42. Shackled
Chapter 42
Shackled
BETH
C old spikes dig into my wrists as I emerge from my drug-induced slumber, and I let out a low, confused groan. I’m tied to a metal ring by a pair of fancy shackles and a long chain, in a cramped, dark space. Faint light filters through the cracks in the wooden beams above my head, my night vision allowing me a good view of the barrels and crates that litter the…cargo hold?
A surge of fear and alarm scatters goosebumps along my rigid, painful spine as I try and fail to call forth my magic to ice the chains.
My left cheek is cold and wet, indented by the patterns of the wood plank I was dumped on. Knots of hair stick to my neck, a few strands entangled in the terrifying needle-like spikes that cover the inside of the shackles. The needles penetrated my skin deep enough to draw blood, painting red lines along my lower arms. The dull throb radiating across my cramped muscles indicates the spikes are made of rowan wood.
Fright ices my ribs, my magic entombed inside the confines of my body, unable to get out.
I wince as I sit up, still too groggy to make sense of it all. The loud splashes of waves slamming against a smooth, powerful surface confirms my hunch that I’m in the cargo hold of a small ship. A semi-constant groaning and creaking accompanies the rumble of the sea.
Despite the dizziness and overall muscle weakness that has taken hold of my body, I shift to my knees, and the spikes wrapped around my ankles dig into my flesh at the movement. A second, shorter set of shackles and chain prevent me from moving my legs by more than a few inches.
“Elizabeth?” a soft voice rasps behind me.
“Aidan?” My body gives a heave of nausea and pain as I crane my neck around to look at him.
The rattle of his chains intensifies as he tries and fails to bridge the narrow gap between us. “Are you alright?” His restraints look tighter and more restrictive than mine.
A nervous chuckle bubbles out of my lungs. “I’m alive. You?”
“Same.”
The length of the chain holding my wrists allows for a bit of wiggle room so I can stand, and I brace my hand on the ceiling, barely inches from the top of my head. The train of my dress rips at the movement, catching on the nail bolting the metal ring to the wood planks.
The silk bustier slides down my front-buckle bralette. The edgy two-piece lingerie I put on to look my best for Aidan’s damn wedding does little to shield me from the damp air of the hold. It’s not cold, per se, but I feel completely exposed, the lace of my underwear visible at my hip.
“You know, when I first caught a glimpse of my copycat, I feared you might have been working with him from the start. That you had been sent to distract me while he finished my mother.”
“I wasn’t.”
His amber eyes shine in the dark, the fire within piercing through the darkness. “I hope not.”
“Aren’t the shackles and chains enough to convince you?” I huff.
“They help. A bit,” he answers with a mix of worry and humor. “Seth also vouched for you.”
Last time I saw Seth Devine, the illegitimate prince of Spring and Storms, it was during the winter solstice, when he disappeared trying to stop his brother’s escape. We were watching the Tidecaller’s attack that night to intervene at the right time, but Seth had vanished without a trace before I could even make it out to the lake.
“Seth?” I call out loudly. “Are you here?”
“And here I thought you didn’t like me, Betty Snow,” a smooth, familiar voice answers from the other side of the pyramid of crates.
My lips quirk. While his promiscuous attitude irks me, I’m still relieved to know for sure that he survived the attack on Wintermere. “Have you been here all this time?”
It’s been weeks since he went missing, and even Elio and Damian couldn’t track him with their powers combined.
“Afraid so. A ship makes a brilliant prison. It’s almost impossible for anyone to track,” Seth laments. “But it’s been a little more fun around here since Aidan recovered this morning.”
The occasional stretch or snap of ropes tightening or loosening with the movement of the sails and rigging, along with the faint footsteps of our captors on the deck, echo through the air.
I squint at the light filtering through the crack. “I count only two sets of footsteps. Do you think there’s more of them?”
“So far, I’ve only heard Luther and his pal Imogen, but she never comes down here. Luther comes alone when it’s time to feed me, which is usually once a day, but he never gets close enough for me to try anything,” Seth explains. “Dinner will be soon, though. It’s almost sunset.”
“What are his powers?” Aidan asks.
“He was born a talented Storm Fae with a keen affinity for Shadow magic, but he’s embedded Mist jewels inside his skin, so he’s all juiced up.”
“What do they plan to do with us?”
“Me, I think I just got unlucky, but the Lord of the Tides has plans for you both. I’ve heard them talking. He plans to take Aidan’s place at the coronation.”
Take Aidan’s place… If the Lord of the Tides manages to fool every other royal, he could steal Aidan’s crown and access the magic of his lands. He could even assume his identity for good considering most of Aidan’s family is dead. And I doubt he’ll want the real Aidan around for much longer if that’s what he intends to do.
“They have to wait ten days before crowning a successor, right?” I ask.
Aidan shakes his head, looking a little green. “Not necessarily. I’ve been the heir from the start.”
I swallow hard. The possibilities for chaos and violence are endless if the leader of the rebels manages to steal the Summerlands’ magic and become its one true king. “Who is the Lord of the Tides? What do we know for sure?”
“My younger brother appears to be his number two, but I have no clue who he is,” Seth answers.
I bite my bottom lip, trying to piece together our quick exchange. “He knew me, and there’s not a lot of Fae on this continent who do.” I search Aidan’s gaze. “Whoever this Lord of the Tides is, he was at the academy at the same time we were.”
He nods, understanding my logic. “Yes, and that narrows it down quite a bit.”
“Couldn’t it be someone from your past?” Seth argues.
“No. I’m a moth. I don’t know any High Fae but for the ones I met at school.”
“A Fae with Light magic both powerful and refined enough to reflect my exact image… It’s got to be Ezra,” Aidan says. “It makes sense. No one has seen him in decades, and with everything that happened before he vanished, it wouldn’t be so surprising.”
Seth’s voice booms from the dark. “Don’t jump to conclusions. Mist jewels are stronger than we knew, and it only makes sense that their leader would be the most juiced up.”
“He’s the only one who knows me well enough to emulate me so perfectly, and it would explain why we’re not dead,” Aidan adds with a pointed look.
“How did Willow die? Was it Ethan?” I ask quietly.
We exchange a heavy glance, and the corners of his mouth fall.
“Maybe. Officially, it was a suicide, but I wouldn’t put it past Ethan Lightbringer to have manipulated the investigation to conceal her murder.”
“I wrote to you, when she died. You never answered,” I say with my eyes downcast.
His jaw hangs slightly askew as he rubs his chin with a tired hand. “I’m afraid I didn’t read many of the letters I got that year. Especially the ones sent by strangers.”
“I’m not a stranger,” I croak, the emotions in my gut threatening to choke me.
“You know what I mean. I wouldn’t have recognized your handwriting—or even your name. You were a stranger to me, then.”
I inhale deeply, willing away the tears that threaten to spill over my lids. It’s so unfair, so cruel, that Thera erased something sacred to me. That she dared to mess with the very essence of Aidan, if the Lord of the Tides is to be believed.
“I can get us out of here, but I’ll have to sing,” I declare, quickly making up my mind about it.
“Sing?” Seth interjects.
“I’m part siren,” I grumble.
It’s a damning secret for a young Fae attending the Royal Academy and hoping for a place at court—or to become queen—but it’s not as problematic for an eccentric, self-exiled artist. Just the thought that I used to feel so much shame about my very blood and once considered never singing again dries my mouth.
“That’s…drastic,” Aidan grounds out.
“Do either of you have a better idea?” I ask the two men, but our bindings prevent us from using our usual powers.
If I ever hope to find a way to reverse Aidan’s memory lapse, we have to stop the Lord of the Tides before he finalizes his plan. The need to regain control over our fates—to fight back—burns like acid at the back of my throat.
“Didn’t you sing at Elio’s wedding?” Seth asks. “How come the crowd didn’t go all crazy, then?”
“I’ve trained myself not to induce unhealthy obsessions and mindless lust in my audience. A siren’s song is not always used as a weapon. It can be quite beautiful and healing. But just as I can leave that part out, I can also crank it up by design.” I smooth out my torn dress, feeling nauseous.
Unease creeps into my chest at the prospect of using my song as the dreaded instrument of violence most people believe it to be. And I’m not sure how Aidan and Seth will react, because if I aim to make a strong, lasting impression on our kidnapper, they’re going to be affected, too.
“If I get him to free me, would that be enough?” I muse.
“Could you steal the keys to the shackles? He keeps them in the top pocket of his cloak.”
Aidan nods emphatically at Seth’s suggestion. “Yes, the keys. This way, we can free ourselves while you distract him.”
“Alright, but if we’re going to do this, find something to plug your ears. Loose threads, or dust bunnies. Anything to lessen the thrall of the song. I’ve never sang to bewitch a Fae, especially not at sea, so I’m not sure how powerful the spell will be.”
Aidan moves behind me, taking the advice seriously as he crams small pieces of lint in his ears.
“How can you even be sure your song will work on my brother?” Seth asks. “He’s very powerful.”
I press my lips together. The hard lessons I learned after I left Faerie for the new world, taught by my dear Mélusine, still live in me. “The more powerful the Fae, the harder the fall.”
The hatch on top of the ladder leading to the upper deck rattles on its hinges, a stream of light illuminating the opposite end of the cargo hold.
“Here he comes. Quick!” Seth whispers loud enough for me to hear.
Luther climbs down the ladder, his eyes no longer covered by a thick mask. He’s young, I realize, younger than I’d expected. Barely out of puberty by the shape of his plump cheekbones. Dark curls fall over his forehead, his eyes gray but for the purple flecks shared by the Storm family.
He’s holding a food tray in his hand, his shiny black boots gleaming in the faint glow of twilight. “Oh, you’re all awake.” He squints at Aidan, then me, pausing at the bottom. “Don’t get any ideas. I’m just here to feed Seth.”
“What about us?” Aidan asks.
Luther titters, grinning at him the way you grin at a naughty child. “I think you can survive one day without food, Fancy.”
I open my mouth and let all the confusion, anger, and heartbreak I’ve been carrying with me condense into the vibrations of my vocal chords. A high note tears from my lungs, reaching into the depths of my soul and reverberating through my bones.
All my years of training, learning how not to hurt or enchant or even influence people with my voice, used in reverse.
The decades spent in exile, all alone, before I could sing safely in front of others are tangible in the murky cargo hold. The time spent separated from all the people I loved, away from Aidan, pining over a man who didn’t even remember I existed.
If I mess this up, it’ll be my last performance, so I better make it count. I lay it all out on the line for one more song.
I never knew a love
Quite so rare as yours
Never knew a gaze
Quite so entrancing
You held out your hand
By the river bank
And asked me for a dance
“What are you—” Luther stops abruptly, his eyes glazing over as the tray slips from his hands. The bread and fruit he meant to give his brother tumble to the ground, and Seth mutters a begrudging curse.
Just one night; in lieu of forever
One chance; it was now or never
As luck had it, my star-crossed lover
I was promised to another
But I only wanted you
Aidan lets out a low whimper behind me, and Luther inches closer.
His gaze clears, as though the sun itself has just peeked through the clouds, revealing an endless sky after the storm. His pupils contract into pinholes. “May the tides have mercy. You’re a siren.”
I never knew a name
Quite so forbidden
Never knew a love
Quite as doomed from the start
We were oil and water
Sweet and sour
It was never to be
Never to be
But I only wanted you
Our captor stumbles closer, navigating over a barrage of barrels, now within arm’s reach. The inside pockets of his dark hooded cloak should be just below the holes meant for his arms.
Yours was a crown of gold
Mine only a shard of cold
A piece of coal
Safe from my cruel shadow
I risked it all to hold you
And lost it all in one go
It was never to be
Never to be
But I only wanted you
“I never thought—I should have killed you when I had the chance,” Luther whispers, now standing barely an inch away.
“But you won’t kill me now,” I answer, my tone soothing, beckoning him closer with a beguiling smile.
“Never.” He reaches for a loose strand of my hair, tucking it behind my pointy ear with a strange, almost tender affection. “You’re the most precious jewel I’ve ever owned.”