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Ignoring his hand, I stride past him toward his ship. The sea has calmed enough that his soldiers have thrown a plank between our ships, and I take my first step onto the slippery wood.

I’m not sure I have it in me to throw myself at the non-existent mercy of the sharks.

Kyldare clamps his hand over my elbow, stepping up behind me.

“I wouldn’t want you tofall.”

I ignore him again, refusing to look back at the people I’m leaving behind. I know Daharak, and she’ll come for me. Not just because of our friendship, but because she knows what will happen if the wrong people get their hands on the grimoire.

A soldier grabs my arm at the other end, and I suppress a wince as his hand tightens close to the deep cut along my bicep.

“Now then,” Kyldare purrs as he drops to the deck behind me, grabbing my chin. He holds tight enough to bring traitorous tears to my eyes.

“Where. Is. It? I know it’s not on the ship. So where did you put it?”

I give him a hateful little smirk. “I suppose I must have misplaced it.”

His hand lashes out, and everything goes black.

Madinia

Three years later.

The tower creaks when it is windy.

I hear everything. The tree branches tapping against my tower. The howl of the wind sweeping past. The hoot of an owl in the distance.

But the loudest sounds are the incessant whispers from thethingI never let myself think about, calling me, urging me to find it.

I strain, attempting the mere flex of a finger, the twitch of an eye. But it’s useless. My body remains still, my eyes closed, trapped.

Panic flutters in my chest, but after so many years, I manage to ruthlessly clamp it down, channeling it into cold fury.

It’s not time.

Not yet. But almost.

Still, someone dares approach my tower. Myprison.

Not the one I’m waiting for. But another.

Reaching out with my borrowed power, I let the tendrils of it sweep from my body, down, down, down through stone and steel, to the damp grass below.

I push the power out further, until the tendrils slide deep into the thicket of thorns surrounding my tower.

Once, the thorns were a garden of roses. But that was before so many saw me asprey.

Fury roars through me, and the power allows me to see the one who approaches in my mind’s eye. Human. He swings his axe, slashing through the first few branches, and if I could writhe in pain I would.

After so many years of connection to my thorns, it feels as if he is cutting through my own skin and bones.

I don’t need to guess his intentions. He’s no soldier—not one of Kyldare’s men. But the rope slung over his shoulder, the axe in his hand, and the wicked knife on his belt leave no doubt.

My reputation has spread far and wide. And men will always attempt to brutalize the women they cannot control.

For a long moment, I consider letting him go through with his dark plan.

At least then…at least then it would all be over.