8
The Girl Who Burned Her Cage
Melody
A tall man comes striding in, his coppery-brown hair reaching down to his waist, his left eye covered by a black eyepatch. “Keralia, why don’t you leave our sweet little special guest alone?”
“This sweet little special guest wants to leave,” I snap, my eyes darting between him and her.
Who the hells is this guy?
“Now,” he says to me, voice almost friendly, “what sort of manners does Caryan’s bride keep? Not even a greeting?”
“Bride? Where the hells did you get that idea from?”
“Oh, I remember Blair hinting at something.”
“Cut the bullshit, Connus. I was hinting at nothing of the sort.” Blair enters after Connus, wrapped only in a woolen blanket, the smell of sex filling the cramped space along with her.
I stare at her for a moment, wondering about the familiar tone—and yikes…
she’s been screwing him, judging by their scent.
Our eyes meet for a few seconds, and I try to get a reading on her intentions, but her face gives me no hint at all.
I try to get a read on her aura instead, but as always with her, her sorrow and anger and self-hate are so prevalent I can barely make out any other hues besides the swirling blend of black and red around her.
“Forgive me, my darling. I must have gotten that one wrong.” Connus clicks his tongue.
“I’m no one’s bride, especially not Caryan’s!” I bristle, tearing my gaze away from Blair.
“She’s got no manners, Connus,” the woman next to me drawls, but bows her head slightly. She finally lets go of my wrist when he glowers at her, along with giving him a submissive whimper that reminds me of a dog.
If they are shifters, then Connus is clearly their alpha.
I take a step back from all of them, my gaze darting between Connus, Blair, and the woman closest to me, my instinct hunting for a way out. That room is way too packed for me, and I can feel my familiar panic stirring. Out. I just need out!
Connus seems to feel my discomfort, because his haughty face cracks into a smile. “Oh, come on, no need to look so haunted. I’m not planning on slaughtering you, Caryan’s slave ,” he amends.
Hurt, my eyes flick to Blair’s again. She told him.
Her amber eyes hold mine in lazy dissection.
The way a cat watches a mouse in a cage.
The last thing I remember is her fighting alongside me.
What happened while I was out? That she’s screwing Connus is obvious—but why?
Right now, I’d give a lot to know what her stance is in all of this.
“Or should I call you the key to the artifacts strong elven magic is bound to?” Connus drawls on, and my eyes snap back to him. “Because I happen to want them.”
“You told him,” I snarl at Blair, ignoring him.
About the artifacts. About my talent for finding lost things.
Blair only shrugs innocently in a way that seems to say I am what I am , her moon-white hair whipping at the motion.
The feeling of betrayal burns all the way down my throat, settling in my stomach like poison.
Not that I have any reason to trust her, but screwing the enemy…
I thought, after all we’ve been through, that she might be on my side at last. But that’s not the way of fae, it seems.
Or I’m just still too damn na?ve.
“Well, don’t bear her a grudge. Blair and I are old friends,” Connus croons, stretching out his hand to her and cupping her naked shoulder, giving her a more than leering look that makes me cringe inwardly.
He smirks at my reaction. “Besides, my crows already whispered on the wind that you entered the fae world weeks ago, so all I really needed to do was wait in my modest little property. But there’s no need to fear me—quite the opposite, indeed.
Blair also told me that you’re not particularly keen on returning to Caryan.
I’m sure we can come to some kind of agreement that would be beneficial for all of us.
And in the meantime, relax. You’ll find that I’m not too bad.
Some even say I can be quite funny, not to mention my other qualities. ..” He winks at me as if we’re buddies.
Blair behind him studies her silver claws, pretending to be bored and clearly evading my gaze as she drawls, “Don’t waste your breath on her, Connus. She’s too frigid for that.”
“Yeah? A pity. A lot of women say I’m a very thorough lover,” he says, eyes still on me.
“Caryan will fry your balls off, Connus,” Blair warns.
He just laughs. “I want to see him try once I get my hands on those artifacts. So—” His eye focuses back on me. “I just happen to want them, dear Melody.”
“Yeah, how surprising. Just like everyone else in this world.”
He laughs quietly at that. “I guess power holds a lure for everyone.”
“This power is bad. Dark. It corrupts the soul of everyone who tries to find it.” I recall saying the same words to Caryan as the power reached out and warned me.
He snapped at me then, saying it corrupts the soul of everyone who’s not its righteous owner. It’s his magic. But Connus doesn’t seem to know that. And he doesn’t need to.
“Oh dear, I’ve long succumbed to my vices.” He winks at me with his one eye.
I fold my arms, trying to soothe the panic surging in me as I get a sense of where this is going.
“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” I snap, my breath feeling cut off.
I can’t help that perambulating sense of being trapped.
That dark new power undulating along my bones stirs again, ready to surge and defend me. I need air and space. Fast.
“Oh, I so know what I’m talking about. I’ve studied these artifacts for centuries. Searched hidden books that were whispered to have been destroyed, giving hints about the artifacts’ secret locations. I tried so long to locate them—in vain. And now fate brought you straight into my arms.”
I cringe at his tone, at his suggestive smile, and jut my chin up.
“Just know that they’re hidden so well and protected by spells so vicious they’ll probably kill you before you can retrieve them,” I lie in a hiss.
Yeah, I’m exaggerating and bluffing. I don’t even know where the remaining artifacts are.
My talent only works for one at a time, it seems. And I’d only tried to find one artifact for Caryan—the flute, which is hidden on Mount Silas in the eternal ice—and I almost died from the unreal cold up there.
But fae can’t lie. Has Blair told him that I can?
Because I’m from the human world? My hope is she hasn’t and will keep her mouth shut now.
I avoid glancing at her again to see what she’ll do.
“Well, we’ll see about that later. I suggest we eat first and then discuss the details over some sweet wine from Avandal’s vineyards?
” Connus suggests. “I have a nice dinner prepared for us—a freshly butchered goose with apples and red cabbage from the garden. You must be starving, and it’s hard to worry over good food. ”
“As your guest, I’d like to take a walk first,” I say slowly, feeling sick.
My stomach roils, the magic in my veins pushing in answer to the walls that seem to draw closer and closer.
I’m not in the bunker, I try to remind myself.
Not shackled. But my body seems to feel no difference between the two. Trapped is trapped.
I’m too aware of all the eyes following this scene.
Twenty magically gifted creatures regard me, judging whether I’m prey, while pawing and nuzzling each other like a pack of hounds.
But however cuddly they are with each other, they would rip me apart at a snap of Connus’s long fingers—I can see it all too clearly written in their auras.
In Connus’s too. He’s nice, and he’s not.
He means what he’s saying, but his aura tells me that he could switch to cold monster in a second, so there’s really no need to trust him.
“Dinner is almost ready. I’m pretty generous, Melody. I’ll make sure you won’t go empty-handed out of this. You could live in a palace in safety, protected by Palisandre, immersed in riches and wealth and glory. I could make you big. Powerful. Free.”
“It’s just another golden cage,” I bite out, not bothering to hide the bitterness.
“Not every court is as ruthless as Caryan’s. And I’m sure Lorvil, the High King of Palisandre, would offer you freedom and protection in exchange for your gifts.”
Lorvil. Palisandre.
Just another prison.
I swallow hard, the walls coming closer and closer.
I start to break out in cold sweat. Being held prisoner feels just so much like it had with Lyrian.
And I’m sick of it all. I’m sick of being someone’s property.
Someone’s tool. Something that would be locked away once it flapped its wings.
Or traded like goods. It’s just too much like Lyrian’s prison.
The bunker, where he locked me away for days on end.
Maybe Connus truly isn’t as bad, but my body and mind react to being caged again in the same way.
Air. I need air. I need to get out. “No. I want to take a walk. Now.”
I make for the door. The mood in the room shifts, as if someone flipped a switch.
Connus casually steps in my way, that smirk still on his face, but his eyes have gone cold. “I really think a dinner would make us friends,” he says. This time, it’s not an offer. It’s an order.
“I don’t want to be friends. And you said I’m not a prisoner, so let me out.
” I try again to step past him. Adrenaline suddenly courses through my veins as everyone gets up.
The dark magic inside me—Caryan’s behemoth—stirs, as if ready to lash out.
Lightning flickers along my skin, and everyone takes a step back as it snakes over my arms like a warning.
I try to call it back, down, but it won’t listen to me.
Gods, what’s happening? What is this? I resist the urge to stare at my hands.