Page 65 of The Chains You Defy

“If you’re under the illusion that I’ll risk you going berserk in the middle of the fucking capital of Ivreia, the one you are staying in under diplomatic protocols, you’re wrong,Your Fucking Royal Highness.”

“You won’t lock me up in a fucking hematite shackle.”

“Pity. Either you’ll allow it or—I’ll force you. You might have way more magic than me, but in a brawl, guess who’s going to win?”

I would wipe the floor with his smug face later. He was enjoying being superior for once way too much, although I sensed he also wanted to distract me from my anger, so I wasn’t exclusively concentrating on how pissed I was at Feroy.

The underlying worry about what he’d witnessed hadn’t vanished from Fig’s expression yet.

“You’re making much too big a deal out of what you’d seen. It’s been a while since my magic took over.”

“To be honest, I had no idea you’re dealing with such a dangerous kind of volatility.”

“No one does. And Ipreferfor the secret to stay one.” If I only suspected him of blabbing, he’d regret his loose lips for the rest of his very short existence. Even though the threat was clearly written all over me, Fig kept his calm composure. Fucker.

“Do you know why?”

“No. Well, sometimes my instincts run rampant, and if I don’t fight them down—well, you witnessed what happens. There’s nothing to worry about, though. So far, I’ve always snapped out of the haze in no time.”

“So far.”

“Stop dwelling on the past. And my episodes don’t matter now, not when I want to leave this cell. So, lift me up.”

My entire face screamed murder as I glowered around the room. There had been no argument good enough to convince Fig to refrain from shackling me like a common criminal.

He’d just given me a little time to heal and reapply my Glamour before he’d clamped the hematite around my wrist, a chain dangling down, too sturdy to rip the nuisance off, and so the interwoven links jingled with every movement.

My jaw was set tight, and I contemplated strangling Fig with the hematite chain—afterall, both were equally annoying. I detested being powerless and cut off from my magic, especially in the den of my enemy.

The hatred soared to new heights as we entered another part of the dungeons, the one where I’d found Nayana.

Standing in the dank cell where she had been held captive, I examined the miserable excuse for a room, determined not to miss anything of importance.

Her scent was still clinging to the small cot. With a sense of horror, I smelled not only the notes of freshly cut grass, herbs, and citrus, but also her blood and other bodily fluids, which I refused to analyze more closely. Rage raced through my veins, and although I loathed to admit so, the shackle had been a wise move by my general.

In one corner, I spotted unsteady chalk lines, and I didn’t have to count them to understand that there was one for each day she’d been in captivity. Still, I kneeled down in front of the indication that she’d spent far too long in this place.

With the pad of my index finger, I traced the white lines that became increasingly shaky up until the ninth mark. This one, and the tenth, had been etched into the wall with strength and precision, and despite Naya’s ordeal, which had lasted several more days, no further line could be found.

My poor female. How my heart ached for her.

As if I couldn’t get enough of torturing myself, I rose to my feet and continued with my self-induced task. Finding the two pieces of chalk she must have used didn’t take long, and even though every other person might not have done so, I pocketed them.

There had been a few items I’d gathered during the last months, and the longer Nayana was around me, the more precious my collection of random things—which once had been in her possession—became to me. The chalk had its place in there as a memento of when I’d failed her beyond measure and as a warning not to repeat such a mistake ever again.

As much as I searched every nook and cranny, there was no trace of her bracelet—the one Antas had given her as a present for our binding, and which had belonged to my mother a long time ago. Naya hadn’t mentioned the jewelry at all, but I’d noticed how her gaze sometimes brushed her empty arm and her eyes glossed over.

I ached with the want to gut the merchant not only for torturing her but also for making her sad. When I’d decided to storm Feroy’s headquarters, I hadn’t only had the intention to do precisely that but also to reclaim the wrist circlet. The bracelet had vanished to wherever the merchant was hiding, so I’d failed in both of my self-imposed purposes. Devastation clawed at my insides, threatening to swallow me whole.

No, I wouldn’t fall back into destructive patterns. This was a setback, not a failure. One day, I’d kill the merchant—he could count on that.

Turning around, I left the cell and returned to Fig, who was more puzzled about everything we’d found in the compound than angry about what was missing. And yes, I got his contemplation. A prison of hematite under a human merchant’s base was more than suspicious.

Was Feroy conscious of what properties the metal had? Maybe he wasn’t as clueless about the truth as most inhabitants of Ivreia were? But if he was aware of magic or the existence of Galanta and my people, why had hetortured Naya for answers he already possessed? All this made little sense.

“Do we agree about the necessity to gather more information since there’s a possibility that Feroy comprehends what kind of dungeon wing he owned?”

“Get out of my head, Fig.”