Chapter 46
Chapter
Forty-Six
Araya blinked slowly, the world swimming in and out of focus around her. Stone walls slick with moisture. A ceiling hemmed in shadows. And the cold, leaching press of iron around her wrists and neck.
They’d collared her.
She tried to shift, but the movement sent a bright flare of agony through her chest. Araya breathed deeply, cataloguing the injuries.
A dislocated shoulder, broken ribs—at least one, probably more—courtesy of Caylin.
Countless scrapes and bruises. Her magic sputtered, a shadow of what it should have been. And she still couldn’t feel the bond.
Araya sagged against the wall, every breath labored.
They must have dosed her when she was unconscious—the bitter aftertaste of the herbs mingling with the sour tang of bile on her tongue.
She could feel the place where their bond should have been, the fragile thread that linked them guttering like a flame on the verge of going out, but there was no sense of him or any hint that he could still feel her.
Good. That was good. She didn’t want him to feel the things they’d do her.
Araya closed her eyes, straining her ears for any sign of life. But there was nothing but silence. No footsteps. No scrape of keys or distant rattle of chains. Nothing but the sound of her own labored breathing.
She drifted, lost between shallow rest and raw awareness, chasing fleeting fragments of memories that dissolved the moment she tried to hold them in her mind.
Loren’s eyes, smiling down at her. The warm weight of Selan in her arms. The grind of her bones against each other as Jaxon twisted her arm behind her back—
“Miss Starwind?” someone spoke, hesitant. “Are you…are you awake?”
Araya blinked, lifting her head to stare at the fae female standing in the open cell door. Clipped ears, her dark hair pulled into a tight bun at the back of her neck—but it was the spotless gray dress Araya recognized first. Garrick Shaw’s household livery.
“Belanis.” Araya’s voice cracked, hoarse from disuse. The name came with a ghost of memory—this same female, her face flushed and frightened as Jaxon berated her for entering without knocking.
“Yes, Miss,” Belanis whispered. “You need to get up now. Master Shaw wants you washed and dressed.”
“Which one?” Araya laughed at her own joke, groaning as fresh pain speared through her ribs.
Belanis didn’t laugh. She glanced down the hall instead, her face pinched and wary. “You don’t want to keep him waiting.”
It wasn’t easy. Belanis had to help her stand, then support her as they walked.
Tears poured down Araya’s face, every step accompanied by fresh pain.
But she kept walking, letting herself be led one slow, dragging step at a time down a narrow hallway lined on both sides with empty cells.
Up a staircase and through a door, emerging into a hall that would have been at home in any fine residence.
Araya stared, taking in the fine tapestries and the vase of flowers on the small, carved table. The air smelled of wood polish and perfume, without a hint of the stale air of her dungeon cell. It was all so normal. But here she was, bruised and broken, covered in blood and vomit—
“Miss, please,” Belanis hissed, and Araya realized she was laughing again, tears still streaming down her cheeks.
“I just didn’t realize Garrick had a dungeon under her house,” she said, shaking her head at the absurdity of it. “Does he keep a lot of personal prisoners?”
“I can’t say, Miss,” Belanis said stiffly.
Of course she couldn’t. Araya bit back her hysterical laughter, picking up her pace as the other female dragged her through the deserted halls. Who knew what the Shaws would do to her if they thought she’d told their prisoner anything of use?
They passed no one, finally entering what could have passed for a sparsely furnished guest room—but Araya caught the shimmer of runes etched into the doorframe. More marked the trim around the windows, subtle enough that the casual observer would pass right over them.
“I’m sorry.” Belanis didn’t linger in the main room, guiding Araya into the bathing chamber and gently lowering her onto a small stool. “Master Shaw didn’t order a Healer. This will probably hurt.”
Araya gasped, biting back a scream as the other female reached for the ties at the back of her tunic.
She had to peel the fabric from Araya’s skin in places, the cloth stiff with dirt and blood.
Every bit of flesh she bared revealed new bruises—her ribs a gruesome tapestry of black and blue and her shoulder grotesquely swollen.
The ghost of Caylin’s handprint stood out in ugly purple relief on her upper arm—five deep bruises marking where her fingers had dug into Araya’s bicep.
She was sobbing again by the time Belanis finished.
The other female turned away, her face pale as she bent over the tub, giving both of them a moment.
Water poured from the tap, heated by stolen magic.
The steady rush drowned out Araya’s quiet sobs, filling the air with steam and fogging the mirror until the reflection of that battered, broken female vanished.
Araya let Belanis help her into the tub, holding as still as she could.
The other female scrubbed at her skin with a harsh yellow soap, carefully working around the manacles and collar so she didn’t burn herself on the iron.
Unlike Loren’s manacles, these were lined with something soft, preventing the metal from blistering her skin.
That made sense. Jaxon wouldn’t want her marked—not permanently. He’d never been a fan of imperfections. Especially not when it came to her.
“Do you think he’d kill me if I scarred?” she asked.
“Not if it’s somewhere hidden,” Belanis said, wringing out the cloth into the dirty water before pulling the plug.
Neither one of them spoke again as the tub filled with fresh water. Belanis washed her a second time, tipping her head back and massaging a softer, sweeter soap into her hair. The cloying scent of vanilla filled the room, strangling Araya’s senses until all she could smell was him.
Araya closed her eyes, forcing herself to keep breathing deeply as Belanis dragged a comb through her hair, tugging at the snarls and tangles. It was only soap. She couldn’t lose herself to panic—not now, when her very survival would depend on how well she kept her wits about her.
She took the towel Belanis offered without a word, doing her best to pat herself dry.
The other female helped her into a plain nightgown, the fabric soft against her scraped skin.
It fit perfectly, hanging loose over her ribs and shoulder, as if someone had thought about her injuries when they chose it for her.
Araya shivered, suddenly feeling far more exposed than she had in the bath.
“They’ll be in soon,” Belanis said, depositing her on the bed. She gathered Araya’s filthy clothes into a basket, avoiding her eyes. “Just do what they want. It will hurt less if you do.”
She hurried out before Araya could respond, the door closing behind her with a soft click. Araya stared after her, watching numbly as magic flared across the seam of the door, sealing her in.
They didn’t make her wait long.
The sun had barely shifted across the wall before a key scraped in the lock, magic flaring.
Belanis entered first, darting across the room and setting the silver tea service she carried down on the small table.
Araya leaned back against the headboard, cradling her injured arm in her lap.
She didn’t move as Garrick walked into the room, Jaxon on his heels.
She wouldn’t give them the satisfaction of reacting.
“Thank you, Belanis,” Garrick said smoothly. “You may go. We’ll call if we need anything.”
The fae female fled in a swirl of dark skirts, leaving her alone with the monsters. Araya didn’t blame her, though. She’d have run too, if she could have.
“Well,” Jaxon said brightly, “you look much better now, don’t you?”
His fingers dug into her chin, lifting her face and turning it from side to side. He stared into her eyes, frowning when he didn’t see whatever it was he was searching for.
“You’ve gotten some of your color back, at least,” he said finally, releasing her. “How are your ribs?”
“Broken,” Araya said flatly. “And Hale dislocated my shoulder.”
“Well, he’s dead now.” Jaxon clicked his tongue, stepping back.
“Maybe if you start cooperating, we’ll see about getting a Healer in to see you.
You don’t have to suffer, Starling. Not if you’re willing to be reasonable.
” He held out a hand to her, nodding his head toward the waiting table, where three cups steamed beside a porcelain teapot. “Come sit with us.”
Araya didn’t move. If they wanted to pretend this was some polite conversation over tea, they’d have to do it alone.
Jaxon huffed out a sigh, dropping his hand.
“Well I tried,” he said, taking one of the cups.
He poured milk into it, adding two lumps of sugar and giving it a stir.
“You’d think after everything you’ve done, you’d be grateful to be here at all instead of rotting in a dungeon. We’d have executed anyone else.”
“Jaxon is right, Araya,” Garrick said softly when she didn’t say anything. He didn’t sit, standing behind his chair instead. “You’ve made quite a mess of things here. The only person you hurt by being stubborn here is yourself. We’re trying to help you.”
He paused, giving her a chance to respond. But Araya pressed her lips together, clenching her shaking hands in her lap. Whatever they wanted from her here, she wouldn’t give it to them.
Garrick sighed, his expression resigned.
“You had everything,” he continued. “Comfort. Protection. A bond to a powerful mage who would have given you anything—if you’d been smart enough to just tell Jaxon what you were experiencing…
” he shook his head. “We wouldn’t have hurt you or Loren—those children would have been very valuable to us. ”
Araya stared at him, her stomach twisting at the picture he painted. But Garrick wasn’t finished.
“You’d even have been allowed to raise them,” he said, adding a few cubes of sugar to his cup and stirring. “If only you’d held on to a single shred of loyalty.”
“You’re sick,” Araya rasped, her voice thick with fury. “You’re talking about breeding me like livestock—about owning my children.”
“Don’t be dramatic.” Garrick poured the milk into his tea, setting the silver spoon aside. “You already agreed to it once. You know where your value lies, Araya. Even if Jaxon did indulge your curiosity.”
Araya stared at him, biting back the fury that boiled under her skin. She buried it deep, refusing to let it show. If she did, they would use it. And they already had too many ways to hurt her.
“But that was before.” Garrick raised his cup to his lips, taking a slow sip.
“Now you’re not just some pretty halfblood stray my son has taken a liking to.
You’re the mate of the fae king—the queen.
And that makes you a valuable resource. With you, we could open the Eldergreen in weeks instead of years. ”
“I’d rather die,” Araya snarled, baring her teeth.
For the first time, Jaxon’s smile slipped. “Don’t say things like that.”
“Why not?” Araya glared at him, hissing at the pain that radiated through her chest. “You don’t get to act like you care about me, Jaxon. Not after the way you drained me. You almost killed me.”
“You made me do that,” Jaxon snarled. He stood too quickly, his hands clenched into fists. “I’m giving you another chance. You should be grateful I even still want you after you let him touch you—”
“Grateful?” Araya bared her teeth. “I would rather burn than let you touch me again.”
Jaxon lunged, but Garrick caught his arm before he could close the distance, dragging him back.
“She’s tired, Jaxon,” he said, his voice clipped. “She needs time to adjust—to understand the severity of her circumstances. Go make the arrangements for her transport. I’ll close things out here.”
Jaxon hesitated, practically vibrating with unshed fury—but this wasn’t a suggestion from his father. It was a command from the High Magister. He cast one last venomous glare at Araya, his lip curling.
“I always did like your fire, Starling” he spat. “It makes your surrender that much sweeter. I’m looking forward to making you beg.”
Araya flinched, her heart pounding. But Jaxon turned his back on her, slamming the door behind him hard enough to rattle the glass in the window. She clenched her fists in the blankets, trying to calm her heartbeat as she listened to his footsteps fade into silence.
“You should be more careful not to antagonize him, Araya.” Garrick said mildly.
He crossed back to the table, taking his time pouring himself a fresh cup of tea.
“We’re being generous, offering you a way to make amends.
But we don’t really need your cooperation.
What just need your body—your connection to the fae monarchy.
” He turned back to her, stirring his tea.
“And we’ll have it. One way or another.”
“I’ll never help you,” Araya spat.
Garrick smiled, but there was nothing comforting about it this time.
“No,” he said. “I don’t think you will. You’ll fight us tooth and nail until your spirit cracks.
It’s what your kind does.” He took a slow sip of his tea, savoring the taste.
“But you were stupid enough to complete that bond with Loren. That makes any child you have a candidate for the fae throne—regardless of who the father is.”
Araya’s breath caught, the room tilting around her as his meaning sank in. “You wouldn’t,” she said, her voice shaking. “You wouldn’t dare—”
Garrick chuckled.
“Of course we would,” he said. “This has always been about power, Araya. Bloodlines. If you refuse to help us, we’ll breed you and use the child you produce to open the Eldergreen for us.”
“I won’t do it,” Araya said. “I’m fae. I won’t conceive if I’m not willing—”
“You’re three-quarters fae,” Garrick said idly. “It might take longer—pity for you—but it will happen. And you might be surprised at what you’re willing to do when all of your choices are laid out for you. I intend to have royal power in my bloodline, but I’m not picky about how it gets there.”
He took another step closer to the bed, his gaze dragging slowly over her body.
“And if you won’t cooperate with Jaxon,” he murmured, finally meeting her eyes. “Well, I suppose I’ll just have to see what all the fuss is about. I always did want to fuck the queen.”