Chapter 75
Seventy-Five
Pyrite
Cold breath spans across my face, lightly pulling me out of sleep and back into my body. I blink my eyes open, sensation returning to my toes and fingers, then spreading throughout the rest of my body.
Wide black eyes hover above me, Anisia’s dark pixie cut spilling over half of her face.
I jolt awake and try to scramble away from her, my chest heaving as she makes no moves to lean back. In fact, she leans closer. With the cage as small as it is, there isn’t anywhere to go.
“What are you doing?” I snap.
My heart is still pounding against my chest, causing my breath to come out in short gasps.
She smiles a toothy grin, too wide and strange on her emotionless face to be considered comforting. “The Lord of Shadows said it was time you awoke from your nap.”
Anisia’s voice rises and falls in odd patterns as she speaks, as if she weren’t human but something pretending to be human and had only watched people talk from afar.
“You were tossing in your sleep,” she continues, still leaning in closely. “Trouble with your dreams?”
My nostrils flare at the hazy dream she had woken me up from.
Graylen was there—I know he was. He felt so far from me, like the connection between us was still broken but one single thread remained. It held us together, but not enough for me to speak with him or feel him.
He was stuck somewhere—likely in pain, given where he was—while I’m trapped here.
I ball the bottom of my ragged leather top into my hands, squeezing the anger coursing through my body into it.
“What’s tonight?” I ask, ignoring her question.
If I’m expected to leave this room today, it could give me a chance to escape. Even if I have to fight my way out—while my magic stays under lock and key—then I’ll do what has to be done.
Finally, Anisia stands up, giving me room to breathe. “The Lord of Shadows will be here soon,” she sings. “I’ve prepared your things while you rested.”
She motions to an array of items beside her, things I didn’t realize were there. A comb, a pail of water with a sponge resting in it, and a soft box wrapped up.
Memories of Avery helping me back in Crea’s castle come flooding in as Anisia prepares a bath for me. Except this bath is ice-cold. It smells faintly metallic, the odor oozing from the shadows writhing off of her.
After I bathe—though I’m not sure I smell any better—Anisia dries me with a cloth, the material stiff and itchy. She brushes my hair with the pearly white comb she’d kept safely tucked at her hip.
Smart, since I could likely stab her with it.
“The bone of a human that got lost here a few crescent moons ago,” she says when she notices me eyeing it. The comb glides through strands of my hair, the ends sharp and digging into my scalp just slightly.
Bile rises in my throat. I swallow down the acid that threatens to spill out of my mouth.
She makes a noise in the back of her throat—the sound scratchy and off. But she seems pleased enough, because she waves her hand, vanishing the comb.
Next, she picks up the box from beside her. It’s wrapped in shiny black paper and topped with an inky velvet bow.
“He had it made for you.” Her voice rises at the end awkwardly, like she isn’t used to speaking.
“He?” I question.
She giggles. “The Lord of Shadows.”
I nod and pull the scratchy cloth around me tighter. As much as I want to refuse it, I need out of this dungeon. Wherever they plan for me to go tonight, at least it sounds like it isn’t here.
The only way I can figure out how to escape is if I see what’s beyond this room. So, I hold out my hand to accept the gift.
I still don’t know what I’m being prepared for—for a sacrifice? An offering for Vidaris to use me as she wishes? And I can’t save anyone if Daimon hands me over to her, let alone myself. Not without my magic or Nightfall.
The thought causes my lungs to constrict. Daimon—my real father—is worse than Reichardt ever was. Reichardt was conniving and calculated, but I at least always knew where he stood.
Daimon? He’s ruthless. Evil to his very core—coming down to the dungeons and being nice…giving me this supposed gift. It makes me wonder again if he was always like this, if this was the man my mother chose to be with.
None of it adds up—why my mother wouldn’t tell me the truth, how Reichardt was involved in all of this to begin with, and how she and Daimon came to be. If I ever get out of here, I have a lot of questions for her.
“It’s to wear to the ball,” Anisia squeals, causing me to flinch.
I stiffen, my gaze dropping to the box. “Ball?”
“There’s a note.” She points to a card tucked underneath.
With shaky fingers, I slide it out and open it up.
Swirling cursive handwriting greets me, a single sentence written on the otherwise blank card.
It’s time for you to be announced as my heir.
My breath catches as panic creeps into my stomach.
What does this have to do with Vidaris? And Opal?
Confusion swirls around me as my gaze falls to the box.
The wrapping paper shimmers beneath the glow of the light. Whatever is in it calls out to me—a siren song pulling me toward it.
I shove it to the ground.
Nope. Not opening it. If he thinks he can bribe me with gifts, then he’s wrong. I can’t trust anything that’s in there.
I’ve seen my fair share of gowns, both hideously large and puffing out much further than necessary, or sleek and form-fitting like the one Adrian picked out for me the night we were supposed to announce our engagement.
The last thing I want to do is wear whatever Daimon saw fit to give me. He doesn’t know me—couldn’t possibly have any idea what I would like.
I turn my back to the box, ignoring the prickling sensation that trails up my neck. If Daimon thinks I would accept anything he gave me, he’s sorely mistaken.
“He said you can’t leave this room until you put it on,” Anisia says softly, the shrill in her voice quieter but still lingering.
I huff out a breath.
Daimon probably knew I’d refuse it. But he also can probably guess I want out of this cage.
Anisia picks up the box and holds it out. “I’ll give you a few moments to get dressed.” Her eyes give me a once-over before she floats directly through the bars of my cage, her body moving in that strange way of hers.
She disappears through the black door behind us, and I’m left with nothing but the sound of water dripping somewhere nearby.
With a deep breath, I tear the lid off. Dark fabric rests inside, folded neatly. I snatch it out, expecting the worst. Holding it up, it unravels before me.
My mouth falls open.
It isn’t a gaudy dress with fluffy layers, nor a simple, elegant one.
In fact, it isn’t a dress at all.
It’s several pieces: a top, pants, leather arm covers, a front-facing under-bust corset, and a halter strap to go over my shoulders and across my chest.
Deep red leather is stitched together to create the top—no, not leather. I lean closer, seeing that it looks exactly like Zephyr’s scales. It’s made of wyvern scales.
I gasp and drop the pile of clothing.
What did Daimon have to do to get this made?
Dread coils in my stomach, and I yank the clothes off the ground. I stuff them back in the box, ignoring the tears pricking at my eyes. The scales are the same color as Zeph’s. The same hue of maroon, so dark it’s almost black.
Did Daimon hurt Zephyr?
I shove the box beneath the bed, refusing to acknowledge the possibility. I haven’t been able to feel her since being in Crea. I thought it was because of the distance.
My magic is gone—and so are my connections to all of my bonds.
He didn’t give me a dress. Instead, he gave me something to wear for battle.
It’s as if I’m heading off to war. In a way, I suppose I am.
It takes every ounce of strength inside of me to change into the outfit Daimon wants me to wear. The feel of the wyvern scales brushing against my fingertips as I tug on the top causes my stomach to clench around nothing.
Once it’s on, I braid my hair back in a single line and toss it over my shoulder—just like I did in the camp when I was prepping for training. Only this time, it’s not pretend.
The clothes fit me perfectly, as if they were made just for me. And despite the wyvern scales, I find that I…like it. It moves flawlessly with my limbs, stretching easily as I twist and raise my arms.
Perfect for fighting.
The sound of a door creaking open behind me causes me to spin around.
Anisia’s sharp teeth glint as she grins at me—though it looks more like a grimace. She laughs as she floats through the bars, the sound like silverware scraping against a ceramic bowl. “The Lord of Shadows will see you now.”
My nostrils flare, a fire stirring in my belly at the thought of getting out of here. Of the possibility that I’ll see Opal and Graylen.
Whatever Daimon has planned, I’m going to find a way out of here before they give me over to Vidaris.
Daimon might be my father, but that doesn’t save him from the wrath flowing through my veins.