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‘It’s almost like he suddenly trusts me,’ Creon said, studying the cells with the expression of an expert encountering an unusual but impressive piece of work. In the sickly, flickering lights, the scars on his hands and forearms looked like deep, black-bleeding gashes; surrounded by locked doors and traces of violence, he looked more like a fae torturer than he had in a long time. ‘Did Ylfreda check him for brain damage after the fight at the Cobalt Court?’
‘I’m guessing he just wants to be out of here before I put a leash around your neck,’ I said sweetly.
His laughter still sounded like a miracle.
The doors were numbered with small steel signs. We found number 104 at the far end of the corridor – a safety precaution, I assumed, more work for a certain little half demon who’d need to check every single empty cell before finding the one that was currently occupied. I glanced at the key in my fingers, annoyed to find it was trembling despite all my best attempts to believe I knew exactly what I was doing.
‘Alright,’ I managed to force out before drawing in a deep breath. ‘She probably shouldn’t see you, don’t you think? I’ll just go in and leave the door open, and then you can wait around the corner and intervene if things go south – does that work?’
No response.
I looked up to find him leaning against the next steel door, arms crossed and wings folded closely against his back, face tight as he watched me. As if I’d said something catastrophically wrong. As if I’d lethally offended him – again.
My heart flipped in my chest. ‘Creon?’
‘I may not be able to intervene if she starts causing trouble,’ he said, his rough voice low but without a trace of that sharpness with which he’d lashed out in his bedroom. ‘If the bindings protected bloody Corydas, they’ll protect Thysandra, too.’
‘Oh. Right.’ I felt my shoulders sag with relief. Gods damn my jittery nerves, reading far too much into simple strategic concern. ‘But you have your knives on you, don’t you? So you should at least be able to slow her down or drag me out if needed.’
He nodded – a slow, hesitant gesture nowhere near convincing. His frown didn’t loosen.
‘No?’ I said.
‘Should work,’ he admitted, forcing a brief smile about as genuine as rusting gold. ‘I’m just being overly cautious. You could probably manage her on your own either way.’
I narrowed my eyes at him. ‘Creon, what is it?’
‘Oh, nothing.’ He stood straight with an impatient flick of his fingers, wings relaxing a fraction behind his shoulders as he shrugged. ‘Nothing of importance, that is. Let’s get this business over with, first. We have more to do.’
Edored pretending to understand the intricate complexities of vampire politics had been more credible. I parted my lips to argue, then remembered where we were standing and that I didn’t even know whether the door of cell 104 was entirely soundproof – not the safest place to discuss whatever the hell was going on with him. If he didn’t even want to tellme, he definitely would not want Thysandra to know.
And either way, he was right. If all went according to plan, wedidhave more to do today.
‘As you wish,’ I forced myself to say, making no effort to look at all convinced. He hadn't done anything to deserve that courtesy. ‘Are you ready, then?’
He sank down onto the floor in response, drawing a knife and settling himself against the wall beside the door of cell 104 with a swift nod. As unhurried as his posture might be, I knew he’d be by my side within a heartbeat at the slightest sign of alarm; it was that thought which gave me the courage to turn that damned key in the lock and push the steel-plated door open, left hand against the red skirt of my dress.
There was no need for it. They had chained her in alf steel, the whitish metal gleaming against the dark skin of her wrists in that same sickly light.
Even on the narrow wooden bench of an empty cell, even covered in mud and scrapes, Thysandra stubbornly refused to look like a captive. The glare she sent me was that of an exasperated empress wondering when the peasants would finally stop their ungrateful nagging; her scarred, black-and-gold wings lay curled around her arms and shoulders like unbreakable armour. Someone had brought her food, water, and soap during the night, but she hadn't touched any of it. A blanket lay folded in the corner of the small room, unused.
As if the slightest acknowledgement, even the mere possibility of gratitude, would already be too much of a betrayal.
I hadn't thought I could still feel sorry for her, the sound of Creon’s shattering binding still echoing in my ears. But I’d felt her pain with Zera’s bag in my arms. I understood what Naxi had told us mere minutes ago. In the end, every comfort she was refusing, every primary need she was denying, was little more than a plea to the Mother – to notice her, to reward her, to love her.
And I doubted the Mother would be all that impressed with this useless show of heroism.
‘Morning,’ I said, cautiously taking my hand off my dress but leaving the door open behind me. She didn’t relax in the slightest, glaring down at me haughtily. ‘How are you?’
A scoff was her only response to that question. ‘What do you want?’
Somehow, it stung that she was right – that Iwashere because I needed something from her, not out of kindness or compassion. I would have liked to be better than the Mother, at least. Better than the endless dance of favours and debts she knew from the Crimson Court.
Then again, it was a relief that she at least wasn’t cowering from me.
‘There are a few things I wanted to ask you,’ I said.
‘A shame,’ she said coldly. ‘I don’t have anything to tell you. If that’s all, I’d prefer for you to leave me alone in this hellhole.’
