“What pockets?” I asked without thinking.
Gil glanced at me sidelong and mimed zipping his lips. Then he held one finger upward. “Can’t spill all my secrets, love. If what you say is true, they’re probably listening to every word of this.”
Startled, I eased backward and rested my spine against the wall. My mind was off again. Maybe that’s Belanor’s next move, I thought. I’d assumed Gil was the weapon, but maybe he was just a catalyst for this conversation. Belanor was probably hoping we’d reveal something about our species. Especially if he was still trying to undo my mortality. Why settle for one Nightmare when there was potential to have two? Why else would he allow us to talk?
Unless, of course, Gil was full of shit, I reminded myself for the dozenth time. Peeks had warned me Belanor’s next assault would be psychological. But Peeks could have been a liar, too.
I couldn’t trust anyone, not a single person that I’d met here.
My headache was back. Panic crept along the boundaries of my control, searching for weaknesses. I felt like I was on the verge of insanity. Questioning everything, trusting nothing. These dark days with Belanor may not have resurrected my Nightmare abilities, but they had revived my determination to survive. To uphold the promise I’d made to Matthew Sworn while I was between life and death.
“What do you do for a living?” I asked, trying to distract myself until the panic passed.
Gil’s eyes flicked upward again. If there really were cameras, though, they’d been well-hidden. “Well, I suppose they already know that bit, considering they snatched me from work. I’m a tattoo artist,” he said.
“Did you do your own?”
Following my gaze, Gil tugged up his sleeve, exposing more of his pale arm and the intricate image that was now part of his skin. “Some of them.”
My breathing slowed as I studied his tattoo more closely, losing myself in it. The entire length of Gil’s arm was covered in a black bird. It looked like a crow or a raven, and I wished I knew the difference between the two. Its round, dark eyes were unfocused, as if it were looking off into the distance. I was curious about the bird’s significance, but Gil didn’t volunteer the information and that felt important, for some reason.
“If we get out of this, I’m definitely hiring you to do my first,” I said eventually.
One corner of Gil’s mouth tilted up. He started readjusting his sleeve, tugging the leather back into place. “Is that right? Any idea what you want?”
The question brought a soft smile to my lips. I’d thought about it before—getting a tattoo. When I was younger, I wanted something that represented my parents. Lately, I’d toyed with the idea of a wolf.
A moment after I mentally drew a howling silhouette that looked an awful lot like Finn’s, I realized the distraction had worked. The rattling sensation in my chest was gone. I took a final, steadying breath, exactly the way my dad taught me to. Deep inhale, hold, long exhale.
When I felt ready to return to the playing board, I refocused on Gil’s face. I was about to attempt asking about the spell on his tattoos again when the door shot open.
Four Guardians entered, and they were in full regalia. Unlike the rough-looking armor at the Unseelie Court, theirs was made of silver. The edges of the metal were lined with vines and flowers.
They wore identical expressions that made them seem empty inside, but there was nothing similar about their beauty. Enormous swords hung at their hips. Somehow, these warriors were more intimidating than the ones at the Unseelie Court. Were the faeries of the Seelie Court… bigger?
Then there was a flash of silver, and I forgot the Guardians as my gaze flew to the doorway.
Belanor came in with a sweep of his red cloak. Beneath this, he’d put on a bright suit of armor, as well. The metal had been molded to his body, but it had generous and dramatic ridges, giving Belanor the appearance of being far more muscular than he actually was. I wanted to make a snide remark and watch his face turn red, but fear had turned my bones to stone.
Belanor didn’t spare me a glance, anyway. He stepped into the small room and loomed over Gil like a comic book villain, resting a gauntlet-covered hand on the hilt of his sword. The Nightmare’s head fell back, landing on the pad behind him with a painful sound. He grinned up at Belanor. “All of this fuss for little old me? I’m touched,” he chirped.
I liked Gil, I decided. Even if he turned out to be a complete fraud, his brand of sarcasm was delightfully similar to mine, and that was difficult to find.
Belanor’s expression darkened like a storm on the horizon. My vicious satisfaction gave way to dread, and I felt my stomach sink. I knew Gil was about to pay a high price for his flippancy. I glanced between the two males, torn. Part of me desperately wanted to intervene, to help him, but I didn’t fully believe Gil’s story. Distrust was a shadow over my heart.
Then the window of opportunity closed.
“Take him,” the faerie prince said in a voice that rivaled a winter wind.
Gil must’ve seen the futility of resisting, because he went with them without resistance, still grinning. His leather jacket creaked amongst all the clanking armor. Whatever comment Gil made as they left was blocked by the sound of the door rushing back down. Just like that, I was alone again. The only indication that Gil had been real were the wrinkles he’d left behind on the padded surfaces.
Guilt spread through me like poison. I knew it wasn’t completely logical—Belanor was the one responsible for all of this. Not me. Gil would’ve been taken away no matter what I said.
The room felt even colder, suddenly. I wrapped my arms around my shoulders, but I didn’t let myself rock. If I relented control of the anxiety trapped inside my chest, the detonation could be catastrophic. That was exactly what Belanor wanted. I stared at the door and pretended not to hear the noises creeping along the edges of the room like frost.
Wherever they took Gil, it was in a room that was either connected to this one or extremely close to it. I could hear every sound the Nightmare made, and I wondered if that was exactly what Belanor intended. Gil’s voice was a low hum, at first, but it gradually built to a string of enraged, desperate shouts. If I had to guess, I’d say he was trying to talk his way out of whatever was about to happen.
Within a few seconds, those shouts became screams.
I bit my lip so hard I tasted blood. Thankfully, it didn’t last long. Once silence had reclaimed the dungeons, I lifted my head, trembling, and strained to hear anything else. Had they killed him? No, maybe that had just been the branding, I thought wildly.
More time passed, with still no way to track it. I couldn’t focus on counting. My brain felt like it was short-circuiting. Glitching back to the moment they dragged Gil out, jumping forward to those mindless cries. I didn’t bother considering sleep. I wasn’t tired anymore. Instead, everything was sharper, harsher. Details of the room were almost painful in their clarity. I sat against the wall, legs crossed, staring at the door.
Then more screams ripped through the stillness.
My entire body gave a painful, involuntary jerk, and my eyes widened to the point of pain. These wails were even more agonized than before—I’d never heard anyone make sounds like that, not once in all my years of being a Nightmare. They were so terrible that I clamped my hands over my ears and curled into the tightest ball I could manage.