ELARA'S POV
The cell door slams shut behind me.
"Wait!" I spin around, grabbing the bars. "You said the cure would be delivered within the hour. My brother is dying. He needs it now!"
The guard doesn't even look back. His footsteps echo down the stone hallway until they fade completely.
I'm alone.
The cell is small but clean. There's a bed, a table, even a window with actual glass. This isn't a prison for criminals. It's a holding room for sacrifices.
For people who are already dead.
I sink onto the bed, my hands shaking.
What did I just do? What did I JUST DO?
Three days. I have three days before they take me to the Shadowlands. Three days before I walk through that Gateway and never come back.
But Calla will live. The cure is on its way to him right now. He'll wake up healthy and safe, with enough gold to start a real life. A good life.
That's what matters.
That's the only thing that matters.
I press my palms against my eyes, trying not to scream.
I'm twenty-four years old and I just volunteered to die.
Time crawls by. I count the stones in the wall. One hundred and forty-seven. I count the bars on the window. Twelve. I count my heartbeats until I lose track.
Finally, FINALLY, footsteps approach.
A different guard stops at my cell. He's younger, with kind eyes. "Miss Thorne?"
"Is my brother okay?" I jump up. "Did he get the medicine?"
"The royal healer delivered it personally an hour ago. Your brother's fever broke within minutes. He's going to make a full recovery."
My knees almost give out. "He's... he's really going to be okay?"
"Yes, miss. The cure works fast. He'll be completely healthy by tomorrow."
I can't speak. Can't breathe. Relief floods through me so powerfully it hurts.
Calla is safe. He's going to live.
Everything else is worth it.
"Thank you," I whisper. "Thank you so much."
The guard nods. "I brought you food. And clean clothes for tomorrow."
He slides a tray through the bars along with a bundle of fabric. Real food—bread, cheese, fruit. Not the stale scraps Calla and I usually eat.
"What happens tomorrow?" I ask.
"Lord Varen wants to see you. To prepare you for the journey."
The way he says it makes my skin crawl. Like "prepare" means something worse than it sounds.
But I just nod. "Okay."
The guard leaves. I eat the food without tasting it. My mind is spinning too fast.
Why did Thalia look so satisfied when I volunteered? Why did Varen seem like he was expecting me specifically?
This whole thing feels wrong. Like a trap.
But what choice did I have? Let Calla die? Watch him cough up blood until there was nothing left of him?
No. Never. I'd make the same choice a thousand times.
Even if it kills me.
Night falls. I try to sleep but can't. Every time I close my eyes, I see the Shadowlands from the stories. Dark forests filled with monsters. A palace made of bones. And the Dark King himself—a creature so evil, so twisted, that just looking at him drives people mad.
Is that how I'm going to die? Will he tear me apart? Will I go insane first?
Stop it, I tell myself. You made your choice. Be brave enough to face it.
Morning comes too soon.
The kind guard returns with breakfast. "Lord Varen is ready for you."
He leads me through the palace. We pass servants who won't meet my eyes. Guards who whisper as I walk by. Everyone knows what I am.
A dead girl walking.
We reach a private office. Varen sits behind a massive desk, writing something. He doesn't look up when I enter.
"Sit," he says.
I sit.
He finishes writing, then finally looks at me. That snake smile is back. "How are you feeling, Miss Thorne?"
"Like I'm about to die."
He laughs. Actually laughs. "Honesty. How refreshing. Most tributes spend their last days crying and begging to be released."
"Would begging change anything?"
"No."
"Then why waste the energy?"
His smile widens. "I see why you were chosen."
Chosen. Not volunteered. Chosen.
"What do you mean?" I lean forward. "You wanted me specifically, didn't you? This whole announcement was to get me to volunteer."
Varen doesn't deny it. "You're perceptive. That's good. You'll need that where you're going."
"Why me?"
"Because you're special, Elara Thorne." He stands, walking around the desk. "Your family has a very interesting history. Your grandfather wasn't executed just for treason. He was executed for what he knew."
My heart pounds. "What did he know?"
"The truth about the Shadowlands. About the Dark King. About the ancient pact between our kingdoms." Varen circles me like a predator. "Your grandfather tried to reveal it all. He had to be silenced."
"You're saying he wasn't a traitor."
"Oh, he was a traitor. Just not to Aeloria." Varen stops in front of me. "He was a traitor to me and the others who benefit from the war between our realms."
I can barely process this. "The plague. You created it, didn't you? To force tributes to the Shadowlands."
"Very good." He sounds genuinely impressed. "The plague is magical. Created specifically to be incurable by normal means. Only the Dark King has the power to cure it. And every tribute we send feeds his curse, makes him stronger, more dangerous. Eventually, he'll become unstable enough to attack Aeloria. Then we can justify destroying the Shadowlands completely and claiming their magic for ourselves."
Horror washes over me. "You're killing innocent people. On both sides."
"I'm ensuring Aeloria's future dominance." Varen leans down, his face inches from mine. "And you, dear Elara, are the final piece. You have something in your blood. Something ancient. Something that will either break the Dark King's curse or destroy him completely. Either way, we win."
"What's in my blood?"
"That's for you to discover. If you survive long enough." He straightens. "You leave tomorrow at dawn. The Gateway is a three-day ride from here. Use that time wisely. Say goodbye to your brother. Make peace with your death."
"And if I refuse to go?"
Varen's smile turns cold. "Then the cure we gave your brother will reverse itself. He'll die within hours, painfully. And we'll simply choose another tribute. Someone less useful, but dead is dead."
He has me trapped. Completely trapped.
"I'll go," I say quietly.
"I know you will. You're predictable that way. So desperate to save others that you'll sacrifice yourself without hesitation." Varen walks back to his desk. "It's almost admirable. Almost."
The guard escorts me back to my cell. My mind is reeling.
Everything I thought I knew is wrong. My grandfather wasn't a traitor—he was trying to expose a conspiracy. The plague is a weapon. And there's something in my blood that makes me dangerous to the Dark King.
But what?
That night, they bring Calla to see me.
He bursts into the cell and throws his arms around me. "Elara! You're alive! I woke up and you were gone and the healer said you volunteered and—" He pulls back, tears streaming down his face. "Why would you do this?"
"Because you're my brother." I hug him tight. "Because I love you. Because your life is worth more than mine."
"That's not true!" He's crying harder now. "Please don't go. Please. We'll find another way. We'll—"
"There is no other way." I hold his face in my hands. "Listen to me. You're going to be okay. You have gold now. Land. You can build a real life. Go to school. Make friends. Fall in love. Do all the things we never could."
"I don't want any of that without you!"
"You'll learn to want it. I promise." I wipe his tears away. "Be happy, Calla. That's all I ask. Be happy for both of us."
We hold each other until the guards come to take him away. His screams echo down the hallway long after he's gone.
I don't cry. I used up all my tears years ago.
I just sit in the dark and wait for dawn.
When morning comes, they dress me in white. The color of sacrifice.
The kind guard leads me to the courtyard where a carriage waits. Varen is there, along with a dozen soldiers.
"Ready for your journey, Miss Thorne?" Varen asks.
I don't answer.
As I climb into the carriage, I see her.
Thalia stands at the palace entrance, watching. When our eyes meet, she waves.
Then mouths two words: "You're welcome."
The carriage lurches forward.
And as we roll toward the Gateway, toward the Shadowlands, toward my death, one though
t burns in my mind:
If I somehow survive this, Thalia is going to pay for everything she's done.