Chapter 16 The Silk Trap
THE SILK TRAP
Pain.
So much…pain.
Worse than brittle fever, which almost killed me at fifteen. I’d spent weeks bedridden, unable to roll over without feeling like my ribs would snap.
And gods, the fear. I remembered lying there, trying not to breathe wrong.
I’d felt so fragile.
This pain was different. Every breath scraped against raw flesh. I woke up on something…soft?
Wait. What?
I cracked my eyes open, blinking at the sunlight. A bed. Huge and plush. It made the cot in the attic feel like a slab of stone. Even the inns Vaeris had snuck me into hadn’t been this fine, and the sheets weren’t coarse at all.
I shifted, and smooth fabric glided on my skin. My fingers traced the embroidery of my shift, wonder prickling through me—but it curdled fast.
Where was my dress?
I sat up, staring at myself. Bare arms and legs. Someone had undressed me and put me in this.
Where am I?
The walls were polished wood, their grains swirling in hypnotic patterns. The ceiling arched high and a large window stretched across the side of the room.
I pushed back the sheets and stumbled toward the window.
Mist clung to a forest that ran as far as I could see.
Ferns blanketed the ground in impossible shades of green—emerald, jade, moss so vivid it almost hurt to look at.
Tiny red stones gleamed along the paths, flickering through the mist like scattered rubies.
My chest tightened.
My world had been gray for so long—soot-choked skies, snowstorms, alleys paved in filth and ash. I’d forgotten color could be this alive. This overwhelming. Here, it spilled from every crevice, demanding to be seen.
Beautiful. I wanted to drink it in, to let it soothe the raw ache of everything I’d experienced over the last few days.
The door opened, and I whirled around.
A dark-skinned fae female strolled inside, her round face framed by braids woven with feathers. She was stunning. Her dress was some sort of tanned hide, stitched with golden threads. Tattooed runes ran down her arms.
Was she my captor?
She smiled. “Finally awake. Good.”
I tensed as she closed the door.
“I had to cut those filthy rags off to treat your injuries.” She walked past me to a low table against the wall. “My name is Elwen. I’m the Master Healer.”
I licked my dry lips, watching her.
She rushed around the bed, her brows knitting. “How are you feeling?”
“I’m okay. I’m—” I winced at the sudden pain in my throat.
The fae grabbed a steel pitcher and poured bright orange liquid into a glass. She reached into a small bowl filled with powder and sprinkled some into the cup and offered it to me.
“Drink. It’s a tonic.”
My tongue felt like sandpaper, but I wasn’t about to gulp down a mystery potion from a fae.
She sighed. “I understand your caution, but you need this medicine.”
“Water,” I croaked.
“No. You need citrus with lemonbloom, or you may never recover the full use of your voice. I’ve been spoon-feeding it to you for two days.”
Two days?
I stiffened and pressed a hand to my neck.
“Yes, it was a nasty injury,” she continued, her sharp gaze not leaving mine. “The cartilage fractured. You were coughing up blood when he brought you in.”
Kairos. My stomach tightened.
“I haven’t poisoned this, you know. I took an oath to heal.”
I frowned. In Skalgard, healers turned you away if you didn’t have coin. Or they made you pay in other ways.
She pushed the drink into my hands. “Look, I know it tastes awful, but you won’t heal without it.”
I stared at the glass before I sniffed the concoction. Bitter citrus. A hint of something floral. Didn’t smell like death, but it might still kill me later.
Please don’t let this be the end of me.
I tossed the drink back. Sour, like overripe fruit. But almost immediately, a cooling sensation spread through my throat, dulling the fire. My chest stayed tight. Comfort from fae hands felt like poison waiting to kick in.
I swallowed again. Much better.
The healer smirked. “See?”
I put the empty glass aside. “Thank you.”
“You can trust me. I take care of those who need help, even wayward humans. Besides, the king has taken great interest in your recovery.”
That tore through my insides. The king?
“He’s my brother.” She studied my face. “You really don’t know where you are, do you?”
I shook my head slowly.
“This is Ashvar Keep, our stronghold. You’re in the Sanguir realm.”
I had no idea Sanguir had kings. The books I’d been allowed to read painted a rough portrait of the other realms. This land was ruled by warlords. Kairos must have delivered me to one.
A bitter taste flooded my mouth. Worthless faerie.
“I’ll send word that you’re awake,” she murmured. “And we’ll get you ready for the king.”
Fear knotted inside me. My last encounter with a royal had left me alone in a cell, sentenced to die. Now I was expected to walk into a room where a king waited—
She hooked an arm around my elbow. “Come. You’ll feel better. I promise.”
I braced myself, trying to summon the girl who’d slipped past countless guards, but the room tilted when I took a step.
“I can see you’re scared,” Elwen said gently. “But you need to bathe before meeting my brother.”
The thought of walking anywhere with a fae’s hand on me made my skin crawl. But gods, I ached. My whole body was sticky with sweat and grime, my hair a nest of knots, stiff with dried blood. Every part of me itched.
A real bath.
Warm water, washing all of this away. I wanted it so badly, I could cry.
I let her escort me outside. The keep rose from a cliffside, hewn from dusky stone veined with quartz.
Red and black banners snapped in the wind.
Stark against the morning drizzle, twin statues crouched at the gate in silent vigil—Ashvarral, god of war, wings half-spread and eyes gleaming.
She steered me away from the keep, toward the tree line where the forest swallowed the light.
My bare feet slid against the soft red earth, the ground cushioned by moss and scattered with glimmering stones. Wooden posts etched with runes ringed the space, glowing faintly.
I followed her down a path winding into the forest. Sulfur clung to the air, the scent strengthening when we wandered into a clearing.
Several baths stood side by side. Steam spiraled from clear pools framed by mossy rocks.
Tiny motes of light hovered above the surface, catching the glow of the rune-carved stones.
Back in Skalgard, a bath was a chipped basin filled with frigid water if you were lucky. If not, you scrubbed yourself raw with a damp cloth and prayed the dirt came off.
“Here we are,” Elwen said. “Go on, then. Take off your clothes.”
I hesitated. “Where are the bathing chambers?”
“Why bother with flimsy tubs when we have this? Trust me, human, this is so much better.”
I eyed the steaming pools. The warmth called to me, whispering promises of relief, but I couldn’t let my guard down.
“Come on,” Elwen murmured.
A group of fae stood near the edge of the pools—four of them, dressed in simple white robes cinched with green sashes. They moved quietly, preparing oils and cloths. Elwen’s healing attendants, probably. Young fae with the same focused calm as their mistress, their hands filled with supplies.
“Don’t just stand there. Give her space,” Elwen muttered behind me. “Tell the king we’re getting her ready, and have the cooks prepare something for the human.”
I unwrapped my arms and reached for the hem of the shift. It clung to me, but I peeled it off and handed it to an attendant.
Warm air kissed my bare skin, and I wrapped my arms around my breasts.
I stepped in, my breath hitching as the warmth climbed higher. My muscles clenched, then softened, the tension melting away with each step.
I splashed my face, letting it drip down my cheeks.
I pressed my lips together, swallowing a moan. Even better than the forest springs. And without Kairos watching me, I could actually enjoy it.
I sank deeper, until the heat lapped at my collarbone, and closed my eyes. A faint ripple brushed against my leg. My eyes snapped open, and I stiffened.
The fae attendants had joined me in the pool.
They waded closer, their white robes floating. One held a bundle of moss, the other a sea sponge.
I tensed.
“Relax,” Elwen murmured from somewhere behind me. “They’re here to help.”
I flinched as the first attendant touched me, scrubbing at the dirt caked on my skin. Another fae lifted a handful of my hair as a thick lather of sweet fragrance worked through my scalp. Gods, that was nice. Her fingers massaged gently, working out the knots.
The fae dipped a small vial into the water and poured it over my head, rinsing the suds off. The scent of wild rose filled the air, mingling with the steam.
“It’s time,” Elwen called softly.
I stood, dripping. An attendant offered me a plush towel, and I wrapped it around myself. So soft. My jaw locked. Someone slipped my feet into pattens, the wooden soles slapping the stones as we walked back.
They escorted me back to the room where I'd woken. More attendants waited there, guiding me toward a low stool near the hearth.
I expected corsets and layers of stiff fabric. Tight laces that would steal the breath from my lungs. I’d worn them before when Vaeris had dressed me up like a pretty prize, but they didn’t bring out corsets.
They held up something sleek—a dress shimmering like a midnight pool. Tiny gemstones woven into the bodice glinted like stars, while delicate threads traced patterns down the hem. A belt fashioned from braided vines cinched the waist.
“It’s marvelous.”
“Of course it is.” Elwen smirked. “You’ll stand before a king. Do not give him any reason to look elsewhere.”
The attendants pulled the dress over my head.
When they backed off, I stared at my reflection. My brown hair had been tamed into a fishtail braid. Little white flowers poked through the weave.
My fingers grazed the filigree. This dress belonged to someone who had never begged for stale bread.
A girl who wasn’t me. Draped in this finery, I looked like a queen.
But I knew better. When powerful people dressed you up, it meant they were preparing to show you off.
The finer the clothes, the higher the price.
Elwen motioned to the door. “He’s waiting.”
My throat tightened.
What kind of fae was he? Cruel, like the nobles of Skalgard who watched us die without blinking? Or did he treat humans like pawns to be sacrificed as needed?
What if he was worse?
We stepped into the corridor, and I had to steady myself against the wall. Dark gray rock walls. Runes glowed softly along the ceiling, casting everything in amber light. The air here was thick and warm—nothing like Skalgard’s biting cold. It pressed against my skin.
Tapestries dangled between brackets, depicting battles I didn’t recognize. My footsteps echoed despite the fabric. Or maybe that was just my pulse thundering in my ears.
Two guards stood on either side of a set of giant wooden doors.
They pushed them open. The room inside was shadowed, lit by flames in a massive hearth, its light dancing across stone the color of old blood.
Rough-hewn walls, as if carved by claws rather than tools, and between the fissures hung weapons: axes, swords, spears.
At the center was a table, a single slab of wood.
The grain swirled like storm clouds, and the surface was scarred with cuts and burns, as if it had seen a thousand war councils.
Heavy chairs with high backs ringed it. At the head of it sat a lone figure.
His silver hair gleamed as he gestured to a servant.
He turned, and my breath caught.
No.
A wave of nausea rolled through me.
I hadn’t escaped Kairos at all.