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CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

NEAH

“ A caged tiger, now that is a sight to behold.”

The voice stirred Neah’s consciousness and she blinked blearily, wincing as the witchlight made her head throb.

Where the Hel was she? And Romi— oh gods, Romi.

Chains rattled as she dragged herself into a seated position, leaning heavily against the brick wall for assistance. The front and most of the side of her cage was made of solid metal bars, caked in grime and dirt and other things she didn’t particularly want to sniff out.

Her eyes slowly adjusted and a snarl ripped free from her throat when she saw the smug, smirking face of the man on the other side of the bars. Castor . This betrayal would hurt Wren and for that, and Romi’s death, Neah would enjoy ripping him limb from limb.

“Of course,” she said, voice cracking until she swallowed and took a deep breath.

“You would stand on the other side of this cage and taunt me. Cowards become so brave when their enemies are chained up and helpless.” Neah laughed and ignored the pain in her ribs as rage stoked the fire in her veins.

“Why don’t you come in here and make your threats and we’ll see how well you fair. ”

To her surprise, Castor smiled. His amber eyes were cold, devoid of emotion, even anger or pride as she’d hoped to stoke. “I’m fine right here, but nice try. I don’t have anything to prove to you, my dear. I’ve already won.”

“So what? You’re here to gloat?”

Castor stood from his crouch and sneered down at her from above.

“No. I came to warn you not to try anything stupid. Sit in your cage like a good little pet, and you won’t get hurt.

” He ran an eye over her form and tutted at the bruises on her side.

“Well hurt further, I suppose. If my nephew agrees to hand over the crown, you’ll be returned to him. Unharmed.”

Fuck . Wren might just agree to that. “How agreeable of you.”

“Mm, yes. I rather thought so.”

“And you think we’ll just let you live after this?”

His smile was soft, deadly. “You would threaten your king?”

Neah surged forward, the pain in her ribs burning fiercely from the sudden movement as she slammed into the bars and spat in his face.

“You are no king of mine,” she intoned, smiling grimly when her glob of spittle dripped from Castor’s cheek to the ground.

She laughed as she backed away. Would he come in now?

Give her the chance to wrap her chains around his neck?

“You know,” Castor said slowly, reaching into his pocket for a handkerchief. “I half hope my nephew refuses me, just so I can have the pleasure of your death.”

Neah kept her smile on her face. If she had to, she would crawl up from the depths of Hel themselves to seek her vengeance, for herself, for Romi, and for Wren.

“I suppose we’ll see,” he mused and she flinched when he withdrew a sword from a scabbard at his side and clanged it against the metal bars tauntingly. “I expect I’ll see you soon.”

She stayed silent, slowly seething. She was his bargaining chip—the crown for her life.

Sadly, she knew what Wren would choose—it would bring nothing but pain to them all.

Castor couldn’t be allowed to become king.

His flagrant flaunting of their laws was worrying at best but to betray one’s own kin?

If they survived through this, Neah couldn’t let him remain alive.

For the good of the kingdom, if nothing else.

The murmur of voices told her Castor had left guards for her and she was shocked that he’d managed to gain so much support. Was he paying them off? Were they just as corrupt as him? Neah didn’t know. The one thing she was certain of was that they were what stood between her and freedom.

She focused, listening intently and then cursing when she couldn’t make out how many heartbeats were past her cell. It looked like the chains affected more than her ability to shift.

It wasn’t a problem, per se, but it did make things more difficult. She had no way of knowing how much she relied on her strength and senses, even when she couldn’t shift, so she would just have to hope her training was enough.

Or…

Neah lifted the chains closely to her face, inspecting them as best she could with the little light that encroached on the space from the corridor.

Brickwork surrounded her, but the style was familiar.

They had to still be in the palace, but not anywhere she recognised, and from the colour of her bruises she assumed most of the day had already passed while she’d been unconscious.

How long had Castor been planning this? She should have killed him a week ago when she’d had the chance.

Refocusing on the chains, she tested their strength and grunted when they didn’t budge. But there was a gap in the manacle around her wrist, not quite big enough for her to wriggle out of because of her thumbs, no matter how much she contorted their shape. Unless…

She glanced around, finding nothing in the dank cell except dirt and what looked like a rat’s nest in the corner. It would have been better if she’d had something to bite down on, that way she’d have the element of surprise, but beggars couldn’t be choosers.

Neah sucked in a steadying breath and placed her hands atop each other as she felt along the dips of muscle and bone in her left hand with the fingertips of her right.

Here goes nothing.

She wrenched and the sharp crack was lost in the shriek of pain that tore from her throat. But it worked. Her thumb bent at an odd angle and she cursed under her breath as she shoved her hand out of the manacle and felt immediate relief when she shoved the digit back in place.

Voices sounded, growing closer, no doubt coming to investigate what the Hel she was doing. She had to be quick.

Neah reached down and repeated the process, her scream making the guards pace increase and they rounded the corner just as she slipped off the other cuff and slammed her thumb back into place.

Metal hit the ground, the sound loud enough that one guard flinched, and she didn’t know whether to be annoyed or flattered that Castor had left five of them to watch her.

“Oh shit,” one said, eyes falling to the chains on the ground as Neah rolled out her shoulders and smiled. Oh shit was about right.

The reaction of her body once the spelled shackles were off was immediate. Strength returned to her limbs and her ribs tingled as her body worked to repair the damage she’d sustained.

“I’ll give you one chance to run,” she said, rubbing her wrists where the chains had chafed. Two guards eyed each other, skepticism in their eyes, like they couldn’t believe someone in a cage would bother to threaten them. But one guard, the same one who’d flinched before, looked more wary.

He lifted his hands, showing he was unarmed, and his companions' mouths dropped open disbelievingly. “I’m sorry. I just needed the money for my family.”

She didn’t like it, but Neah could respect that. She, too, would do questionable things for the ones she loved. “Leave.”

He left, and the remaining four guards seemed to take that personally, as if it had been a test of their character, or strength. And it had, but not in the way they thought. Swords were drawn and she watched impassively as they directed them at her.

“Just stay where you are,” one of them said, dark eyes serious. “Stay there, and you won’t get hurt.”

“Funny,” she murmured, strolling closer to the bars and peering into his face. “That’s usually my line.”

If they were still inside the palace, like she suspected, then it wouldn’t take Castor long to reach Wren. He had at least a ten-minute head start, plus however long it took her to get past the men he’d left behind. Hopefully that wasn’t too late to prevent him from handing over his crown.

Neah slid a palm on the inside of two bars and pushed, pleased when they gave and bent. These, at least, were weaker than the chains on her shackles. Two of the swords closest to her drooped in shock as she wriggled through the enlarged gap and smiled.

“Now, what were you saying about getting hurt?”

Maybe it was the fact that she was still barely clothed, or that she held no weapon, or possibly even that they’d witnessed her bend metal with her bare hands, but the guards didn’t seem to know what to make of her bravado.

The one at the front, with the dark eyes, at last made his decision and swung for her with his sword. She stepped beneath the broad stroke easily, laughing darkly when it brought her into his space and she grabbed the dagger at his belt and drew it across his throat.

They hadn’t hesitated to kill Romi. She couldn’t hesitate now.

Blood flashed out from the wound and she blinked it out of her eyes, disturbed by the pink tinge in her vision as the death of one of their own shook the three guards out of their stupor.

Two charged at her and she ducked before striking up at the hilt of one sword and sending it flying away as the other passed harmlessly overhead. A glancing blow to her shoulder slowed her momentarily and a second one crashed into her stomach, but she refused to let it slow her down.

A knife flew from her hand, the first guard’s blood zipping through the air in small droplets as it left the blade in time for it to gain a fresh coat as it landed with a squelch into the eye of the guard swinging for her.

He dropped and the two guards left decided there was safety in numbers, retreating toward each other and then advancing with their swords held aloft.

Neah bent and grabbed the sword of the guard whose throat she’d slashed, throwing it from hand to hand to test its balance before blocking the first strike aimed her way and knocking that blade free from the guard’s hand.

She caught it in mid-air and cocked her head as the guard gaped, his sword now firmly in her grip.

Generally, she didn’t recommend throwing away her weapons, but she had no need for two swords. So she launched the one in her left hand, sending it flying toward the empty-handed guard like an arrow and watching as it hit his chest dead-centre, the force driving him back toward the wall.

The final guard had bided his time, but when he came for her, she was ready.

“It really didn’t have to be this way,” she murmured as she stepped over the bodies and let the sword drop to the floor, it would only slow her down. She had a ceremony to get to.