Then, I started dragging the bindings up and down against the jagged edge. Slowly, the friction started eating away at the ropes as I moved my wrists faster. My arms burned with the effort, and my mind started to wander again. I felt myself back in the island of Ys, once my home. The kingdom’s bells chimed over the rocky landscape. My mother stood on a cliff in the distance, her pearly crown gleaming on her head. I wanted to run to her.
Gods, I was losing it in here. I tried not to think of anything at all as I wore down the ropes.
I felt something scamper over my feet, and I yelped and kicked at the rat. I thought the thing hissed at me, but I was probably delirious.
By the time the last bit of fiber snapped in the bindings, it felt like three hours had passed. It could have been twenty minutes for all I knew, but the pain in my arms told a different story. Relief washed through me as soon as I got my arms free, and I heaved an enormous sigh.
At last, I could move my shoulders again. I stretched my arms out, rubbing my shoulders, fingers kneading the muscles. I’d really taken free movement of my arms for granted in the past one hundred and seventy-six years of my life. Never again would I fail to appreciate this freedom.
Next, I needed to get the heck out of Dodge. My throat felt like it was coated with sand. How long had I gone without water?
What I needed was something sharp to pick the lock. It was a simple, old-fashioned skeleton-key lock.
All I had to do was find two thin instruments to flip the deadbolt inside it.
And this is why every girl should carry a pile of rat bones in her purse at all times. One needed to be curved, the other straight. I snapped a rib off the ribcage, then picked up a femur. I slid the bones into the keyhole, and I used the straight one to lift the lever, the curved one to push at the deadbolt. Any second now…
The lock clicked, and I grinned as the cell door creaked open. I’d just started to slip out when magic slammed into me, knocking me back into my cell.
I didn’t see anyone coming—didn’t hear their footsteps or feel magic moving closer. I just felt the impact as I shot back into the wall, and I heard the cell door slam shut.
Then I heard the sound of footfalls moving closer.
Was there a guard? I shifted my body a bit to move upright into a sitting position. Maybe the Ankou was coming back for me.
Whatever the case, I’d face my attacker with dignity instead of lying on the filthy ground. Or at least, what dignity I could muster, given that I was in mud-streaked, baggy underwear reeking of piss.
Still, you could pull off anything if you had the right attitude about it, right?
When three figures came into view, my heart sank a little. None of them were the Ankou, and I knew only that the Ankou was the key to my freedom.
In the dungeon passageway just outside the gate stood three tall fae.
A female knight with midnight hair and eyes the color of jade stood at the front. She wore a silver cloak that blended to deep blue at the end, and a necklace of spiky silver branches.
She was one of the few fae with wings—a sign of the most ancient fae nobility. Slits in the cape allowed her wings to swoop down her back—ginger wings, flecked with gold and black. Like a monarch butterfly. She smelled of orange blossoms.
She belonged here, among the fae, wielding power like she was born to it. For one painful moment, I felt envy so deep it seemed my heart was splitting in two. I didn’t envy beauty, but I did envy power.
The elegant winged female sniffed the air, then grimaced. “Seneschals, is this thing the prince-killer? She looks like something dredged from the sewers. Is that how she dresses?” She held her hand over her mouth like she was about to be sick. “Did you see this thing trying to escape her cage? Gods, we’d all die of the stench.”
I did my best to flash a smile at her. “I was dredged from the sewers, as it happens.” Might as well just own it. “You lot turned my home into one. And the Ankou pulled me out of it.”
One of the males stepped forward. Torchlight danced over his deep brown skin. “This dirtling killed Irdion, heir to the Isle of Lyonesse?”
My throat was sandpaper, and I tried licking my lips again. “Who are you, exactly?”
“Gwydion, seneschal of the Sea Court of Acre.” A thin wreath of seaweed rested on Gwydion’s close-cropped hair, and a sea-green cloak draped off his shoulders.
It took me a moment to process the word. “Acre…” I repeated, mentally reviewing my history. An ancient city on the coast, something about crusaders. No wonder this place looked medieval. “Israel.”
The woman clapped. “Very good! She knows a basic fact about the world.”
“Well, friends,” I said hoarsely. “Irdion didn’t mention he was a prince when he showed up threatening to kill me.”
The other male stared at me, his vibrant crimson hair a stark contrast to his somber clothing. He stood rod-straight, and his silver epaulets gleamed in the light. His eyes were dark as the bottom of an ocean. “Iron,” he said through gritted teeth. “You slaughtered him with iron.”
Then, he flicked his wrist, and those magical bindings wrapped around my arms again, wrenching them together behind my back. I fell forward on my knees, struggling to stay upright as the bindings slid around me. This time, the ropes felt strong as iron.
Finally, he sealed up the keyhole with another flick of his wrist. “There. The thing won’t be getting out again anytime soon.” His voice was eerily calm.
The disappointment of finding myself bound again was crushing, but I forced myself to look up at him. “And you are?”
“Midir, the other seneschal, not that it’s any of your concern.”
Gwydion nodded at the female next to him. “And this is Melisande, one of our lady knights. But we’re not done with introductions yet, are we? Because you haven’t been informed of our skills yet.”
What in the world…? “Your skills? Do I need to know?”
Gwydion smiled. “Midir, the lovely ginger seneschal, is skilled at slow torture and skin removal. I once watched him rip out a man’s spine, keeping him alive for a full hour after that. And that’s the first thing you need to know about us.”
My stomach lurched. Oh gods.
Chapter 7
I could withstand torture if I had to, but it’s not like I relished the thought. I wasn’t a masochist.
“As for me,” Gwydion went on, “I’m an expert at curses, so I could condemn you to rot from the inside out or something like that. I once replaced a woman’s hair with infected molar teeth.” He laughed delightedly. “Do you remember that, Midir? She was so upset. My beautiful blond hair!” He was in fits of laughter. “Her dental bill must’ve been insane. Anyway, I just wanted to make sure you were up to speed on everything.”
Midir glowered at him. No one that dour should have had hair that festive. “Is our divine Grand Master really going to let this one live? Does he really need this filthy thing? I’m surprised he didn’t kill her long ago.”
I desperately wanted to ask them for water, but it didn’t seem like they were inclined to help me. “How long will I be in the dungeon for?”
Melisande shrugged her perfect shoulders, and her wings lifted up and down. “You should probably stay here forever in filth, atoning for your crimes.”