TEN #2
Had I known those were the last words I would speak to him, maybe I would have chosen other ones instead.
I stood beneath him, watching as he climbed so high he almost looked small.
And it was then there was a crack to the back of my skull, sending a blinding pain shooting through my head before there was nothing.
The piercing in my head was what I was aware of next time I was aware of anything at all. It was a sharp, unrelenting pain that made my hands raise instinctively, pressing into my temples as though the pressure might be able to ease the ache.
A low, throaty whimper escaped me before I remembered.
The woods.
Drake.
Watching him climb a tree.
Then the pain.
Someone had hit me.
Someone had hit me and taken me.
The latter part I knew because if I was still with Drake, his hands would have been all over me, comforting me, trying to ease my pain.
There was nothing soft or sweet or comforting about how I felt right then.
I fought back a wave of nausea as I tried to think past the migraine threatening to split the hemispheres of my brain.
Cold.
I was cold.
Too cold to be out in The Green still.
In fact, it was so cold that I must have been in a cellar, deep where the ground had yet to thaw out, keeping everything dark and damp and near freezing.
The side of my face was numb, whether from trauma or the cold stone floor it was resting on, I didn't know.
Taking a breath, my eyes slitted open, looking around, trying to get some idea of where I might have been, who might have taken me. And why.
Not that the why really mattered that much. Fae didn't always have a good reason. Like the sex fae who had simply wanted to drain me of all my desire to feed himself.
The idea of that fate - and the dozen or so others that immediately came to mind - made my stomach twist and knot painfully as I planted my hand on the floor, pushing myself up, closing my eyes as the worst of the spinning subsided.
It was as I tried to move to sit up that I felt something around my ankle, something cold and hot at the same time.
No.
Not hot.
Burning.
My leg yanked back instinctively, trying to dislodge it before I saw what was there.
A shackle.
Iron.
That was why it was burning even though it was technically cold. Even through the layer of my pants, the thick metal was searing into my flesh,given enough time, I was sure it could burn right through the skin, muscle, right down to the bone.
This was what Drake felt like all the time.
I had to swallow back the bile that rose up my throat at the idea of my fate, the idea that there was no way to get it off unless I wanted more pain on my hands and fingers.
"Staying still helps," A low, scratchy voice called from my side, making my spine run cold even as my head jerked around, searching in the dark for the source of the voice.
When my vision adjusted, I found a woman.
Old. Older than the elders in the council, which was saying something.
But her long gray hair was stringy, thinning, framing a face that was curling into itself with advanced years, making the lids fall so heavily over her eyes that it was impossible to make out the shade even if there were enough light to do so.
"If you move, it just bites into fresher parts, starting the process all over again," she went on, waving a hand to her leg where an identical chain was attached to an ankle that looked brittle enough to snap, the flesh beneath raw and filthy.
"Who are you?" she asked, head tipping to the side, eyeing me up.
"You must be someone important to be here with me instead of in the cells like all the other prisoners. "
"I'm not important," I insisted, seeing as I wasn't entirely sure who had taken me, why, or what would possess a fae to put irons on another fae.
"Sure you are, dearie. They put you here so they can come and talk to you without anyone overhearing."
"Why are you here then?" I asked, brows drawing low.
"Because I gave life to the monster who keeps me here," she said, shrugging as though that was a normal thing to do - lock up your mother, make her suffer with burning flesh.
Then again, I could see some mothers deserving of such a fate.
"Who is the monster?"
To that, she snorted, shaking her thin neck, making me worry she might break it with the way her head lobbed around. "Why the Unseelie King, of course."
"Cass." His name hissed out of me, rekindling the fire of fear within me, making me jerk against the chain, pain be damned, my hands clawing, looking for any small space I could use to pry it open.
"Yes, Cass. Calm down, dearie. They solder them on. There is no getting them off unless they cut them. And, seeing as you're here, I don't think they have the intention of doing so. Who are you to that beast? What does he want from you? You're young to be worth the trouble of keeping you."
"Cass' mother was Queen herself. You're not Cass' mother," I decided, having seen depictions of her, murals drawn of her stunning beauty. And, sure, maybe several hundreds of years before, this woman might have been lovely as well, but her forehead was too big, her chin too pointed.
"The Bastard King doesn't like anyone knowing he was a bastard," she told me,breaking off onto a dry cough.
"The Unseelie Queen never gave birth to a live babe.
The King found his pleasures elsewhere. Like his slave quarters.
Where I so unluckily lived my life, forever at the prey of the hands of the guards and dinner guests.
And, when I caught his eye, the King himself.
When he found out I was with his child, he let me have it. Then locked me down here."
"And Cass never freed you?"
"Cass thinks very highly of himself. He wants the world to think he was the legitimate offspring of the most beautiful, powerful royal family in generations. Not the bastard of some slave whore with not an ounce of power to her name, no affinity to speak of unless having a ripe womb counted."
My saliva tasted bitter, acrid in my mouth, making it hard to swallow back. "But... why keep you?" I asked, shaking my head.
"Oh, he likes to come down here and hurl insults, let me know how much better he is than me. Cass is not right. I wonder if he ever had been. But he is certainly more crazed than usual these days. Which brings us back to you, girlie. How am I supposed to help you if I don't know what you've done?"
"Done," I snorted, shaking my head. "Other than have the misfortune of being born into a convenient family with important ties and an opportunistic matriarch? Nothing. I have done nothing but try to live my life."
"Who are you connected to?"
"My brother is the partner of the Light Court's long-lost Princess."
"The one who can burn things with her hands?"
"Yes. Cass' daughter."
A low sigh escaped the woman whose name I hadn't gotten. "So, I have a granddaughter out there then. What is she like?"
"Nothing like her father. I guess she takes after her mother instead."
"And Cass wants her back from the Light Court then. To have her rule, or steal her powers for himself, I wonder."
I wondered too.
And I prayed he never got his hands on her.
Even if that meant I had to sacrifice my freedom.
I couldn't claim to be brave, strong, to have a high tolerance for pain. But I would do my best to be the first two things, to develop the third.
Drake could do it.
Drake had done it.
Year in and year out for decades, he had been brave, strong, he had withstood beatings instead of giving up his kind.
I had to try as well.
No matter what fate befell me.
Even if this cuff ripped clear through to my marrow. Even if I was beaten and tortured.
I couldn't turn on my people.
There were so many of them now to protect.
Cece. Jasper.
Drake and our clan whose safety was only ensured based on everyone's ignorance of their existence.
"How long have I been here?"
"Oh, time is a funny thing. You lose it when you've been here long enough. But I would say half a day."
Half a day?
Oh, hell.
Where was Drake?
Was he taken too?
"Was I brought in alone?"
"As far as I can tell. I don't exactly have a great view down here."
Right.
There were a set of barred windows nestled up high near the ceiling, the panes cracked in spots, likely letting in frigid air all winter, the outside crusted with muck from passer byes, from the spatter during storms. Years of neglect making it almost impossible even to see light out of them.
Not that there was any light, of course, since it had been half a day since I had been conscious, since it was night out now.
"Did you hear anything about a Draca?" I asked, trying to keep my voice from giving too much away.
"Draca," the old woman snorted, rolling her hooded eyes. "Guess you were hit harder on the head than I realized. Draca don't exist, girlie. They're legends."
I figured if guards had dragged me down into the basement and knew of Cass being in possession of a dragon-changing fae, then they would have been gossiping about it.
So hopefully he was free.
Safe.
Not beaten or killed in the forest.
And, hopefully, he wasn't coming for me.
He would want to.
He would move heaven and Earth - and The Green - to locate me, get me safe, bring me home.
Hopefully he didn't know it was Cass, the Dark fae. Hopefully he figured some other creature got a hold of me. Would be tracking down leads for a while.
Giving me time.
Time for what, I wasn't sure.
I couldn't exactly escape if I was soldered in.
But if there was a chance, I was hoping I would be brave enough to take it.
I'd rather die trying to escape than spend the rest of my long life withering away in a basement.
Alone.
Going half-crazy.
"Does Cass come down here often?"
"Depends on what you consider often. More recently than usual, but maybe every few weeks.
Weeks.
I couldn't last weeks without at least getting to face my kidnapper.
Surely he would need to speak to me, get proof of my existence so he could use it to get Jasper and Cece to come.
But how soon?
Was he in a rush?