Page 277 of Split or Swallow

Tem slipped through the castle, searching for the first stairway that headed down. When she found it, she took it quickly, walking on the pads of her feet so she didn’t make a sound. She was already rehearsing a story in her mind in case anyone found her: she would say she was looking for the kitchen—that she was hungry after a night of drinking at the ball. It was only half a lie: her stomach growled as she descended the endless staircase.

Eventually, the temperature began to drop.

Tem passed doorway after doorway, ignoring them all. The dungeons would be deep beneath the castle—lower than anything else—far away from anywhere a servant might stumble upon them accidentally. She walked for what felt like forev⁠er. But eventually, she came upon a metal door.

Tem knew immediately from the smell of the air that she had arrived.

Death and decay clung to her nostrils as she groped through the darkness for the door handle. It wasn’t even locked. There wasn’t a guard in sight—not a single person watching over the entrance to a long row of dark, hopeless cells. At first Tem was shocked by the lack of security. But the moment she saw what was in the first cell, she understood why there were no guards down here. There was no need for security when the prisoners were this weak.

A woman basilisk wearing her human form was shackled to the stone floor. There was nothing else in the cell—not even a cot. A complicated tangle of metal wires was fused to the basilisk’s fingers, trailing up into a hole in the ceiling. Tem had no idea what their function was—only that they must be part of the bloodletting process. Even now, she could see the color of the wires change from silver to gold, pulsing intermittently as the basilisk’s face twisted in pain. Tem’s heart broke at the sight of someone—someone like her—being treated like this. It was abhorrent.

All the cells were filled.

Tem couldn’t explain it, but she knew which cell contained her father. It was as if she were drawn to him by the invisible connection that had brought him into her mind in the first place. Tem followed their connection down the row of cells until she reached the very last one, stopping in front of it and squinting into the darkness.

There he was at last.

Even slumped against the rough stone wall, Tem could see her father’s beauty. His shoulders were broad, his eyes burnished gold. But unlike the gleaming, molten brightness of Caspen’s irises, her father’s eyes were dull—almost closer in color to copper, and Tem wondered if it was an effect of the bloodletting. He was tall, just like all basilisks, but stooped beneath the weight of years of torture. Her heart called out:

Father.

It was strange to say that word to him. Tem had no memory of this man—by the time she was born, he was already gone. But now she studied his face, and despite the dim lighting, she saw their resemblance. He had hair just like hers: it was lank now, but Tem recognized the same curls that also framed her face. His hands were resting palm-up in his lap, silver wires fused to his fingers. Even in the darkness, Tem could count twenty four freckles on his hands. Twelve on each side.

Her father opened his eyes. They stared at each other.

What is your name, child?

Tem’s heart performed a mournful swoop. He didn’t even know her name.

Temperance.

She couldn’t be sure, but she swore he smiled.

What is your name?

Her mother had never told her.

Kronos.

“Kronos,” she whispered it aloud, imagining a world in which she’d grown up saying it. Her father tilted his head.

You should not be here, Temperance.

She stepped closer.

I had to see you.

It is not safe.

It was Caspen all over again. Tem shook her head, hooking her fingers through the bars of the cell.

I’m going to get you out. You just need to hold on until the wedding.

Her father closed his eyes.

It is too late for me.

Tem could see how weak he was—how perilous of a toll the bloodletting had taken on him.