Freed: A Supernatural Prison Romance (Imprisoned by the Fae Book 3)

by Jessica Lynch

  “Crystal.”

  Yeah. I should’ve known that. “Okay. Why are you giving me this?”

  “In Faerie, crystals aren’t just decoration. They’re the source of most of the magic here. Think of the Iron. How everything is technology and wires and chips and a hundred other things that would never work across the veil. One of these is stronger than everything the humans worship. It can do just about anything before it’s been imprinted.”

  “And you’re giving this to me?”

  “Yes, because this one has been imprinted. Now stay still. And listen.”

  He waves his palm over mine. He doesn’t touch me—and, holy crap, for the first time in ages, I don’t flinch when one of the fae gets within touching distance—but that quick gesture does something to the crystal. It flashes, and then, like a video with sound but no picture, I hear a melodic female voice start to intone:

  …with human blood,

  surrounded by sunshine and sky,

  painted skin, and a thread of daisies,

  she’ll be freed with a lie…

  …cursed to love, cursed to lose,

  cursed by the Cursed,

  forever will choose

  and you shall never—

  A scream replaces the woman.

  Something happens. It’s still echo-y enough that I know it happened at the same time as the woman was speaking, but I’m not really sure what happened. The scream is cut off by a sharp whistling sound, a loud thud, and then blissful silence.

  “What was that?”

  “Rys did what he was sent to do.”

  The scream. The whistle. The thud.

  And a memory of Rys explaining that the only way to truly kill one of his kind was decapitation. Sure, the shadows could eventually drain one of the Seelie, just like the endless summer and heat of the Summerlands is no friend to the Unseelie. But that just weakened them. Following Saxon’s explanation, I know that the Seelie can’t survive night in the human realm. The Unseelie burn in the sun. But a sword strike straight to the neck will end anyone.

  “He cut off her head, didn’t he? The woman who was speaking.”

  A nonchalant shrug. “He was a soldier. A favorite of the Fae Queen until his own needs outweighed his loyalty to Melisandre. The soothsayer earned her death, though he didn’t realize his mistake until much later.”

  His mistake?

  I’m suddenly reminded of something Helix said. How something was foretold about Rys, and how Rys later admitted that he’d been touched by a soothsayer.

  And you know what? That sounded like a prophecy to me.

  Rys’s?

  I have to know. “That woman… what was she talking about?”

  “A prophecy,” Saxon confirms. “Especially for Rysdan. It was about his mate. His ffrindau.”

  My stomach goes tight.

  Surrounded by sunshine and sky… I’m a natural blonde, with dark blue eyes, and let’s not forget the teal streaks in my hair. Yellow sunshine and blue sky? It’s a reach.

  Painted skin, and a thread of daisies… Um. I’ve got an elaborate daisy chain tattooed on my side, from boob to hip. And Rys always seemed entranced by it whenever he saw me naked.

  Freed by a lie… Well, that doesn’t sound so great.

  Even so—

  “Me?”

  “He met the human he thought would be his mate when she was very young. She had blonde hair. Blue eyes.” He gives me a pointed look. Yes, Saxon. I’ve got a mirror. I know what I look like. “She had human blood. She fit the prophecy, especially when Rysdan was unable to charm her. She refused him again and again, eventually choosing another mate.”

  “I know about all that,” I admit. “He told me about her.”

  “Did he also tell you that she ended up with her ffrindau? She was never meant to be Rysdan’s. No matter what, she was fated to be with someone else. Just like he was fated to claim you.”

  “But he didn’t.”

  Saxon makes a non-committal sound. Could be yes. Could be no.

  Okay. What does that mean?

  “Rysdan has always been the most stubborn of us all. He pursued the other human because he wanted to prove that fate didn’t have control of him. Especially since the last few lines of the prophecy were lost when he killed the soothsayer before she finished it. He went after the human, knowing deep down that she wouldn’t accept him, because enough of the prophecy made it clear that he’d never have her. That, if she really was his, he was cursed to lose her regardless. Still, he was loyal to her until the end, though he shouldn’t have been.” Saxon looks at me, an unreadable expression on his wan face. “Do you understand?”

  “Saxon, I…” Why is he telling me this? It’s bad enough that I want Rys and can’t have him. Now that Jim’s here, I know it’s impossible. Does he really need to rub salt in the wound like this by bringing up that other woman? “I don’t want to talk about this.”

  He doesn’t seem to care. “Rysdan was loyal to a woman who wasn’t the Fae Queen. When Melisandre figured out that he was compromised, she threw him in prison.” He pauses for a beat. “Where he met you, Elle. Where fate led him to his true soul mate.”

  You know, I always wondered how Rys ended up in Siúcra. I guess I never thought I’d find out from Saxon.

  “But I’m not his soul mate,” I argue. I have to cling to that because, if I don’t, I’ll only hope for something I know I can’t have.

  If that strange recording is right, then I really can’t have him.

  Cursed to love, cursed to lose…

  Yeah. That’s about right.

  “So says the prophecy,” Saxon agrees solemnly, almost as if he’s reading my mind. “Now, ask yourself why he used the last of my debt to him to bring your human here.”

  What does that have to do with anything? “He said it was a gift.”

  “And I told you that it’s my way to make amends. Both of those can be true. But ask yourself this then: if he knows that his mate is prophesied to choose another, what does he expect to happen now that you have a choice?”

  It’s obvious. He expects me to choose Jim. Hell, he made the choice for me.

  Only I’m not so sure that I would. I mean, I should… but if it comes down to Jim and Rys—

  I think I would choose Rys. And what does that say about me?

  “But Siúcra—” I try.

  “Siúcra took your home. It took Rysdan’s ffrindau. The sacrifice is complete. But…” He looks around the room before his golden gaze lands on me again. “You’re still here, Elle.”

  I am, aren’t I?

  But for how much longer?

  2

  I lose myself in my art.

  It’s all I can do. I finally convince Saxon that he can leave, though I know he only left because he decided that he wanted to go. I doubted that he actually left Rys’s house—if he said he would stay, his word would hold him to it—but I’m alone. That’s good enough for now.

  At least, I thought so. Within a few minutes, I realize that I might be the only person in this room, but Saxon left me behind with my racing thoughts. There’s so much that I didn’t know about Rys that I know now, and I can’t help but wonder why Saxon shared all of that with me. Did Rys tell him to? Or did Saxon decide to interfere?

  I don’t know.

  Does it matter?

  Probably.

  Oh, well.

  Because I need something to focus on that isn’t the shitshow my life has suddenly become, I prep my easel. It’s a work of art in and of itself. Handmade, carved and shaped and built into the familiar shape, it’s the perfect height for me. I take one of the empty canvases that Rys gave me, set out my paints, and just create.

  Painting has always been one of the only things that keeps me grounded. Back home, I worked the same retail job that I’ve had since I was in high school. I had the same boyfriend for just as long. Both of them were comfortable, and I guess I stuck with the “same”-ness because there wasn’t any reason to chang
e it. Only in my art—and my other creative outlets, like the way I decorate my nails and color my hair—do I ever really experiment and try anything new.

  While I look at the blank canvas, imagining what I want to paint, I have this urge to work with something familiar. Though it doesn’t take a shrink to figure out why, I start sketching out my memory of home. Specifically, the view from my apartment’s balcony.

  The line of taxis filling the street. Faceless people filing down the stretch of blocks. My favorite deli. The corner store where I would buy a scratchie every now and then, my impulsive nature insisting that, this time, maybe it’ll be a big winner. Of course, Jim always sighed and told me I’d be better off flushing money down the toilet…

  I shake my head, and reach for the next jar of paint I want to add to my palette.

  I don’t know how long I’m standing in front of the easel. Hours? Probably. That’s how I get when I’m starting a new project. The rest of the world just melts away, which is probably why I reached for a blank canvas instead of one of my WIPs. I needed the distraction.

  Yeah. Distraction’s definitely the word for it. So consumed by the scene taking shape in front of me, I don’t even notice that Rys has slipped into my room, taking up position a few steps behind me until he finally clears his throat.

  Good thing he waited until I’d moved back from the canvas otherwise I might’ve left a streak of white paint across the painting. That’s how high I jumped when I realized that he’d snuck in and had been watching me.

  Because he had been.

  I whirl on him. He looks cozy. Content. The way he’s changed back into the sort of clothes he wears when he doesn’t plan on leaving the manor again is a clear sign that he’s letting down as much of his guard as possible. Though his jaw is pretty tight, his scar stretched more than usual, his body is relaxed as he leans up against one corner of my bed. Like me, his feet are bare. He has one crossed over the other, his arms folded loosely over his chest.

  I don’t say anything right off. Not while my heart is beating a mile a minute, and I’m kind of dazzled at him appearing right behind me without me catching on. Rys can do that to me. He’s so fucking gorgeous that, when I’m not expecting him, he just about takes my breath away.

  Finally, when I’m sure that I’ll be able to speak without it coming out like a croak, I manage a quick, “Hey.”

  His eyes flicker toward the easel. “Do you miss it, Leannán?”

  I know he doesn’t mean painting. I confided in him once that, of everything I left behind me, it was my art supplies I missed the most. At the time, I wasn’t being completely honest. There were so many things I missed. Jim was one of them. Our apartment. Our life in the city. My parents in Florida. Even my nagging co-workers who couldn’t understand why, after ten years, I still wasn’t engaged yet.

  My art was something tangible, though. Something I missed desperately, and something that I thought the fae could understand. And Rys did. Why else would he have given me everything I needed to paint again?

  So, no. He’s not asking me about painting.

  Which means he’s asking me about this painting.

  He’s been there. I’m talented enough that, even though I’m far from finished, it’s pretty obvious what’s coming to life on my canvas. Even if the exact spot isn’t familiar, he’s been to the human world before. He knows exactly what I’m painting.

  I look back at the scene. And I think about my answer.

  Do I miss home? Of course I do. I miss the hustle and bustle of the city, the way it’s rarely quiet, the people, the lights, the comfort of knowing that a mischievous faerie isn’t going to pick me up and slam me into a plum tree. I miss my apartment. My space. I miss my cell—Lord, do I miss my cell phone—and how I can call my parents in Florida with a touch of a button.

  I miss my mom. With all of the stories she told me as a little girl, she’d probably help me navigate my way through Faerie. Looking back, it’s almost as if she was preparing me for this. The stories, the movies, the legends… I knew more about Faerie than I would’ve guessed, and I’ve only been learning more and more in the last two months that I’ve been here.

  And maybe she was. Or maybe, as Saxon told me, it was just fate.

  “I can’t go back.”

  It’s not an answer. Not really a question, either.

  But Rys understands.

  “No.” There’s a touch of regret to his soft, lilting voice. “Siúcra demanded its sacrifice. The contract seems to be ironclad. I haven’t found any way around it.”

  I glance over my shoulder. “You’ve been looking?”

  “You sound surprised.”

  Probably because I am. Ever since I discovered that Rys’s sacrifice was me, I wanted nothing more than to change that. I was only able to sacrifice my way back to the human world, back to the Iron, because I was at least sure that I’d have Rys at my side. He seemed to accept his sacrifice so easily, I began to wonder if maybe I read more into our time together at Siúcra than he did.

  And then he brought Jim here—on purpose—and that was a pretty big clue that me and Rys were over.

  So while it surprises me that he tried, it doesn’t really mean anything now, does it? Not while—

  “Where’s Jim?”

  It’s the same thing I asked Saxon. I can’t stop myself. Now that I’ve gotten over my shock at Rys coming to see me in my room, I have to wonder why Jim still hasn’t. This has got to be an even bigger jolt to him than it is to me.

  He frowns for a moment before he shrugs. “Still asleep in the room I gave him, I’m sure.”

  Really? It’s been hours. “He must’ve been tired. Jim usually doesn’t nap this long.”

  “Napping? He’s not napping. I dusted him so that he’d give you your space.”

  “You what?”

  “I had to. You didn’t take his arrival as well as I hoped and he wanted to run right after you. I couldn’t allow that.” If his skin wasn’t so flawless, he’d have furrows in his brow. Instead, cocking his head slightly, he asks, “Didn’t Saxon tell you?”

  “No,” I say weakly. “He forgot to mention that part.”

  Tricky, tricky fae.

  Dusted him… I know what that means. When me and Rys were traveling back to the Seelie Court after he rescued me from the Faerie Market, he decided that I should go to sleep. I decided he could shove it. I had gone weeks separated from him, believing that his giving me up meant I’d never see him again, and then he showed up in time to save me. I was grateful, but I was still bitter and hurt, and I wanted to talk to him.

  Rys avoided the conversation that night by blowing a palmful of glittering, gold dust right at my face. The second it hit me, I was down for the count. It was like chloroform on steroids, the dust was that powerful.

  Or that magical.

  If Rys hit Jim with that stuff, he’ll be out for a while. I don’t know if I’m glad for his foresight, or still pissed that he keeps doing shit like this without asking me for my opinion.

  Wait… is that why he’s here now? Because it’s my turn?

  I eye him warily. “Are you going to do that to me, too? Dust me? Knock me out until you can figure out what to do with me?”

  “Do you want me to?”

  “Uh. Not really. No.”

  “Maybe I should. You need your rest.”

  Probably. Now that I’m not throwing all of my energy at my painting, I can pick up on a few signs that I pushed myself too hard. My arches are tender, my back achy, and my eyes are a little dry. I’m hungry, too, and though I’m not cramping yet, I should probably eat something soon.

  Not that I’m going to admit any of that to Rys.

  “Eh. I’m fine.”

  “No, Leannán. You’re not. Don’t lie to me.”

  I can’t even deny that I am.

  The fae can’t lie, but humans can. I learned that one almost right away. It’s one of the only ways I could protect myself, and I’ve always used it when I had to w
ithout any remorse. With Rys, I try not to, but right now? He doesn’t deserve my honesty.

  Not after the stunt he pulled.

  And, sure, maybe he was doing it for me. Maybe he thought that I’d appreciate his gesture. Or maybe he’s just trying to make it easier to accept his sacrifice.

  I’m kind of banking on that last one.

  Welp. He’s the one who wants to act all “holier-than-thou”. Two can play that game.

  I scoff. “That’s rich, coming from you.”

  “What are you saying?”

  Isn’t it obvious? “Where I come from, a lie of omission is still a fucking lie, Rys. You could’ve told me he was coming here. That there was a chance I’d see Jim again. Instead, you… and I—”

  I stop short. Even now, I can’t bring myself to regret anything that’s happened between me and Rys. And it’s not like it was his idea to sleep together after we made it back to his home. I’m the one who approached him, who basically begged for his touch before offering myself up to him on a silver platter. He tried to stop me. Maybe not that hard, but he tried. I wouldn’t let him.

  “You told me to leave him behind in the Iron,” I remind him instead. “Why couldn’t you do the same thing?”

  I know the answer to that. It’s because Rys is fae. The guards in Siúcra might have derided him, calling him a traitor and “human lover”, but that doesn’t change what he is. As one of the ethereal, magical, powerful race, he’s used to his opinion being the only one that matters; being a soldier and a guard only convinced him he was even better than most of his own kind. I’m just a lowly human. How could I ever stand a chance?

  Maybe it’s a good thing that we can’t be together. If Rys made every decision for me, how long before I grew to resent him the same way I did Jim?

  “I did what I thought was for the best.”

  “What you thought.” Because it doesn’t matter what I thought, huh? It’s one thing to know it; it’s another to hear him admit it so casually.

  Oof.

  My hands are shaking. I’m that freaking angry now.