Chapter 14
Chapter fourteen
Briar surfaced from sleep slowly, disoriented. The room was wrong. Too cold. Too quiet. No flicker of firelight, no pale moon through the window. Just absolute black that made her blink hard to ensure her eyes were actually open.
Her hand moved instinctively to her wrist, seeking the comfort of plastic beads.
Nothing.
Panic shot through her as she patted the bed around her, searching. The bracelet was gone. But she'd been wearing it, she'd felt it against her cheek as she'd drifted off—
"Looking for something, little thief?"
Her blood turned to ice. Eliam's voice came from somewhere in the darkness, impossible to pinpoint. Close enough to be at her bedside. Far enough to be across the room. Everywhere and nowhere at once.
She sat up too quickly, vertigo making her sway. "My lord?"
"Such formality." His voice moved, now behind her, though she'd heard no footsteps. "Were you having pleasant dreams?"
The darkness was oppressive, making her skin prickle with awareness. How long had he been here? Watching her sleep? The thought made bile rise in her throat.
"The bracelet," she said, hating how her voice shook. "Where—"
"Ah yes. This little thing."
She heard the soft clatter of plastic beads and turned toward the sound, but the darkness gave nothing away. He could be anywhere. Could have been sitting in that chair for hours, studying her while she slept unaware.
"Fascinating what you consider worth keeping," he continued. The beads clicked again, as if he was running them through his fingers. "Cheap plastic. Gaudy colors. Worth perhaps a copper in your human markets."
"It's mine." The words came out before wisdom could stop them.
"Is it?" His voice shifted again, now to her left. "Nothing here is yours, little thief. I thought we'd established that."
She turned, trying to track his movement, but the darkness was absolute. Her other senses strained, the whisper of fabric, the subtle shift of air, the scent of pine and winter that marked his presence. But he moved like shadow through shadow, giving her nothing solid to focus on.
"When did you acquire this treasure?" he asked conversationally. "Because I distinctly remember stripping you of all possessions when you arrived."
Her mouth went dry. "I—"
"Careful." The word came from directly beside her ear, making her flinch. When had he gotten so close? "Think very carefully about your next words. Lies have consequences, as you've learned."
She could feel the cold radiating from him, could sense his presence inches away, but the darkness made everything uncertain. Was he sitting on the bed? Standing beside it? The not knowing made her heart race faster.
"Today," she admitted quietly. "I found it today."
"Found it." He drew out the words, tasting them. "How convenient. Things just appear in your room now? Spontaneously manifest?"
The beads clicked again. He was definitely playing with them, running them through his fingers like worry stones. The casual handling of something so precious to her made her chest tight.
"Someone must have—"
"Someone." His voice hardened. "Would you like to guess who?"
She pressed her lips together, refusing to answer. She wouldn't give him Seraphin's name. Wouldn't be the one to condemn her.
"No guesses? How disappointing." He moved again, the sound coming from near her desk. "Let me help. Someone who has access to your room. Someone who knew where your pitiful belongings were stored. Someone foolish enough to think they could defy me."
A match flared to life, the sudden light making her eyes water. He sat in the chair by her desk, the bracelet dangling from his fingers. The flame threw shadows across his face, making his beautiful features look sharp and dangerous.
"Someone," he continued, lighting a single candle, "who confused your misplaced kindness for friendship."
"Don't hurt her." The plea escaped before she could stop it.
His smile was winter moonlight on frozen water. "Her? I haven't mentioned anyone specific."
The bracelet swung gently from his fingers, cheap beads catching the candlelight. Such a small thing to destroy so much.
"Shall we discuss the price of theft in my domain?" he asked. "Or would you prefer to skip directly to consequences?"
"It wasn't theft. It was already mine—"
"Nothing is yours." The temperature dropped further, frost creeping across the window. "Your clothes. Your room. Your body. Your heartbeat. All mine. And someone gave you something without my permission."
He stood, tucking the bracelet into his pocket with deliberate care.
With a lazy gesture toward the door, it swung open on silent hinges.
Thaine filled the doorway, one massive hand gripping Seraphin's shoulder.
The fae looked even smaller beside him, her bark-touched skin pale as birch in the candlelight.
"As requested, my lord." Thaine's scarred face revealed nothing.
"Bring her forward."
Thaine guided Seraphin forward with a hand on her shoulder, tightening when she stumbled, the fae's legs barely seemed able to support her. When she saw Briar sitting on the bed, her face crumpled.
"I'm sorry," Seraphin whispered. "I'm so sorry, I just thought—"
"You thought." Eliam circled them slowly, each step measured. The temperature continued to drop, their breath forming clouds in the frigid air. "How fascinating. Tell me, little fae, what exactly were you thinking when you stole from my personal storage?"
Seraphin's mouth opened and closed soundlessly. Her whole body shook, whether from cold or fear, Briar couldn't tell.
"She was trying to help me," Briar said. The words scraped past the knot in her throat. "It's my fault."
"Your fault?" Eliam paused his circling, fixing her with those green-gold eyes. "Did you ask her to retrieve your worthless trinket?"
"No, but—"
"Did you suggest it? Hint at it? Manipulate her sympathy?"
"No." The word came out hollow. Because she hadn't needed to, had she? Seraphin had seen her distress and had acted out of kindness. Now she would suffer as a result.
"Then we have two criminals." Eliam resumed his pacing. "A thief and a liar. Both requiring correction."
He stopped directly in front of Seraphin, towering over her. The fae shrank back against Thaine, who remained still as stone.
"The question becomes punishment. I'm feeling generous… I'll let you choose."
"My lord?" Seraphin's voice cracked.
"Not you." His eyes found Briar's. "Her. She'll choose your fate."
The room tilted. Briar gripped the bed's edge to steady herself. "What? No—"
"Stone for a year. Living but frozen, aware but unable to move, speak, or scream. Time passes slowly in stone." He paused. "Or living wood for a season. Part of my forest, roots drinking deep, fully conscious as bark grows over your skin. Shorter, but intense."
"I won't—"
"Then you'll take her place." His voice dropped lower. "And I'll choose for you. I assure you that I am far less merciful than you are."
Seraphin made a small, broken sound. Her amber eyes found Briar's, wide with terror but also understanding. She knew this was always a possibility. The price of kindness in a cruel place.
"Choose," Eliam commanded. "Now."
Briar's throat closed around the words she had to speak. The bracelet's absence felt heavier than its presence ever had. She looked at Seraphin, who had risked everything to return a worthless piece of plastic and memory.
"Living wood," she whispered. It would end sooner.
"Louder."
"Living wood for a season."
"Excellent choice." Eliam smiled, and satisfaction colored his voice. "Pretty name, Seraphin. It will sound lovely in the wind."
He gestured, and vines erupted from the floor. They wrapped around Seraphin with surprising gentleness, cradling her as they pulled her down. She didn't fight. She looked at Briar one last time and nodded slightly.
The transformation was horrible in its beauty. Bark spread across skin in flowing patterns. Fingers elongated into branches. Hair became leaves that rustled without breeze. And her eyes remained aware until the very end, when bark finally sealed them shut.
Where a fae had knelt, a slender sapling now grew. Briar could see the suggestion of a face in the trunk. She could sense the consciousness trapped within.
"Every sunrise," Eliam said conversationally, "she'll feel the light. Every rain, she'll drink. Every wind, she'll bend. Fully aware. Fully alive. For three months."
Thaine stepped forward and lifted the sapling carefully. Roots dangled from his arms.
"The moonlight grove," Eliam instructed. "Where she can see the stars."
Thaine carried the sapling out. The door closed behind him.
"You're a monster." The words burned in Briar's throat.
"Yes." He turned to her, and his smile was cold. "Now. About your punishment."
"What? I chose—"
"For her. But you still lied to me. Looked me in the eye and spoke falsehood." He moved closer, backing her against the wall. "That requires its own correction."
The mark flared hot on her arm, responding to his proximity or his anger. Maybe both.
"After all," he said softly, "if I let lies pass unpunished, what else might you think you could get away with?"
He led her deeper into the castle than she'd ever been, down stairs that spiraled in tight, narrowing circles, where each step took them further from anything that remembered sunlight.
The walls changed as they descended, living wood and carved graystone giving way to ancient blocks that seemed to sweat darkness, their surfaces slick with moisture that smelled of deep earth and older things that had never known sky.
The mark pulsed with each step, but its warmth felt thin here, weakening with each foot of depth between her and the surface.
"Where are we going?" Her voice came out smaller than intended, swallowed by the pressing dark.
"Where all liars go." His hand on her arm was the only warm thing left, and even that felt like mockery.