Bartered by the shadow p.., p.17
Bartered by the Shadow Prince, page 17
27
Caged
ELOISE
The box is painful. It’s not large enough for me to stretch out fully or to stand up. Worse, every time the cart hits a bump, I’m thrown against the side, where the light burns me until I’m able to right myself. Afterward, the itching and tightness as the wound heals is enough to drive me mad. This light of the elves, it hurts, although I wonder if it would be enough to kill me. So far, my wounds have only been skin-deep.
The irony that I am the key yet I am once again someone’s prisoner isn’t lost on me. The tattoo on my back represents the gift of my family’s magic. I should be able to bust through any lock, open a portal and step from any world to the next. But by some cruel twist of fate, the harder I’ve worked to free myself and then Damien, the more I’ve found myself caged. I seriously must have pissed off the wrong god.
I try to prepare myself for what will happen next. Brahm bartered me to the elf king. Adril is evil; I know it deep in my soul. But Damien will come for me. It may take him a few days to figure out where they’re keeping me, but he will come for me. All I have to do is stay alive until he does.
The cart rolls to a stop, and I wait for someone to come around to let me out. All I can see are strange trees and the empty road we arrived on winding into them. A bat-like creature with a barbed tail lands on one of the branches and blinks red eyes at me. We are not in Stygarde anymore.
My stomach drops as my cage lists, and I have to dig my nails into the floor to keep from toppling into the side again.
“Through there,” a deep voice with a metallic timbre says from behind me. I’ve come to associate that tinny quality with the voices of elves, and it makes my scalp tingle. My cage bumps and jostles as my box is carried backward through an enormous portcullis I only see once I’m through it. I catch a glimpse of the dark-haired guard who must have directed my abductors before the metal slab slams down and seals us in. My box bearers carry me down a long hall of roughhewn stone punctuated with sun-tinged bars. This is a prison—or perhaps dungeon is more apt a term. Given my limited perspective, I spot no other prisoners. I hear them, though. They moan and call out as we pass.
“Help me,” one raw voice calls.
“Water, please,” comes a female voice, so weak I can barely make it out.
A guttural cry of pain rings out from one of the cells.
My box is turned and slid into a cell, and then the door is lifted. I’m out before I draw my next breath, relieved to have room to stand up straight. My relief ends when I whirl around to find the box sealed into the wall. They’ve unloaded me into this cell like a tiger might be released at the zoo. If I wanted to, I could go back into the box, but there’s no way out of this cage. I’m in a twelve-foot cube with a door of sunlight enchanted bars and a tiny, rectangular window that lets in a trickle of moonlight. There is no bed. There is no toilet or sink. The stone floor is covered in straw.
Talk about being treated like an animal.
I don’t bother screaming about my conditions. I walk to the door and squint through the bars, surprised to find an elf standing there.
“Kneel,” the elf commands. He’s tall, as I’ve learned all elves are, but with more muscle on his weirdly jointed frame than any other I’ve seen so far. But it’s the scars that pepper his face and exposed arms that unsettle me. Puckered dots the size of quarters populate his exposed chest, and thick bands of scars mar his wrists. Silver-white slices travel up to his biceps. Was he once a prisoner too? A warrior? Was he himself once tortured in this place?
“What’s your name?” I ask softly. People always respond better to being treated as individuals.
“On your knees,” he commands. There is no softness in his words.
“I want to speak with Adril.” In truth, I never want to see Adril again, but any chance out of this cage is a chance to escape.
He snorts. “You are in no place to make demands, woman. You will see no one but me until you learn to obey. Now, kneel.”
“No.”
He snorts again, then walks on, pulling his cart behind him. The scent of food and blood wafts into my cell as he passes.
I hear him at the next cell. “Kneel.”
There’s a thump as if my neighboring prisoner collapses to their knees. I hear a tray slide across hay-covered stone and then the unmistakable sounds of eating and drinking. So that’s to be the game. If I want food, I’ll have to kneel or obey whatever other command they give me.
But I know better than to eat the food. Cassius and Damien told me that the elves lace their prisoners’ meals with light, and that that’s how they kept Malek mortal and unable to leave his cell. There is a chance that the light magic, like that infusing the walls of the box, won’t be strong enough to turn me to ash, but presumably, it will hurt me. Which means that, as a vampire, I can’t risk ingesting it at all.
I pace my cell. I won’t kneel, and I won’t eat the food or drink the blood. It’s safer for me to fast until Damien rescues me. He’ll come for me. I know he will. He broke his father out of prison. It’s only a matter of time before he tracks me down.
He’ll come for me.
And they’ll be sorry when he does.
28
The Wraith
DAMIEN
The breath of my rabble beast fogs the air, and I lean over his mane, taking comfort in the animal’s body heat. Borus’s feet land in the snow at a steady rhythm, the only sound in these cursed woods. I don’t bother to cover his clawed paw prints. No one in their right mind would follow me here.
Usually, as a shade, I’m not particularly susceptible to the cold. A shadow can’t freeze after all. Except here. Here, a shadow can be made into a snow globe to be shattered underfoot. The weather in the woods surrounding Dimhollow is magically enhanced as a defense by the witches who call this place home. It’s the reason that neither elves nor shades have ever controlled these lands, despite outnumbering the witches eight to one. This frost sinks into me, into the very stuff I’m made of.
A blast of snow blows into us, stinging my cheek. Borus shivers from nose to tail and gives a disgruntled chuff.
“I agree,” I tell the beast. “But there’s no turning back now. This is how we find Eloise.”
If he understands my words, I cannot say, but when I prod him forward, he obeys. Halfway up the mountain, the forest grows denser, until I enter a grove of close-growing trees with oddly torqued and knotted branches. Almost immediately, disorientation seizes me. Have I lost my way? Are we heading up the mountain or down it? North or south?
Something moves in the wind, and I spot a rope constructed from braided hair with feathers and branches tied to it at regular intervals. It spins in the chilling wind. A witch’s ladder. That’s why I’m disoriented. This is meant to deter me. I must be heading in the right direction.
I guide Borus, and Romulus behind him, over to the charm and stop its spinning by gripping its center. A shock runs along my arm, but my sense of direction returns. I release it and prod Borus up the mountain again.
I see them more frequently now. Sticks wired together to look like men or pyramids with crystals at the center, stones precariously piled one on top of another. I’m surrounded by spells, charms, and cairns on all sides.
Borus takes another step forward and then stops, braying as if he’s in pain. Fire erupts in a circle around us, broken only where a pile of dirt churns. A skeleton hand breaks the surface and claws the earth, fleshless arm pulling a skull and then a spine until a complete skeleton rises from its burial plot. Ghostly flesh forms on the bones. The dead is a man. In his final state, he might be mistaken for living, aside from the silver glow he’s giving off in the moonlight. The spirit’s head is cloaked in fur and feathers, his clothing fur-lined leather.
“Guardian, I am Damien of House Hymir, former prince of the Kingdom of Stygarde. I need to see Aurora.” Every single time I’ve visited the realm of the witches, I’ve woken the dead who guard their villages. But normally, Aurora knows I am coming and returns them to their slumber quickly. This time, I’m not even sure Aurora is alive. No one knows I’m coming. I haven’t had to face a spirit warrior since the very first time I sought her out, and I was a much younger shade then, and well-armed.
The dead opens its mouth and roars. I dismount my steed, careful to avoid the flames. Unfortunately, they give off no heat even though, if I touch them, they will burn. And the injuries they cause are far worse than those brought about by natural fire.
“Just this once, could you simply tell them I’m here? Can you use those psychic abilities of yours to send a message to the community you protect?”
The mouth of the dead thing curls into a dark smile. I suppose if I were dead and buried and my only chance to be above ground was the occasional interloper, I’d require a fight as well.
I transform into battle form, growing bigger and sprouting wings and a tail. Talons at the ends of my new fingers click together with my annoyance.
The dead man draws his rapier from the sheath at his hip.
This would be easier if I had my broadsword. What is it they say about bringing a dagger to a sword fight? My talons are only so long, and I’m fighting a creature who is already dead, animated by magic. I’ll have to disassemble him to get past him. I could use Eloise’s daggers, but they’re packed in the saddlebag and would be of limited use in this form anyway. I’m better off wielding my own talons.
I spread my wings and lower myself into fighting stance. The guardian attacks. I dodge left as he thrusts toward me, barely missing my torso. As I pivot around him, evading his next slash, I bring my fist down on his free arm, severing it off at the elbow.
The black-tinged mouth screams, and the wraith chops his blade toward my wing. Barely slipping out of his crosshairs, I drop and swipe my talons across his waist. The skeleton disconnects in its middle. I slide out of the way as the torso topples, and I kick the legs into the flames. The flesh disappears, but the bones fall to the snow and start writhing toward me again.
“Goddess, you really don’t quit.” The torso crawls in my direction using the elbow of his sword arm and the partial remains of his other.
I leap aside and stomp on the back of its skull. My hoof shatters the empty bone and lands in the snow. The arm keeps going, pulling itself from the socket and trying to turn so it can stab me. Meanwhile, the legs are still working their way toward the torso as if the dead thing plans to pull itself back together. I decide not to wait until it’s successful.
I hurry back to Borus and mount him, still in my battle form. “Yah!” I kick him forward toward the break in the flames where the guardian emerged from the soil. Borus is reluctant, but he leaps over the bones there to get out of the ring. To my great relief, Romulus keeps up. But as we pass, the wraith swings the ghostly rapier in a high arc.
“Ah!” A sharp pain slices through my lower leg from ankle to knee. The tip of the dead thing’s sword only nicked my ankle as we escaped but I feel it all over my lower leg. My flesh is torn and I’m bleeding, but it appears to be a shallow wound.
I look back at the skeleton, lying in pieces in the circle of flames, its skull half caved in. Staring at me through one piercing eye, the spirit gives me a wicked smile. I ignore it and press forward. We’re free.
Hastily, I direct Borus and Romulus onto a trail I remember from my time here long ago. I’m close. This leads to Aurora’s village. Only, I have no chance to celebrate my good fortune. Pain swells in my ankle, spreads to my knee, and then my hip. I try to ignore it, but when I glance down, my hoof and fur are soaked in blood and I’m dripping crimson onto the white snow. The wound burns too. Sweat breaks out on my forehead.
Pulling Borus to a halt, I dismount and inspect the cut, changing into my polite form to make bending to the side easier. I scoop up a handful of snow and use it to wash away the blood, then pack it against the still-bleeding wound. Despite the ice, it burns, and when I pull the snow away, it’s still bleeding. It looks deeper than I originally thought, too, with a jagged red edge.
I dig in my bag for a shirt and tear off the bottom, tying the cloth around the wound. It bleeds through almost immediately. Fuuuuck. Shades heal quickly, which means this damned cut is cursed. I attempt to shift into my shadow form but find that I can’t.
Behind me, Romulus gives a strangled cry and topples over. I move toward the beast, still trying to sort what’s wrong with me. I notice two thin slices across his legs. I reach down to check for his pulse, and it pounds against my palm, although the beast’s eyes close. Asleep.
What in Hades? Quickly, I check Borus. He’s fine. Unharmed. Thank the gods. I load Eloise’s pack onto him and untie Romulus from his saddle. Then I grab his reins and begin to walk him along the trail, leaving the other beast behind for now. I’ll come back once I find Aurora.
Every step on my injured leg brings pain, but Borus can’t carry two packs and me. Blood trails behind me on the path, my ankle still bleeding. It grows colder, windier. Borus moans and chuffs, unhappy to be forced forward.
It can’t be much farther. Another step and another. Slower now. It starts to snow. “Aurora!” I call.
Another step, and my feet slip out from under me. My cheek hits the snow. My eyelids droop, close, and then stay closed.
29
Blackspire
ELOISE
Two days come and go. I slump against the wall of my cell, my head throbbing with the need for nourishment and water, my blood like sandpaper in my veins. Where is Damien? It feels like there’s a nail being hammered into my skull just above my right eye. I press the heel of my palm to it and try to block it out.
He’s coming. He’ll be here soon.
“Stand up,” the guard orders. He’s back again with his stupid cart and his stupid orders. The smell of the blood and food would make my mouth water if I had any saliva left, but that is long gone.
“Stand up and walk to the door,” the guard orders again.
“No,” I rasp, although the word is barely audible. My vocal cords are too dry and my fangs too distended to speak clearly.
“Fucking pain in the ass,” the guard mumbles, and then he opens my door.
In my mind, I picture myself racing across the cell and snapping his neck, before finding my way out of here. But I can hardly move. The last time I fed on Damien was four days ago. The last time I had any food or drink at all was the night before I was captured. That means it’s been almost three days since I’ve had any sustenance at all. If I were human, I’d be flirting with death from dehydration right now. I’m not human, and I’m not dying, but I am desiccating. I can feel my flesh drying on my bones.
No matter how much I want to attack my guard, I can’t.
He walks into my cell and pulls me to my feet. I can’t stand on my own and he has to assist me to the door, but he makes a sound like he’s clearly unhappy about it. “It seems you’ve gotten your wish, shade. Adril has asked to see you. Time to get that stench off you.”
I’m no shade, I think, but I’m too exhausted to say it aloud. He half carries me to the end of the hall, then shoves me through a door toward a dark-haired woman in a red dress. “She’s all yours.”
She grabs me by the shoulders and tsks. “You can’t expect me to have her ready by tonight. I’m not a miracle worker!”
“She’s due for presentation at the Blackspire ball tonight. You can tell Adril yourself if you can’t make her ready.”
“Devil’s spawn,” she curses.
My eyes roll back in my head. I black out for a moment, and the next thing I know, another man is carrying me, an elf but a big one.
“This way. Hurry,” the woman says.
He carries me to a room and lowers me to the floor beside a tub. “What is your name?” the woman asks.
“Eloise,” I croak.
“What? Gods, you haven’t eaten in days.” She disappears and returns with a small goblet. “Here. It’s clean. It won’t hurt you.”
I look down into the vessel, the contents obscured in its dark belly.
She holds up her arm and points toward a cut. “It’s my blood, okay? It’s fresh. I’ve had no chance to spell it to injure you. Besides, it’s my head if I don’t get you cleaned up and into a dress in—” she checks the clock “—three hours.”
I drink the blood. I’ve never had elf blood before. Honestly, it tastes like absolute garbage, but I feel better almost immediately. Better, but also still ravenously hungry.
“More,” I say, handing her back the goblet.
She takes it and points her chin toward a copper tub filled with steaming water. “Take off your clothes and wash up. There’ll be plenty where you’re going tonight.”
As much as I’d prefer to be defiant, the lure of a bath after everything is too much to deny. I stand and strip out of my clothes. I’m aware she’s watching me like some kind of perv. I’m too tired to care. I sink into the bath, almost moaning at the feeling of the warm water against my muscles.
She comes to the side of the tub and pulls over a chair. “I am Ferida, lady’s maid to the guests of Blackspire. I must tell you, this is the first time I’ve been asked to tend to a prisoner.”
“This is the first time I’ve been a prisoner.”
“What exactly did you do to end up in the bowels of Blackspire?”
“Nothing. I’ve done absolutely nothing wrong.” Then a name pops into my head from a conversation I had with Cassius what feels like a lifetime ago. “Blackspire? That’s where we are? I thought maybe they’d taken me to Dhegal prison.”
She snorts. “Dhegal? Oh no, girl. You don’t want to go there. That’s where they send prisoners they hope will die but they can’t outright kill for political reasons. Dhegal is for true criminals. No, if you’re here, it’s because he doesn’t deem you dangerous. You are a lucky one, then. He must plan to use you for something, which means he’ll want you alive and well. Usually, prisoners here are well-fed, though. I’m surprised by your physical state. I have half a mind to report your guard.”
