Page 34

I’m armed with a dinner knife while they have swords. Either way, I’m fucked, so I toss aside the blade.

That doesn’t deter the guards. They punch me in the gut with their steel-armored fists. I take a blunt sword pommel to the jaw. Dazed, I stagger against the wall, while blows keep raining down on me. The iron taste of blood fills my mouth.

They keep shouting at me, words that don’t make sense, until finally they kick my legs wider and chain my ankles to the wall. They unlock the shackles at my wrists, but a moment later, they lock my arms again.

I’m spread-eagled. Defenseless.

Dulcamara watches me bleed. Satisfied by the violence wrought upon me, she calls off her guards. As she exits, her command rings in my ears.

“Let him rot.”

I’m left alone with pain as my only companion. It hurts even to breathe. The guards must have broken my ribs. One of my eyes has swollen shut, ruining my depth perception, and the taste of blood lingers in my mouth. Chained to the wall like this, I can do nothing but slump against the stones.

Was it worth it? I came so close to stabbing the queen in her jugular and watching her bleed to death.

Next time, I won’t miss.

I drift in and out of consciousness, though I never sleep for long. Pain robs me of my slumber. The blood slowly drains from my arms, chained above my head, until they start to go numb. I fight the sensation by twisting against my shackles. How long can they keep me like this?

Lark’s voice echoes inside my head. Don’t believe whatever you feel, but trust that you will make it through. She was talking about magic, but her words have a deeper meaning to them. Right now, I feel despair, but I must believe that I can survive this moment and the next.

Night falls. The flickering glow of a torch heralds the return of a guard.

He’s not alone.

I forget how to breathe until the woman steps into the light: Zin. She’s carrying a glass bottle of liquid. It’s too red to be the same potion as before.

She uncorks the bottle and pours a cup. “Drink.”

“No.” I have no reason to trust her.

“It’s a healing potion.”

“Why?”

“Nobody but worms will want you when you’re dead.”

She’s not wrong. I allow her to bring the cup to my mouth. The bitter sludge reminds me of my sister’s own healing potions, so she must speak the truth. Slowly, the pain in my body begins to fade as it stitches itself together.

“Thank you,” I mutter, since she didn’t have to help me.

“You shouldn’t thank me.” Zin can’t disguise a small shudder. “The queen prefers to heal her prisoners between rounds of torture, so they last longer. Many of her enemies have been locked away for an eternity.”

“Where are we?” I ask.

“Nowhere.”

I was a fool to have even asked. Zin would never tell me the truth.

When a dagger glints in her hand, every muscle in my body tenses. I would recognize that blade anywhere—it’s one of my confiscated daggers. She takes a crystal bottle from her pocket. It’s empty, unlike the bottles filled with potions, and that alone rings alarm bells inside my head.

“Zin,” I say, “what are you doing?”

She brings the dagger to one of my wrists and lets it linger against my skin. My heartbeat hammers against my ribs as if it wants to break free from its cage. Still somewhat delirious from the pain, I can’t stop staring into her eyes. They look darker than a night without stars.

“I thought you didn’t want me dead,” I say.

“I don’t.”

I hiss through my teeth when she cuts me across my wrist. The wound isn’t deep enough to kill or even seriously injure me. She lets my blood trickle into the crystal bottle, drip by sickening drip, filling it with crimson.

Why does she want my blood?

Dread slams into my belly like a fist. I have royal blood in my veins. Dulcamara needs an heir. The queen knows that I'm sterile, incapable of fathering a child, but I'm still full of vitality and not yet rotting in the dirt. My blood could be a replacement for my father's bones.

An heir born of dark magic could be my child.

The pain in my heart hits the deepest. “Don’t do this, Zin.” I’m unable to keep a growl from roughening my voice. “Don’t take this from me.”

“It’s just a little blood.” Her words sound emotionless.

When the bottle overflows, my blood trickles over her fingers. She corks the bottle and pockets it. Grimacing, she glances down at her bloodstained hands.

“I know what you want,” I say. “What the queen wants.”

“I don’t think you do.”

I lock gazes with her, daring her to reply. “Tell me.”

Zin picks at the blood beneath her fingernails. She must be feigning indifference while calculating her next move. Finally, she lifts her gaze to meet mine.

“The queen has many ambitions,” she says.

“She wants an heir, doesn’t she?”

Zin scoffs. “All rulers want an heir.”

I have no patience for flippant remarks. “I will answer one of your questions if you answer mine.”

“Where is she hiding?”

“Pyrah?”

“No, Lark.”

“My sister?” Surprise jolts my muscles. “Why?”

She doesn’t blink. “Answer the question.”

It’s too dangerous to give her Lark’s location, even if she's hidden behind enchanted mist. “She isn’t in the Forgotten Tower.”

"Obviously." Zin curls her lip. “Never trust the word of a demon.”

“It’s still the truth.”

“Not enough of the truth.”

Unease crawls down my back like a creature with a hundred legs, a disgusting sensation along my spine. “I know of truths that I wish were lies. I know why the queen dug up my father’s bones.”

“Her Majesty would never dirty her own hands.”

“Did she make you do it?” I fire back.

“Would it matter if I had?”

“You’re nothing better than the queen’s pawn.”

“I know.”

I bite my tongue between my fangs, just enough pain to keep me focused. Zin has always infuriated me with her sneering attitude. I can’t stop her from taking my blood. I can only pray that my worst fears don’t come true.

Finally, she takes a third bottle from her pocket. Thank fuck it’s the sleeping potion. Without resistance, I swallow it down. There’s no fight left in me tonight, and I welcome the oblivion of a sleep without dreams.