Knowledge is power…
I was keenly aware that the guards were watching me, and that my time down here might be worse if I insulted one of their precious knights. And yet I couldn’t quite restrain my desperate need to understand how he thought. What set him off? What were his limits? And most importantly, what was his deal with Baleros? Because that tension went deep.
“Very Baleros indeed,” I said. “Dirt floor. A captive. Mind games. Sometimes you’re nice to me. Sometimes you’re throwing me into a medieval dungeon. Using kindness to manipulate. I think I’ve played this game before. Of course it makes sense. Baleros was one of you. You’re all the same, I’m sure. Have you ever heard the theory that what people hate the most in others is what they hate in themselves? You are the mirror image of him.”
Ruadan’s fingers tightened on my bicep, and the chilling, demonic look on his features made ice run through my blood. But I wasn’t done.
With my free hand, I tapped my lips. “He wasn’t your father. He’s not an incubus. So that means…he was your mentor.”
A low growl from Ruadan confirmed my theory.
“Tell me, Ruadan. Did he ever keep you in the dungeons? Did he ever make you happy with little gifts? Sweets wouldn’t do it for you, I’m sure. Praise, wasn’t it? Did he give you praise every now and then to control you? Did he make you feel like he was your father and you needed his love, and then he turned on you?”
The guards were staring at us. Ruadan gripped my arm so tightly I thought he might break it. Then he started moving again, dragging me behind him. He picked up his pace, moving in a blur of speed, too fast for me to keep up without the lumen stone. I ran, but he was inhumanly fast. Soon my feet were dragging on the floor, my body bumping over the stone.
Was there a time when I thought Ruadan actually liked me? That he’d healed me and made me comfortable because he cared about how I felt? Obviously, I’d been an idiot.
Ruadan had been trained by Baleros, and the two men were probably more alike than I’d been willing to admit.
At the end of a passage, Ruadan flung open an iron-barred door. It creaked open to reveal a minuscule space.
My stomach dropped when I looked inside. This wasn’t just a cage. This was worse than a cage. A cell too small to lie down in—one where I’d be stuck in a contorted position, crouching on the floor. This was the Palatial Room.
My breathing quickened. I didn’t fear much, but tight spaces weren’t my favorite. That was the legacy of six years in an underground tunnel—plus time locked in a box when Baleros wanted to punish me. I snarled at Ruadan, overcome by a desire to rip his pretty throat out.
He shoved me in, and my body slammed against the wall. I turned back to him, desperate to come up with a witty retort, something to let him know this wasn’t getting to me. I wanted him to know that he couldn’t affect me, that I felt no sense of betrayal, that I’d never expected anything from him in the first place. Except, tears stung my eyes, and my throat seemed to have closed.
I already felt the walls tightening in on me, and my mouth opened and closed without a single word on my tongue. His eyes had returned to their vibrant violet shade—no longer on the verge of killing. For the briefest of instants, I thought I saw a glimmer of sadness. Then, he slammed the cell door shut, and shadows consumed him as he stalked away.
I started to grip the bars, but as soon as I did, my fingertips burned. Of course. Iron.
My dress was still soaked from my little dip in the river, and I shivered. By the time I emerged from the Palatial Room for my next trial, I’d be completely filthy. Not to mention the fact that I had an unbelievable urge to pee, and the Palatial Room did not contain a toilet.
In the cramped space, my breath was coming in short, sharp bursts. It was only a few feet square, and I could hardly even sit. I definitely couldn’t lie down, and I had to draw my knees up to my chest. At least I could see through the iron bars. Without that faint flicker of torchlight, I’d lose my mind.
But as I leaned back against the wall, I realized I was still wearing my bug-out bag. A smile started to curl my lips. Maybe I’d rattled Ruadan so much that he forgot to pull it off me.
My bag contained sweets, a now broken headlamp, lighters, soap, medical supplies, knives…and I had at least one bottle of water, which I could drink slowly to ration it. When I emptied it, I’d pee into it so I didn’t have to sit in my own filth the whole time. Given that the door was iron, I wouldn’t be able to get myself out of the cell, but I could improve my conditions at least a little.
Had Ruadan really overlooked that? I clenched my jaw.
Probably. I wasn’t going to make the idiotic mistake again of thinking he’d been nice to me.
Still, I was pleased with his mistake. Maybe my time here wouldn’t be so terrible, after all.
As Maddan stood before my cell, my mind went back to the time when I thought this wouldn’t be so terrible. It seemed like days ago, but I had an awful feeling it had been something like twenty minutes. I was pretty familiar with how underground-cage time worked. Three days of underground-cage time was roughly twenty minutes in the real world. Hence, I was something like six thousand years old in cage years. Not sure of the exact math, as calculations weren’t my strong point—particularly when sitting in a cell confronted by The Royal Fae Arsehole, and the unsettling sight of magic flicking between his fingertips.
Guards stood nearby. If Maddan murdered me right now, would they do anything to stop it? Probably not. After all, his father was a king and a benefactor, and it would save the Institute from the unpleasant possibility that the Old Gods might like me.
Maddan cocked his head, and red light gleamed between his fingers. At least he wasn’t about to hit me with lust magic again, but I couldn’t imagine the red magic would be pleasant.
Chapter 5
A dark smile curled Maddan’s lips. “When I last saw you, you had the audacity to reject me. I slammed you with lust magic. Do you remember?”
Was there anything worse than a man who felt entitled to every woman he met? A man who would literally kill over a rejection? I thought of the iron knives in my bug-out bag. I could probably nail him with one right now.
Unfortunately for me, that would most definitely result in my death. I could kill him, yes, but there was no way out of this cell, and Savus had already made it clear that he mostly wanted to torment me a bit, then kill me in the most painful possible way.
So I would have to do something extremely difficult for me. Something that, had I ever seen a therapist, I would surely have been working on: not using violence as a way of getting out of every difficult situation.
Maddan cocked his head, the smug look on his face stoking my rage. “Am I right to understand that all the incubus magic drove you mad? That you roamed London’s streets, satiating your lust in every filthy back alley until you wore yourself out?”
The story wasn’t true, but I’d go with it anyway. He wanted denials, shame, and humiliation. He wouldn’t get it.
“That’s right. Every back alley. Lots of men.” I looked at my fingers. Already, dirt had become encrusted under my nails. “I had a blast. Am I to understand that you’re trying to make that sound like a bad thing? If your dead barguest friend had done the same, banging women all over London until he wore himself out, you’d have sung his praises. Don’t you think?”
He cleared his throat, and I had the distinct impression that I’d taken the wind out of his sails. “You’re still a whore.”
I rolled my eyes. “Good one. And they say the royal fae have become stupid through centuries of inbreeding…”
The magic between his fingertips burned brighter. “You cannot talk to me like this, gutter fae. You try to humiliate me, over and over again.”
And here we were at the crux of his problem. His giant ego. “You mean, when I kicked your arse at one trial after another, or when I said I found you repulsive?”
“A gutter fae, rejecting a prince…” he snarled.<
br />
He hurled the magic at me, and it slammed into me through the iron bars. Pain spread through my body, racking my bones. I started shaking, fingers wildly clutching at the stone walls, trying to manage the agony. My mind flashed to the knives in my bag, and I was doing everything in my power not to pull one out right then and throw it at him.
Don’t kill the prince. Don’t kill the prince. Don’t kill the prince.
When I looked up at Maddan again, I was gritting my teeth. “What do you hope to accomplish here, prince? When the next trial comes up, they will be unleashing me on the world. And I might not be gentle when I take you down.”
He didn’t respond, just summoned another flash of red fire and threw it at me. I raised my arms to block it, but it slammed into my forearms, and the pain raced through my bones, my tendons, ripping me apart. I grunted, trying to keep myself from screaming. I didn’t know what this magic was—if it was actually breaking my bones, or if it just delivered pain. Either way, by the time I got to the next trial, I may not be in the condition to take him down at all.
Another blast of his hellish magic tore through my body, and I could no longer think straight. The pain was splintering. A few disconnected thoughts flickered in my mind—Maddan is a prick…Ruadan is a prick…Savus is a prick… Nothing particularly useful or insightful.
With the final attack—one last burst of red magic—I fell back against the wall, and my world began to go dark.
I breathed in the scent of apples. I felt rough stone biting into my back where I leaned against the wall, and as I gasped for breath, I felt particles of dirt going into my lungs. But the air smelled different now. It smelled of the city of Emain, and in my mind’s eye, I could see the apple trees dappling the mythical land’s wild hills.
Pain racked my body, and I groaned. Gentle fingers lifted me from the stone until I was standing, my eyes still closed from fatigue. I slumped into a powerful body. Apples and pine.
My mouth had gone completely dry, and I licked my lips. “Who’s there?” I asked, still half asleep, even though I knew by his scent it was Ruadan.
“It’s me.” He whispered so quietly, I almost didn’t hear him.
My eyes snapped open, and I found myself staring at the dark contours of a shirt. Then, I looked up into violet eyes, bright in the darkness. His powerful arms held me up, and heat radiated from his body over my freezing skin. I hated the bastard, but despite myself, I wanted him to stay here with his arms wrapped around me, just for the warmth.
The Palatial Room offered barely enough space for two people to stand—especially given the size of Ruadan’s broad shoulders. He pulled me closer to him, his muscled body pressing against me. I was dimly aware that I still stank of river water and piss, but I was too tired to care. In fact, I was glad Ruadan had to deal with the stench.
“Where’s Ciara?” I asked in a whisper.
He leaned down, and his breath warmed the shell of my ear. “She’s here. Two cells down. You must be quiet.”
“Why are you here?” I whispered.
He put his finger over my lips, shushing me. Interesting. He didn’t want the guards knowing he was in here.
I felt the warmth of his fingertips on the small of my back, and he traced up my spine. Healing magic pulsed in my body, comforting and soothing. One of his enormous hands encircled my waist. As much as I hated it, my skin was warming in response to his incubus magic.
His fingertips traced higher up my spine, and the pain flowed out of my body.
When his hand stroked down my back again, an unwelcome memory bloomed in my mind—me, naked in Ruadan’s bed, writhing against him.
What the fuck was wrong with me? My body was in complete rebellion against my better judgment. It was the incubus magic.
Ruadan leaned down, whispering, “You need to survive.”
Before I could look up into his eyes again, his cold magic pulsed over my body. Silently, he opened the iron gate, and disappeared into the prison’s shadows. He was gone.
I leaned back against the rough wall, the stones cutting into my skin through my dress. My muscles and bones still ached, but not nearly as much as before. I slid down the stones, grimacing a bit.
The fucker hadn’t even bothered to heal me all the way. He could have, but I supposed he needed to heal me just enough so I wouldn’t expire before the trials. He wanted me punished as much as Savus did, but he also wanted to make sure I lived.
Crammed into the Palatial Room, I leaned back against the cell wall.
The dim torchlight wavered over something on the floor that made my heart leap in my chest.
A butterscotch sweet.
My mouth went dry. Baleros, my old gladiator master, had used a butterscotch to control me with a glimmer of kindness. But he was dead now.
Right?
For a moment, I wondered if it was real at all, or just my mind screwing with me. Then, I reached for it, picking it up with a shaking hand. I felt as if Baleros were fucking with me, except he was dead. Had Ruadan left this here? Why would he try to mess with me like that?
With a snarl, I threw the butterscotch out of my cell, between the bars.
It took a few minutes of deep breathing before I could relax myself, forcing my heartbeat to slow.
“Ciara?” I called out into the darkness, and my voice echoed off the rocks.
Only a faint dripping noise answered.
“Ciara?” I tried again.
“I’m here,” she said. “You know, I think we were a little better off in Ciarianna Castle.”
“In what?”
“The burnt-out car. I’ve started calling it Ciarianna Castle in my mind, even though I kept finding myself sleeping on eggshells and half-eaten chicken bones. But that seems like paradise now. Here, I have to sleep on bugs and dead mice, just like I did as a little girl. But I’m not going to let them get to me. I’m beating the system.”
“How, exactly?”
“I’m not going to sleep on bugs, because I’m not going to sleep. I’ve been keeping myself awake by standing.”
I held my head in my hands. “You need to get some sleep, Ciara. Human brains break if you don’t sleep.”
“That’s a myth. Like, there are a lot of benefits to permanent wakefulness…you have more time for thinking, and you start to hear voices. Worst-case scenario, you get visual hallucinations, possibly permanent brain damage.” Her voice echoed off the rocks.
“Ciara. I’m going to get us out of here.”
“Or maybe I’ll get us out of here,” she said. “Did you know that the women in my family are legendary protectors? Fiery. Like demons. Family legend says my grandma came from a flaming pit under the Appalachian Mountains. Grandma McDougall was a fearsome woman. She caught squirrels for breakfast with her bare hands, snapped their necks. She wore gowns of raccoon fur and crowns of black locust leaves, and men trembled before her.”
I wasn’t entirely sure if this was an actual family legend or the product of her prison hallucinations.
“Well,” I said, “maybe you’ll get us out of here.”
“The McDougalls protect people we love. So you’d better believe I won’t let anything happen to you. When it comes down to it, I will protect you with everything I’ve got. I come from mountain fire.”
“Okay, sweetie. Close your eyes.”
“Ciarianna will rise again. And when she does, she will light her enemies on fire. She will glory in their screams and bathe in their ashes.”
For a sweet woman who got excited about things like “bologna cake,” Ciara could be remarkably macabre.
“Ciarianna will dance on their graves,” I added.
“She will fashion flutes and other wind instruments out of their bones. And then she will celebrate their demise with a meal of Twinkies.”
The dripping of water filled the silence. “You kind of frighten me sometimes, you know that, Ciara? Maybe just…settle down a little.”
“You can’t trust these people at the Institu
te. Ruadan is a pretty man with a face like a god, but you don’t know jack about him.”
“Oh, believe me. I know.”
“Things aren’t always what they seem. The devil wears many—”
The slamming of metal against metal cut her off. “Shut it, you two!” boomed a male voice. “Or I’ll cut your tits off.”
I gritted my teeth. When I got out of here, I was going to punch that guy in the dick.
“Ciara,” I loudly whispered. “Ciarianna will rise again.”
Time for me to rest a little. Slowing my breathing, I leaned my head against the sludgy rock, and then willed myself to sleep.
Chapter 6
I crouched in the cell. I had no idea how much time had passed. Two days, perhaps? I only knew that Maddan never returned, and that one of the guards had shoved water and gruel through the cell’s trapdoor around four or five times.
But worst of all, every time I fell asleep, I’d wake to find another butterscotch in my cell. And each time I found one, I’d hurl it out from between the bars.
Somehow, I’d managed to sleep most of the time in the cell—dreaming of Emain the whole time. I did my best to ration out the sweets from my bag—lollipops, two chocolate bars, a bag of peppermints. Proper athlete stuff. I’d be in amazing shape by the time I had to fight anyone.
In the middle of a particularly delicious dream of Emain, one in which I was biting into a sweet apple, the sound of my name snapped me out of my sleep.
I woke, blinking in surprise at the sight of Melusine standing outside my cell.
She held a little bundle in her hands—something wrapped in cloth—and she shoved it through the cell bars, wincing as her hand brushed against the iron.
“What are you doing here?” I asked.
“I brought you food. I see a dungeon, I think hunger. I put two and two together. I’ve got to tell you though, it was not easy getting in here. I had to give the guards a sleep potion, and they’re already stirring.”
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