Page 43 of Song of the Heart Scale (The Dragon’s Ballad #3)

CAT

P ain.

It came in waves, dull and hot, flaring down my back and across my ribs like fire licking the edges of my skin. My eyes cracked open to blinding light. Sunlight poured in through sheer, embroidered curtains, soft as silk but far too bright for the dull ache throbbing behind my eyes.

Everything hurt.

A whimper to my right snapped me out of the haze. Maeve was kneeling on a thick carpet beside a massive bed with her head on the mattress, dried tears crusting her cheeks. Her fingers clutched the sheets like they were a lifeline.

“Maeve?” I croaked, my voice raw.

Her head shot up, eyes wide. “My lady! You’re awake!”

She reached for me like she was afraid I might disappear if she blinked. I tried to sit up, but pain screamed through my side and legs and I collapsed back into the plush bedding with a hiss.

“Where are we?” I asked, blinking around at the unfamiliar room.

The space was lavish, almost gaudy. Floral patterns were carved onto gilded ceiling beams. Intricate tapestries the size of houses.

Marble floors half covered with soft rugs.

A canopy bed with sheer gauze curtains. Heavy wood furniture that probably cost more than an entire block of homes in the Northern District.

And the perfume—roses and something citrusy—hung so heavily in the air, I nearly choked on it.

Maeve looked nervous. “The palace.”

My blood turned to ice. I tried again to get up.

“No, no, please,” Maeve begged, moving to stop me. “You’re badly hurt. Your back... they did something terrible .”

“I can’t stay here,” I ground out. But my limbs weren’t listening. I swung my legs over the edge and tried to stand—only to crumple like a rag doll. Maeve barely caught me before I crashed to the marble floor.

She sank to the ground with me, clutching me close. “This is my fault. You were hurt because of me. I shouldn’t have—”

“Stop,” I whispered, breathing through the pain. “None of this is your fault.”

The door slammed open.

Maeve flinched.

Thorne strode in like he owned the stars. Behind him, a woman in dark robes followed, carrying a pouch of herbs and crystals.

His eyes landed on us—me crumpled on the floor, Maeve helping me sit upright. His lips curled in disgust. “Is this how you care for your lady, servant ?”

Before I could react, his hand lashed out.

The crack echoed through the chamber. Maeve went flying backward and crashed into a table, glass shattering around her in a cloud of sparkling shards.

Rage ignited in my chest.

I snarled and dragged myself upright, blood pounding in my ears. “Touch her again, and I will end you!”

Thorne slowly turned to me. “Big words, considering you can't even stand.”

I shoved off the bed, barely catching myself on the edge of a chaise. My knees trembled. Though I had no strength left, I still stared him down. “I don't need strength to hate you,” I fumed. “Or to promise you this—if you lay another finger on her, I will find a way to make you bleed.”

His eyes narrowed.

“Enough,” said the woman beside him, stepping forward. Her voice was even, but there was something unnerving in it, like the sound of knives behind silk. “She cannot heal if her fury boils her blood.”

“Fine,” Thorne said, waving a hand. “Heal her. Quickly. I need her on her feet by the time the delegates arrive.”

Delegates? My stomach churned.

“Arya, this is Jacinda. She’s a witch healer. Let her treat you.” With that greeting, Thorne turned on his heels and left the room.

The witch knelt beside me and gently placed her fingers on my forehead. Her touch was cold. “Lie still, Lady Arya. This will hurt before it helps.”

Of course it will.

I sank back onto the bed, glaring at the ceiling as pain lanced through me again.

But I didn't scream.

I wouldn't give Thorne the satisfaction.

Not now.

Not ever.

Pain still crawled beneath my skin like fiery embers that refused to die out. I lay back against a mountain of silk pillows, grinding my teeth against the groan rising in my throat as the witch, Jacinda placed her icy fingertips along the bruises on my ribs.

A pulse of power surged through me like lightning.

“Gah!” I gasped as heat flared from my side to my spine, and for a second I swore I saw stars. It felt like acid and ice all at once, like someone was stitching raw flesh together with burning wire.

“Do not move,” Jacinda murmured, her voice deceptively soft.

I growled low in my throat and gripped the edge of the mattress until my knuckles went white. “Easy for you to say. You’re not the one being skewered alive.”

Maeve winced from her seat near the hearth, her clenched hands trembling in her lap. Her eyes were swollen from crying and her lip still bore a faint red imprint where she'd bitten it bloody trying to keep quiet.

The pain slightly ebbed as Jacinda moved to my shoulder, whispering words in a tongue I didn’t recognize. The room smelled of sage and bloodroot, the acrid scent of magic dancing on the air.

When Jacinda finally pulled her hands away, I sagged against the bed, sweat clinging to my skin.

“You're not fully healed,” she said. “But the internal bleeding has stopped. Your bones are mending. I’ve done what I can. The rest will take time.”

“Thank you,” I managed to say, though my voice cracked like old parchment.

Jacinda turned to leave, gathering her satchel, but I reached out weakly. “Wait. Please. Before you go... can you check on Maeve?”

Jacinda’s lips thinned. “I was not summoned for the servant.”

“Thorne hit her and when we were in the dungeons she was hit in the head,” I said through clenched teeth. “If you leave her like this, then you’re no better than him.”

Jacinda hesitated.

Maeve quickly stood, shaking her head. “My lady, it’s fine. You need your strength. I can—”

“Sit down!” I snapped. “Jacinda. Please .”

The witch studied me for a moment longer, then sighed and nodded. She crossed to Maeve and gently placed a hand against her temple.

Maeve stiffened.

A flash of magic, then her shoulders relaxed.

“A mild concussion and bruised ribs,” Jacinda said, almost to herself. “Nothing lethal.”

“Not yet,” I muttered.

Jacinda gave me a hard look, then turned to the door. “Take care not to anger him again. I won’t always be here to patch you back together.”

And with that, she vanished through the carved wooden doors.

Silence lingered.

Maeve quickly moved to my side and helped me ease back onto the bed. My limbs were still trembling, but I managed to shift until I lay against the pillows again, propped upright.

“Holy shit,” I whispered. “That woman could’ve warned me how much that would hurt.”

“You shouldn’t have spoken up for me,” Maeve said, wiping her eyes.

“Don’t be ridiculous. I’d rather take another round of the whip than let him hurt you again.”

Her eyes welled again. “You scared me. I thought... I thought you wouldn’t wake up.”

I squeezed her hand.

“How long was I out?”

Maeve hesitated. “Three days.”

My stomach flipped.

Three days.

Three days Thorne had me under lock and key. Three days Damien had no idea where I was.

Unless...

I swallowed hard, a thousand horrible thoughts clawing at my brain.

What if he was hurt? What if Thorne’s men got him? What if he tried to save me and never made it out?

I didn’t voice any of it.

The room might have been adorned in luxury, but it reeked of surveillance. Thorne didn’t strike me as the type to leave anything to chance. I wouldn’t put it past him to have spies or magical wards listening in.

So instead, I exhaled and offered a faint smile.

“Then I guess it’s time I figure out how to escape again.”

Maeve looked horrified.

“Not now,” I added. “Soon. First, I need to know everything that’s happened since I blacked out.”

She nodded and leaned in to whisper. “I’ve heard the guards talking... there’s unrest. More riots. The people are blaming Thorne for the famine. They’re calling it a punishment from the Immortals.”

Good .

I shut my eyes, not from pain this time—but to plan.

Because I may have been broken, but I wasn’t beaten.

Not yet.

And if Thorne thought locking me up in silk sheets and gold furniture would make me a puppet queen—he had no idea the hell I was about to unleash on his ass.

The knock at the chamber door came too politely to be anything other than sinister.

Maeve flinched and her hand tightened around the cup of tea she’d just brought me.

I slowly sat up, the ache nestled deep in my bones like a second heartbeat, dull and constant.

My skin itched where Jacinda's magic had threaded through torn flesh, but at least I wasn’t bleeding anymore. That was progress.

A servant entered, his spine stick-straight and bowing so low I thought his head might touch the carpet. “His Majesty requests your presence for dinner, Lady Arya.”

My first instinct was to throw the tea at him.

Instead, I smiled sweetly and said, “Of course. Wouldn’t want to keep dear Thorne waiting.”

Maeve helped me dress. Layers of silk and brocade wrapped around me like chains, each fold a reminder of the cage I was in. My limbs moved sluggishly, each step eliciting a twinge, but I refused to let it show. I would not limp into that dining room.

She did my hair and make-up and begged me to remove the permanent grimace that seemed to be etched on my face. I happily declined.

When dinner time came, we were picked up and directed by a group of servants and guards who looked like they could be working for the Secret Service.

The grand hall they led us to glittered like the inside of a gemstone. Candlelight danced off crystal goblets and golden plates. A long mahogany table stretched between us like a battlefield, and at the other end, Thorne sat dressed in imperial crimson, a lion draped in velvet.

“Arya,” he purred as I entered. “You’re looking... marginally less like death.”

“Wow. You really know how to charm a girl,” I muttered as I approached the table. “Did you read that in Tyrants Weekly, or is it just a natural gift?”