Page 58 of Maneater

Gadriel’s mind had splintered. I always knew his hunger for power was one of his greatest flaws, but I never imagined my absence would drive him this far. He had broken. He was speaking like he was living in another world altogether. Detached from reality. Completely out of control.

I shut my eyes, pulled inward, and searched for the parts of myself that had carried me through that first year in Hyrall.

The parts that learned how to suppress everything.

Push down the panic, dull the emotions, and focus only on getting through.

The walls of my mind felt like they were closing in, and the only thing I could do was breathe, steady and controlled.

I tried to reach for the flame that still lived inside me.

My Wrath. But it was so faint now, so still, I worried it was disappearing altogether.

Hyrall had always been the place that hollowed me. And now, being back, that hollow ache returned with a suffocating weight.

When I opened my eyes again, it was nightfall.

Had I fallen asleep? Darkness pressed in around me, and my limbs had gone numb.

Was I going to be stuck in this cage forever?

If I stayed here long enough, I knew I’d lose myself.

I could feel it already. Something in me was beginning to unravel.

I told myself I wouldn’t let it happen. I swore I wouldn’t let desperation take hold.

That I could survive the pain, the isolation, the silence, and still keep something of myself intact.

That no matter what Gadriel did, he wouldn’t break me.

I’d die fighting before I gave him that satisfaction.

But only a few chimes had passed, and already that vow felt fragile.

I was angry. So angry. After everything I’d done to escape this place, I was right back here. And it had come at a cost. I’d paid for that freedom with my body. With my soul. With every part of me. What more was it going to take from me?

A strangled cry tore from my throat as I slammed my hand against the tray in front of me. The cold tart went flying, and the cup tipped over, tea splattering across the stone floor in a messy arc. The sound echoed loudly in the room.

“Not hungry?” Gadriel’s voice cut through the silence. “If I remember correctly, you used to favor those tarts.”

My eyes snapped upward. His silhouette stood in the doorway of the drawing room. He looked at me through the bars with something close to pity on his face, but I knew better.

“It doesn’t matter,” he said, stepping closer. “There isn’t much time left. We have somewhere to be.”

As he approached, that familiar pressure thickened in the air. I winced as it closed in around me, suffocating.

“Karst. Regis. Come,” Gadriel commanded calmly, like this was all routine.

The two knights strode into the room, but something about them was off as well. The sight of my former watchman made my body tense instinctively, but his eyes held that same glassy emptiness as the stewardess. Leya’s old guard was no different. There was something wrong in both of them.

“Both of you,” Gadriel began, “retrieve her, and cover her. We’ve only a short time to reach the ironsmith.”

Sir Karst and Sir Regis obeyed without a word. They moved toward the cage, and I felt the urge to strike, to lash out like a snake in its den. But these men were soldiers, trained by the Crown, forged by war. They were built for this.

I was a demigod, but that didn’t make me unbreakable. My power lived in emotion, in Wrath, and Wrath was only as strong as the one who wielded it. Right now, it was silent. I was exhausted. And in truth, I was still vulnerable.

In Torhiel, I’d had more to give, more strength to pull from. But here, in the mortal realm, she couldn’t reach me. Here, I was exposed. Unprotected.

Sir Karst unlocked the latch with a key I hadn’t seen. His grip was rough as he pulled me out of the cage, and Sir Regis was already beside him, taking hold of my other arm. There was no use resisting, not that I tried anyway.

Sir Karst then guided my right arm into the sleeve of a cloak while Sir Regis worked to fit the left. Their movements were efficient, but impersonal, and they were far from gentle. A quiet frustration slowly built inside me.

“If you’d just asked,” I said evenly, “I would’ve done it myself.”

Neither of them responded. Sir Regis reached up to pull the hood over my head.

“I know you made a point of ignoring me before, Sir Karst,” I said tightly. “But I think we’re past that now.”

Just before the hood fell over my face, I caught a glimpse of both the guards’ mouths. Their jaws shared that same damage, the sunken tension I’d first seen in the stewardess. The same clenched stillness. And I knew then what Gadriel had done.

Even as darkness from the cloak fell over me, I turned in his direction, aghast .

“You’ve cut their tongues as well, Gadriel?”

I used his name. The name I had once been afraid to speak when I first arrived in Hyrall. The name I had once whispered like a secret in the dark, when we still lay beside each other.

“Have you gone mad?”

“Like you,” Gadriel hissed, “they failed in their duty to the Crown. And they’re answering for it. On their watch, not one, but two royal bedmaidens slipped away. One consort, one courtesan. That was the extent of their responsibility. To guard two women. And they failed.”

He remained spiteful. “Now they’re making reparations. I’ve given them a punishment that fits their failure. As I will with you.”

Then came the tug on my arms, and we began to march.