There was the sound of soft footsteps. More seconds ticked by, and each one felt like a missed opportunity, because I knew those double doors were probably open behind me. A frustrated scream bounced off the walls of my skull. At that same moment, I caught a glimpse of a sheet trailing past. The flash of a skirt. They were changing the bedding, I realized, since I’d lost control of my bladder. Had Belanor given the order? Was he still here? Maybe the branding wasn’t over. I couldn’t remember hearing Fende leave. In a burst of terror, I tried to lift my head, but nothing happened.
“Jesus, it smells in here,” someone snapped. “Humans are so vile.”
Despite the terror roaring in my ears, I knew an insult when I heard one. I longed to respond with an insult—normally I’d have several of them ready—but the pain was still too overwhelming.
“Now, now, Iris. Treat her well, or I will be displeased.”
“We wouldn’t want that,”
The newcomer’s heels made the floor shake as she approached. An instant later, I felt hands shove me with unnecessary force, and I rolled onto my stomach with another moan I couldn’t contain.
Silence swelled around us, save for the creak of leather and the clink of glass. Probably a medical bag, I thought. Zara carried one, and I’d heard those same sounds the last time she tended to me. So Belanor had summoned a healer. Iris, he’d called her.
I hissed through my teeth when she dabbed at the brand with a washcloth. Soon a new smell laced through the stench of burned flesh, notes that made me think of hospitals and medicine cabinets. Belanor’s healer must’ve expended too much energy recently, or she wouldn’t be resorting to human means of treatment. It meant that I would be in agony for the unforeseeable future, considering mortals took weeks to recover from injuries like this.
Trying not to whimper at the thought, I listened to Iris rummage through her bag again. I wasn’t prepared when her hands returned, this time with a bandage, and I cried out as it made contact with the fresh burn. The sound only seemed to make her rougher. Determined not to give the healer any more satisfaction, I bit my lip so hard I tasted blood. When she pulled away, I was so relieved that some of the tension visibly left my body, in spite of the pain still radiating from the newly-covered brand.
The pressure of Iris’s hands had only disappeared for a moment when I felt a prick in my neck, there and gone like a scorpion’s strike. A pain reliever? I wondered hopefully.
She offered no explanation, of course. Without a word, Iris retrieved her bag and her warm presence retreated. But instead of going to the doors, she circled me, walking so close that I felt the vibrations of her footsteps through my bones.
I saw the hem of her dress first, then Iris knelt so that I could see her face. Witch, I thought with faint surprise. From the strength of her shove, I’d expected the healer to be a faerie. Brown eyes flicked between mine, and a smile hovered around her lips. One of her hands dangled elegantly off her knee. Her nails gleamed red in the pale light pouring through the windows. Judging from the faint lines around her mouth and across her forehead, she was probably very, very old. If we were in the human world, any passerby would assume she was in her late twenties or early thirties.
“They spoke of you with such awe,” she said, keeping her voice pitched low. My gaze rose back to hers, and the witch’s lovely features twisted into a sneer. “The Nightmare Queen. They said your beauty was indescribable. They sang of your feats. The one who killed the Leviathan. The one who made even the ancients bow and tremble. But you’re not so impressive after all, are you?”
Iris straightened before I could attempt a response. I listened to her walk away, wishing I was able to leap up and show her how impressive I was. Or how impressive I used to be.
As if she could hear the thought, Iris’s footsteps halted. I imagined her turning in the doorway, giving me one last look. I’d never felt so small. So pathetic.
“I look forward to watching you break,” the witch said.
And I look forward to making you rip your own face off, I tried to snarl back. Just as I opened my mouth, though, it felt like something sank its claws into me and dragged my mind into shadow. Iris must’ve given me a sedative. I fought it, every instinct I had shrieking against being vulnerable and unconscious when I was surrounded by the enemy.
The darkness won.
CHAPTER TWO
The next time I awoke, I was back on the bed.
Moonlight spilled through the windows. Chains were once again secured around my wrists and ankles. For an instant, I felt a wild sense of relief, thinking the branding had been a nightmare, just a terrible nightmare that Oliver was no longer there to shield me from. Then the pain rushed in, as if it were eager to crush my spirit. It was like Cyrus’s dragonfire on a lesser scale, a white-hot agony simmering beneath the burnt skin.
Seeing that I was alone, I allowed myself to let out a faint sound, something halfway between a whimper and a sob.
With slow, ginger movements, I rolled onto my side. It put one of my arms in an awkward angle, but anything was better than laying on the brand.
Now that I was facing the other way, I noticed a tray on Belanor’s tea table, which had been brought closer to the bed. A beat later, the delicious scents rolling off it reached me, and my mouth instantly began to water. Despite what Belanor had done, he hadn’t lied about one thing—he was feeding me well. In addition to a plate of tender-looking steak and mashed potatoes, there was a glass of red wine. Condensation rolled down the glass and steam rose from the food.
I realized the last time I’d eaten had been at home, well before the cherubim took me. How long ago had that been? A day? Two? I tested the chains—the wound under Iris’s bandage protested, making me hiss through my teeth—and someone must’ve made adjustments while I was out, because I had more range of motion. Probably just enough to reach for that tray and eat.
I faced the same dilemma I had when I first arrived at the Unseelie Court; it was widely-known that faeries liked to put things in food and drinks. Spells, poisons, drugs. Belanor wanted me strong, though. He wouldn’t put his precious Nightmare-to-be at risk. Right? He may have had me branded, but he’d also sent Iris in afterward.
My mind kept working and turning like a Rubik’s Cube. If I didn’t eat, I’d only get weaker. Belanor might be trying to get me at full health for his undoubtedly nefarious purposes, but I needed to be if I was going to escape.
And escape was the only way I would survive this. It had become clear that I couldn’t wait for someone else to be the hero. Not this time. Even if my family was looking, it might be too late by the time they got here. Something told me getting branded was just the start of my delightful experience at the Seelie Court, and I wasn’t interested in sticking around to find out if I was right.
As I ate, barely tasting the seasoned potatoes past the adrenaline coating my mouth, I scanned the room yet again. There had to be something I’d missed. Something I wasn’t seeing. Adam was always stressing how anything could be made into a tool or weapon. But all I saw was the smooth floors and papered walls. The only furniture was the bed and the table, which were hardly useful for—
The bedsprings. I could use the bedsprings to pick the padlock.