Chapter 9
“ARE YOU AWAKE?” a voice said from the darkness weighing down on her.
Her tongue flitted over the empty hole where her tooth should’ve been. The first molar on the bottom was gone, leaving nothing but half-healed, tender gum. Every inch of her, every fiber, every cell, ached.
“Magda?”
A gurgling groan escaped her.
Her thoughts pulled together sluggishly. Finally, after what seemed a long time, she recalled the name that went with the voice.
“Kaelan?”
“You’re not well,” he said.
A humorless chuckle scraped out of her throat. Breathing hurt, thinking hurt, hearing hurt. She allowed her eyes to close, but it didn’t make a difference. Open, closed, they hurt. It felt as though all the blood was drying up in her veins.
“I believe you’re going to die soon,” he said.
“Oh?”
“Death has a particular scent.”
“Does it?”
“Yes,” he said. “Did you have a plan to escape?”
A plan? Oh, yes. The rats. Half a plan at best.
But even as she thought it, the rest began to coalesce. Only one hitch, she was far too weak to accomplish it. Maybe Kaelan was right. Maybe she was dying.
“Magda?”
“Yes,” she croaked. “I had a plan.”
“Tell me.”
“It won’t work.”
“Let me decide that.”
In halting, too-short breaths, she explained it.
He was silent for a time after she finished talking. She drifted, skimming the edge of consciousness.
“Well, that might get one of us out,” he said.
His voice pulled her back to their dark, stinking cell. A mad thought flitted through her head. Why not tell Endreas where she’d sent Kirk? Then all of this could be over—one way or another. But who was she kidding? This would be over, and soon, if Kaelen was right.
“I don’t know who you are or why you’re here, but you should go,” she said.
“I would, believe me,” he said. “If I could communicate with the rats like you can, but I can’t.”
“I’m sorry. I don’t think I have it in me—”
“I can help you.”
A brittle laugh escaped her. “The last man who said that to me shoved an iron nail into my leg.”
“They haven’t fed me in days, Magda. We’re both going to die in here if we don’t do something. We . . . have to trust each other.”
Her eyelids resisted her attempts to keep them open. “I’m thirsty. I don’t think I’ve ever been so thirsty.”
“Focus, Magda. I don’t know when they’ll be back, or if they’re coming back. Obviously, they didn’t kill you, so they didn’t get what they wanted.”
“No . . .” She gave up. Her eyes closed and she began to sink into that quiet inner darkness.
“Magda.” Something hit her in the head.
“Ow.” She grimaced, snapping back to wakefulness.
“You can still feel pain, so you’re still alive. Can you come closer to me?”
A spark of fear flared up in her. “To the iron?”
“Yes, to the iron. And to me. Open your eyes. Look at me.”
With what felt like her last ounce of strength, she peeled back her eyelids and shifted her head.
“Here,” he said. “I am here.”
Her neck protested, but finally, she found him.
Through the film of exhaustion and the swaths of darkness hanging heavy around them a pair of vivid green eyes shone.
Slowly, the rest of his face emerged. Something about it struck her as familiar—the upturned eyes under a straight, low brow, the steep elegant cheekbones.
Yes, something was familiar, and yet, she didn’t know him. A face like that she would remember.
A groan left her throat and she allowed her eyes to close again. “Another Prince. Gods save me from all the Princes.”
“You are not happy to see a Prince, Mistress Rae?”
“The last one was not particularly charming,” she said. Then it struck her. “You don’t have brother or a cousin, do you?”
“I have no family,” he said.
“The shape of your eyes is the same,” she said.
“Who?”
“Endreas. The one who I saw with Lavana. Her Prince.”
“I don’t know who Endreas is, but until recently, I was supposed to be Lavana’s Prince.”
“Well, it looks like she’s found one she likes better.”
“Good,” he said. “I wasn’t going to let her claim me.”
“No?”
“No. I’m not going to be claimed by any Rae. So before I save your life, we should have that clear. I am not a commodity that can be owned or sold or taken.”
“A liberated Pixie Prince.” She smiled, as much as she could, which wasn’t much. “No wonder you’re locked up in here.”
“If I heal you, if we manage to escape, then you must swear that you will not attempt to . . .”
“Seduce you? Capture you and throw in my dungeon until you submit to me?” She wanted to laugh, but didn’t have the energy for it. “Gods, I’m tired.”
“Swear you will never try to claim me and I will heal you, and then we can both escape this cesspit.”
“I swear,” she said.
“That was quick.”
“Someone has a high opinion of himself.”
“Every Rae wants a Prince.”
“And every Prince wants a Rae,” she retorted. “Or maybe there are exceptions.”
He huffed. “You must move closer. The iron will prevent me from healing you completely, and I am weak, but I should be able to stop you from dying.”
“I can’t move,” she said.
“If you want to live, you must. Just lift your arm above your head, and I should be able to reach your hand.”
Both of her arms were limp as dead snakes. She shut her eyes.
Move, damn it.
Inch by aching inch, her arm slid across the floor and upwards.
“You have to straighten it out,” he said.
“I’m trying.” Pain tore through her as she pushed her arm straight and even managed to scoot her body closer. Blackness cut across her vision. And then his hand closed around hers.
She flew, soaring out of her pain and high above it. Strength surged through her, firming the flaccid muscles, lighting up her sluggish mind, purging even the iron weakness, so much that her stomach actually growled with hunger.
Only when he ripped his hand away did she realize that she was taut with exhilaration, sparking from head to toe and deep down, gasping for breath, as though she’d been running for days. She rolled over and pushed up to her feet.
Flat on his back, Kaelan panted. He was pale and wide-eyed.
“Are you all right?” she asked, edging closer. The force of the iron pressed against her, but she felt temporarily inured to its malignant power, as if he’d given her some kind of shield against it.
“I’m fine,” he said, raking his hand back through the thick shag of his light hair. Another Prince with blond hair, though his was dark gold where Endreas’s had been platinum. “I’ve never healed a Rae before.” His emerald green eyes met hers. “Is it always like that?”
The only time she’d been healed by a Prince was when Endreas had done it. The two experiences could not have been more different.
“I don’t know,” she said, crouching down by the grate. That’s when she noticed that the brand scars on her arms were gone. Not just healed, but vanished. She ran her fingers over her skin. She hadn’t known it was possible for the marks of iron to be healed.
“What is it?” Kaelan asked.
“Nothing,” she said, focusing on the grate again. “Are you going to be strong enough for this?”
He sat up, gazing at her. A thin scar hooked under his left eye and traced along his cheekbone. Rather than detracting from his Princely good looks, it somehow made him more beautiful.
“You look strong enough for both of us,” he said. “You look . . . I didn’t think I’d be able heal you so much.”
She tapped her nails against the floor near the grate in a short pattern. “You may not wish to be claimed by a Rae, but you were made to heal them.”
The big black rat reappeared at her summons, poking his twitchy little nose between the holes of the grate. Behind him, dozens of beady, glinting eyes peered up at her. She smiled. Her message had gotten through. He had brought his friends.
She pressed her fingers to the top of his skull and imparted the image of the gloves into his mind, followed by a mountain of bread.
As soon as she took her fingers away, the rat zipped out of the grate and squeezed under the wooden door. She watched him go and then reached down to press her fingers to the next rat. She glanced up at Kaelan, who was watching her guardedly.
“I don’t suppose you have any more bread,” she said.
His lips pressed.
“We’ll just have to find some other way to reward them,” she said, sinking into the rat’s mind, “if we survive.”