraphyne said softly. "We're not safe yet. But we're close."
And for the first time since she arrived in Tartarus—
She believed it.
---
The hidden corridor was narrow and cold, lined with cracked stone and barely tall enough for Seraphyne to carry Nerys without brushing her head on the ceiling. A half-burned torch cast dim light in a bracket, and the only sound was the ragged rhythm of their breathing.
They weren't safe.
But for the first time in hours, they weren't actively dying either.
Seraphyne leaned Nerys against the wall, slowly sliding down beside her. She tried to keep hold of her strength, but the shadows had drained her. The edges of her vision pulsed.
Magic fatigue was no joke.
Nerys was still barely holding herself up, arms limp, her body one raw bruise. But her eye—what was left of it—watched Seraphyne closely.
"You okay?" she rasped.
Seraphyne huffed a weak breath. "You're the one half-dead in chains, and you're asking me?"
"I've… had worse." Nerys gave a faint, crooked smile. "Probably."
Seraphyne leaned her head back against the wall and closed her eyes for just a second. "I'll believe that when you're not bleeding on me."
A beat of silence passed.
Then Nerys spoke again, quieter. "You still haven't said why."
Seraphyne's eyes opened slowly.
"Why what?"
"Why you helped me. Why you risked this. You're not one of us. You're not even from here."
Seraphyne stared at the ceiling, lips twitching. "You ever do something that doesn't make sense, but your body moves anyway? Like you're watching yourself and thinking: 'This is stupid, this is reckless, this is going to get me killed'—but you still do it?"
Nerys blinked. "Yeah."
Seraphyne turned her head slightly, looked at her. "Then you get it."
Another pause.
"I thought it was just guilt," Seraphyne said. "I thought I saw someone broken and I didn't want to watch her die. I thought maybe I was trying to be… decent. Just once."
Her voice dropped to something softer. Slower.
"But then she broke, and I didn't leave."
Nerys's breath hitched.
Seraphyne looked down at her fingers, the faint flickers of burned-out magic curling along her skin.
"I think I might be falling for her," she said. "And it scares the hell out of me."
Nerys didn't move. But her voice, when it came, was warm and ragged.
"She has that effect."
Seraphyne smirked, exhausted.
"We're not safe yet," she said, shifting back to business. "Once we hit the main streets, we keep moving. I've got enough left to hide us once, maybe twice."
Nerys nodded weakly.
Together, they stood—slowly, painfully. Seraphyne hoisted Nerys over her shoulder again. The door creaked open, and cold night air rushed in.
Tartarus was waiting.
But this time, they were moving toward Solene.
And Seraphyne had no intention of arriving empty-handed.