Page 16

As we pass by the cells, I note that the fairies are still caught in the hold of my glamour. They stare straight ahead, their faces impassive.

Don’t know what’s creepier, their true nature or this catatonic state they’ve fallen into.

In the last cell, a single soldier is housed.

She stands inert in the middle of the chamber, her flame red hair falling in spirals down her back.

Des, our escorts, and I all pause in front of the cell, taking in the fairy. She’s oblivious to our attention.

The Bargainer’s hand falls to the back of my neck. His face is impassive, but I can tell he’s not thrilled with this little plan of mine. He doesn’t, however, try to talk me out of it.

“Open the door,” Des commands the guards, not looking away from me.

The iron bars screech as the door opens. The red haired soldier doesn’t so much as glance at the door before I slip inside.

I stare at her for a long moment before I let my siren surface.

“I release you from my glamour.”

I expect the soldier to attack me, but she doesn’t. For several long secondsnothinghappens.

Then the redhead’s eyes slide to me.

My muscles tense; I’m waiting for her to strike. Instead, she begins to pace, back and forth, back and forth, her gaze growing distant.

“What is your name?” I ask, my voice melodic.

“I don’t have a name,” she responds.

“Everyone has a name,” I insist.

“I don’t. Not anymore.”

Losing a name is such a tiny injustice compared to everything the Thief has done, and yet, it’s what gave her an identity, and he took that from her.

“What did it used to be?” I ask.

She pauses for so long, I’m sure she’ll never speak.

“Mirielle,” she finally says, the magic coaxing the answer out of her.

“And do you know who I am?”

Mirielle pauses, then slowly nods. “You’re the enchantress. We are allowed to hurt you, but we are not to kill you. Not yet. He wants you alive.”

My claws sharpen at that. They weren’t allowed to kill me? I remember how hard I fought and how vicious my assailants were. None of them seemed like they were holding back.

“Who wants me alive?” I ask, even though I damn well know.

“My master.”

Fucking Thief.

The cell darkens. Apparently the King of the Night is not too happy about that either.

“And is … your master … the one who woke you from your sleep?”

“He called and we answered,” she says, continuing to pace back and forth, back and forth.