Elara's POV
I don't sleep.
Instead, I read forbidden books by lamplight until my eyes burn. The Nature of Curses explains that most curses are simple—revenge magic fueled by hate. They kill quickly or not at all.
But some curses are different. Powered by genuine anguish, cast by dying witches with nothing left to lose. Those curses are alive. Aware. Nearly impossible to break.
When Commander Thorne opens the hidden door at dawn, I'm still reading.
"You stayed up all night," he observes.
"Your curse isn't normal." I hold up the book. "It's a death curse—the rarest kind. The witch who cast it poured her dying breath into it. That's why it's lasted three years when it should have killed you in months."
Something flickers in his eyes. Surprise, maybe. Or hope.
"Come." He gestures toward the study. "No cage today. We have work to do."
I follow him out. My legs are still shaky from three days cramped in iron, but I can walk. That's something.
The study looks different in morning light—less like a prison, more like a scholar's sanctuary. Books everywhere, maps covering the walls, a fireplace crackling with warmth.
Commander Thorne sits at his desk. Gestures to the chair across from him.
I sit warily.
"I'm going to ask you questions," he says. "Answer honestly and I'll give you more books. Lie or refuse, and you go back in the cage."
"What kind of questions?"
"About your magic." He pulls out a journal and pen. "When did it first appear?"
I hesitate. These are the same questions the Inquisition asks before they burn you.
"This isn't an interrogation for a trial," he says, reading my fear. "I need to understand your magic to know if you're powerful enough to break my curse. That's all."
"During Seraphine's wedding," I answer carefully. "When she said 'I do.' That was the first time."
He writes that down. "No signs before? No strange incidents as a child?"
"None. I was normal my whole life until—" My voice catches. "Until I wasn't."
"Late manifestation," he murmurs, still writing. "Interesting. That usually indicates powerful bloodlines. Magic that was suppressed or dormant." He looks up. "Do you know anything about your ancestors? Any family stories about strange abilities?"
"No. My family is merchants. We sell fabric and wine. Nothing magical."
"That you know of." He taps his pen against the journal. "The Inquisition has spent two hundred years hunting witches. Many magical families learned to hide their heritage, suppress their powers, pretend to be normal. Your magic awakening at twenty-five suggests something triggered it."
"My sister's happiness?" I say bitterly.
"Emotional trauma," he corrects. "Strong emotions can crack through years of suppression. Tell me what you felt right before your magic exploded."
I close my eyes, remembering. "Trapped. Like I was disappearing while everyone watched Seraphine shine. Like I'd spend my whole life being invisible and nothing and—" I stop. "It felt like dying."
"So your magic erupted to save you." He writes faster now. "Self-preservation instinct. That's primal magic, Elara. The oldest kind."
The way he says my name—not "the witch" or "prisoner"—startles me.
"Next question," he continues. "Can you feel curses on other people?"
"I don't know. I've only touched you."
"Have you touched anyone else since your magic awakened?"
"The guards who chained me. The priests in the dungeon." I pause. "I didn't feel anything from them."
"Because they weren't cursed. But you felt mine immediately." His gray eyes study me intently. "That suggests you have curse-sight—the ability to sense magical corruption. It's incredibly rare. Most witches can't detect curses at all."
"Is that good or bad?"
"For breaking my curse? Essential." He closes the journal. "One more test. I need you to touch my hand again. Focus this time. Tell me everything you sense."
He extends his right hand across the desk—the one turning to stone.
I stare at it. Last time I touched him, the curse attacked me. Sent pain screaming through my body.
"I'll stop you if it gets dangerous," he says quietly. "I won't let it kill you."
"Why not? If I die, you just find another witch."
"There is no other witch." His voice is flat. "You're the only one in three years who could sense the curse. If you die, I die. We're bound now whether we like it or not."
I reach across the desk slowly. My fingers hover above his palm.
"Focus on the magic," he instructs. "Not the pain. See if you can understand its structure."
I touch his hand.
The curse slams into me instantly—but I'm ready this time. Instead of pulling away, I push my own magic forward. Green light flows from my palm into his skin.
And suddenly, I see it.
Dark magic wrapped around his entire body like chains. But not random—carefully constructed, layer upon layer of binding spells. The curse isn't just killing him. It's teaching him.
"Oh gods," I breathe. "It's showing you their faces."
"What?"
"The witches you burned. The curse makes you see them. Feel what they felt. Experience their deaths over and over." My magic digs deeper, and the horror grows. "Every night, you relive every execution. That's the real punishment."
His face has gone completely white.
"Can you see how many?" His voice shakes. "How many deaths I'm reliving?"
I focus harder. The curse shows me flickering images—faces screaming, bodies burning, children crying.
"Fifty-three," I whisper. "And one of them was just a child. Eight years old."
He jerks his hand away. Stands abruptly. Turns his back to me.
"Elena Cross's daughter," he says roughly. "I tried to stop her execution. I failed."
Silence fills the study. Outside, wind howls against the fortress walls.
"The curse knew," I say quietly. "It's punishing you not just for the deaths, but for the one you couldn't save. The guilt is feeding it, making it stronger."
He doesn't move. Doesn't speak.
I stand, moving around the desk. He's trembling—this man who's supposed to be stone-hearted and merciless.
"Commander—"
"Cassian." He still won't look at me. "If we're bound by this curse, you should use my name."
"Cassian, then." The name feels strange on my tongue. "I can feel the curse's structure now. It's complex, but not impossible. If I can—"
"It's not just the curse." He turns finally, and I see raw fear in his eyes. "Look."
He pulls off his jacket. Unbuttons his shirt.
Gray stone covers his entire right arm, shoulder, and half his chest. It's spreading faster than before—I can literally watch it creep across his skin like frost on glass.
"It accelerates every time someone touches it with magic," he says. "Your touch in the dungeon slowed it temporarily. But examining it now..." He laughs bitterly. "You just gave me maybe two days instead of five."
My stomach drops. "I'm killing you faster?"
"You're the only person who can save me. But every time you try, the curse fights back by spreading faster." His voice is hollow. "It's a trap, Elara. The harder you work to break it, the quicker I die."
I stare at the stone consuming him. At this man who should be my enemy but is somehow my responsibility.
"There has to be a way," I whisper.
"If there is, we need to find it in the next two days." He rebut tons his shirt, hiding the stone. "After that, it reaches my heart. And then I'm dead regardless of what you do."
A knock at the door makes us both freeze.
"Commander Thorne?" A woman's voice. "It's Commander Cross. I need to speak with you immediately."
Cassian's face goes carefully blank. He mouths one word to me: Cage.
I run to the iron cage and climb inside. He raises it quickly, then opens the door.
A woman in Inquisition armor strides in—tall, sharp-eyed, dangerous-looking.
"Lyanna," Cassian says calmly. "What brings you here?"
"High Inquisitor Vale sent me." Her eyes sweep the room, landing on me hanging from the ceiling. "He wants a full report on your progress with the witch. And he wants to know..." She pauses. "Why you're keeping her in your private study instead of the dungeon."
Cassian doesn't even blink. "She's more compliant when constantly supervised. Makes questioning easier."
Commander Cross studies him. Studies me. Her hand rests on her sword hilt.
"Sir," she says slowly, "I've served under you for five years. I've never known you to question prisoners personally in your private quarters."
"Then you haven't been paying attention."
"I pay attention to everything." She steps closer. "And what I'm seeing right now concerns me. You delayed her execution. You're keeping her here alone. And you look..." She hesitates. "Sick. You look sick, sir."
The room goes deadly quiet.
If she discovers the curse, Cassian is finished. Executed for being touched by magic.
And I'll burn within hours.
"Commander Cross," Cassian says coldly, "are you questioning my methods?"
"I'm questioning whether the witch is corrupting you." Her eyes narrow. "Has she used magic on you? Cursed you? Because if she has—"
"She's caged," he interrupts. "How exactly would she curse me?"
"Magic doesn't need touch. Everyone knows that."
They stare at each other. Commander Cross's hand tightens on her sword.
Then she looks directly at me.
"You," she says. "Witch. What have you done to the Commander?"
My mouth goes dry. One wrong word and we're both dead.
"I—" I start.
"Nothing," Cassian cuts me off. "She's done nothing except sit in that cage and answer questions. Now if you're finished with this inspection—"
"I'm not." Commander Cross moves to stand beneath my cage. "Vale also sent me to deliver a message. The witch burns in two days regardless of whether she's provided useful information. No more delays. No more excuses."
Two days. The exact amount of time Cassian has before the curse reaches his heart.
"Understood," Cassian says.
"Good." Commander Cross heads for the door. Stops. Turns back. "Sir? I hope whatever you're doing is worth it. Because from where I'm standing, it looks like you're risking everything for a witch who's going to burn anyway."
She leaves.
The silence after she's gone is suffocating.
Cassian lowers my cage immediately.
"Two days," I whisper. "That's all we have."
"I know."
"Can we do it? Can we break a curse this powerful in two days?"
He looks at me with those haunted gray eyes. And for the first time since we met, he tells me the complete truth.
"I don't know. But if we fail, at least we die together. That's more mercy than either of us deserves."