Page 55 of Caging Darling (The Lost Girl #3)

ASTOR

H orrific acts line the hallways of the Sister’s lair. One tapestry details a string of rapes, the victims dressed in last century’s attire. Another details a man plotting to murder his only child, envious of having lost his wife’s attention. Wars that never happened play out in scarlet threads.

I’d examined the tapestries with unbreakable resolve as the Sister had led me through the winding halls, my intentions two-fold: deny her the satisfaction of my attention and distract myself from the way my skin had gone slick with a cold sweat.

But the tapestries could only prove a distraction for so long, for when we reached the Sister’s bedchamber, I’d found the obsidian walls bare.

“I hope you like it,” she’d said, her voice slithering into my ear as she gestured toward the center of the room, in which spread a bed the width of my entire cabin on the Iaso . “I’m not keen on sharing, but for you, I’ll make an exception.”

Again, the clamminess had overtaken my flesh, soaking through the armpits of my linen shirt, causing my forehead to go cold, and not because the frame of the bed had been made of a smooth, ebony material that I’m used to finding in sword fights and within my cuts of meat.

“I’d prefer larger,” I’d said, smirking as the Sister’s shadowy arms had curled back in offense.

Unfortunately, she’d recovered soon enough. “You’re not going to be the type to strike a bargain then spend years complaining about it, now are you?”

“Not at all. But only because I don’t have years to do so.”

The Sister’s shadows had gone still, but the air had not, a draft with no origin chilling the room. “That being the case, we had better make the most of what time we have left together.”

Before I’d had time to react, she’d glided across the room, extending her hands, her wisps of fingers solidifying into a material as cold and hard as iron as she stroked the skin surrounding my clavicle. Then she’d walked her fingers down my chest until they played with the topmost button of my shirt.

My mind had split in two then, half of me transported to the crow’s nest, Wendy tenderly unbuttoning my shirt to get a better look at my illness, the other half back to a stuffy office room, my shirt smaller, the hands much larger and belonging to the orphanage warden.

I’d wanted nothing more than to bite out for the Sister to stop, to rip her hands off of me. But she’d made sure to specify what our arrangement would look like when I’d struck the bargain.

And so, I’d found myself as paralyzed as I’d been as a child. Just as helpless. My shouts just as piercing inside my head, just as inaudible to anyone else but me.

She’d been three buttons down when a voice had filled the room. It spoke in a language I could not decipher, though the cadence was familiar and reminded me of a lullaby my grandmother used to sing to me as a child.

The Sister had frozen, and she’d let out an irritated groan. “What does he want now?” she’d asked. Then, tracing an icy finger down my bare chest, she’d said, “Wait for me here, darling.”

And then she was gone.

I’ve been waiting in her bedroom ever since. I’d started off pacing back and forth across the bare stone floor, hoping to calm myself, but the movement had only served to accelerate my heart rate. So now I’m leaning with my palms pressed against the wall, my feverish forehead soaking in the cold of the stone.

I wish I could say it was helping.

But though the Sister is gone, though she’s done nothing more than unfasten a few buttons at my chest, my body doesn’t know the difference. I’m eight years old again, and I’ve been called into the warden’s office for the second time this week. My skin still reeks of burnt flesh, though I’ve bathed three times. It will take another several weeks for me to realize that the foul odor from my brands no longer exists in the physical world. Only in my mind, imprinted there forever.

I don’t know yet that when the warden tells me to unbutton my shirt, receiving another brand should be the least of my concerns.

Panic claws at my chest, cutting off my airway. It’s not the way my lungs can’t seem to keep a hold on the stale air, it’s not the way my body is trembling uncontrollably that unsettles me.

It’s that it’s happening again. Decades. It’s been two decades since the warden last touched me. Twelve years since my body relived it.

I’d been past this. Thought it was behind me.

And yet, all it had taken was a single touch from the Sister, the promise of three buttons undone, and I’ve unraveled.

The wall proves a poor support for my trembling legs. I don’t know how much longer I’ll be able to hold myself up, but I won’t lie in the Sister’s bed. Not a moment before I’m forced to.

And so I think of Darling. Of her soft, pretty cheeks. Of the far-off look that so often overcomes her eyes, making her unreachable. Inciting within me the urge to chase her down, follow her into whatever far-off world her mind has chosen to inhabit in the moment. I think of her quiet strength, how she endured her captivity for so long.

How after all the suffering I caused, she forgave me in the end.

I told her I would picture her new life. That I would think of her with a doting husband, an adoring child, and I would find comfort.

Perhaps I’ll find the strength within me to fulfill that promise tomorrow. But tonight, I am weak.

Tonight, I imagine the life together Darling and I never got to have. The cottage I would have built for her in a quiet seaside village. I picture a daughter who looks just like Darling and nothing like me, following me out to my boat one morning and begging me to teach her to fish. And I picture Darling scolding me for letting our little girl go out fishing in her newest dress, because why couldn’t I have spared three minutes to have her change into her play clothes first?

I’m not sure how long I spend in this daydream, but by the time I return to myself, my breathing has slowed, and though I’ve left sweat stains on the wall from my forehead and hands, I no longer feel clammy.

I push myself off the wall, hand at my chest. There’s a sharpness lingering there. I couldn’t feel it in the midst of my panic, but the exertion it required of my body has inflamed the poisonous magic working within me.

It used to bother me, knowing I was dying. Knowing the rot of my flesh was slowly making its way to my heart. That was back when I feared I’d never see Darling again. That I wouldn’t live long enough to see to it that she would one day taste happiness.

Now, the illness feels like a reprieve. One last gift from Darling. A promise that my suffering under the Sister’s touch will not last forever.

I wonder if in the afterlife, she’ll choose to live with whatever husband she picks for herself in this life. If after all those years of waiting for her to arrive, her heart will belong wholly to someone else.

Something tells me I won’t mind, so long as she takes the time to come and find me on the other side. As long as I get to hear the story of her beautiful life from her lips.

I go to take another step away from the wall, but my head spins, and I’m again forced to keep close to the wall for support.

The invisible knife in my chest drives deeper. I grit my teeth, but I welcome the pain all the same. Maybe I’ll get this one last mercy. Perhaps the Sister will return to my corpse splayed across her floor.

I chuckle at the thought.

Yes, I believe I would find that to be a quite satisfying way to go.

Another surge of pain in my chest, and I have to slide down the wall, no longer able to hold myself upright.

Back against the wall, elbows resting on my knees, the pain creeps from my chest, up my neck, and settles behind my eyes.

The pain shouldn’t excite me, shouldn’t fill me with an almost manic anticipation. But this is nothing compared to what will happen when the Sister returns.

And then, because I’ve done nothing to deserve such a peaceful ending, an icy finger curves underneath my jaw, a jagged fingernail digging into my skin as she lifts my face to look at her.

“Now, now,” says the Sister, and my hope turns to stone in my chest as her inky face drifts just in front of mine. “Don’t hand yourself over to death just yet.”

“Seems like the most alluring option at the moment,” I respond, my voice strained.

“I’d be nicer to me if I were you. Otherwise, I might just change my mind about returning you to your little Darling girl.”

I let out a wry laugh. “Is this some attempt at psychological torture? Why would I believe you would ever consider such a thing?”

“Let’s just say the Darling girl offered me something better than a dying lover.”

Adrenaline rushes through my body, lighting up my blood, masking the pain in my chest and head. “What did she offer you?”

Rather than answering, the Sister straightens, extending her hand. “Come now. She’s an anxious little thing. I imagine it’s killing her waiting on you.”

I push myself up, wiping the Sister’s hand out of my way in the process. I expect her to bristle at my blatant disgust, but she simply laughs.

“What did she offer you?” I growl.

The Sister flicks her wrist, and the air goes tight. A bulb of darkness appears between us, then swells, until the swirl of shadows is as large as a door.

I hesitate, fear gripping my bones. Something is wrong.

“Well, are you going to go get your Mate or not?” says the Sister impatiently.

“She’s not taking my place?” I ask.

The Sister laughs. “Why would I want her?”

I swallow, trying to think of any way my walking through this portal might harm Darling. But it doesn’t seem as if the Sister is going to tell me what Darling bargained away. Besides, because of the curse placed on her by the Eldest Sister, the Middle Sister can’t harm Darling directly.

“It’s not a trick, my love,” says the Middle Sister. “Your Mate simply discovered something I wanted more. It’s as simple as that. Go to her. Live your life together. What little of it you have left. And if you don’t—well, I’m only offering you the choice to step through that portal on your own as a courtesy. You’re going whether you want to or not.”

It’s the fool inside of me, but the hope of seeing Darling again is irresistible, drawing me in like a brand new lure.

I step forward, and the world goes dark, shifts around me.

For a moment, there is nothing but the Sister’s voice, resounding inside my skull.

“Goodbye, my love. I look forward to seeing you again. The birth of your firstborn son will be something to celebrate indeed.”

Shock barrels through me, but I don’t have time to process the Sister’s last words.

Because before me appears a garden.

And standing in front of me, knees wobbling, is Darling, doing what she does best.

Apologizing.

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One stunning bride.

One wedding.

One night with the king.

One execution come morning.

Rinse and repeat.

When the fae king of Naenden returns home to his palace only to find that his human queen has committed treason by conspiring to assassinate him, he has the queen executed and decrees that once every mooncycle, he’ll marry a human woman from the kingdom, only to execute her the following morning.

Unless one woman offers herself as a sacrificial bride for the rest.

Asha isn’t worried about being chosen, of course. The decree was quite clear about beauty being among the top criteria for being selected as one of the king’s unfortunate brides. And Asha is no beauty, all thanks to the illegal magic that inhabits her body, leaving her scarred and missing an eye. The same magic that occasionally possesses her voice so it can amuse itself by telling a never-ending story with a string of horrible cliffhangers.

The problem is, Asha might not be a beauty, but her sister Dinah is. When Asha realizes Dinah is in danger of being selected as the king’s sacrificial bride, Asha decides she can’t live with that risk. So she offers herself instead.

Except on the night of their wedding, the king grants Asha a final request.

Naturally, she asks to tell her sister one last bedtime story.

Naturally, the king eavesdrops.

The question is…

Will the story save her life…or ruin it?

A tale of love and betrayal, vengeance and sacrifice, magic and romance, this imaginative retelling of 1,001 Nights will keep you guessing with each turn of the page.