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“I don’t need gold.”
I stare at him, my throat tightening. This was my best play. I was so sure it would entice him. Now as he dismisses it so easily, I feel my options slipping away. I’m not willing to sell off my life—and I don’t have anything else to offer. I struggle to breathe around the rising panic.
“It’s genuine,” I croak, trying to hold the solid lump up to the light in case that somehow captures his interest.
Quick as a blink his expression twists into a snarl. I’m not sure how he gets there, but he’s across the room and towering over me just as fast. I stumble back as he presses me up against the desk.
This close he invades my senses, and I brace myself, expecting some wild, musky scent to match his features, but he smells sweeter than I predict, a freshness and familiarity to the scent that I can’t quite put my finger on.
“I have no need of gold,” he repeats. I notice his hands seem to have sprouted claws that dig furrows into the desk as easily as if it were made of butter. “Offer me something of real value.” His eyes sweep over my face, and a strange heat creeps across my cheeks, despite my fear. “Time…just a few years. Or a talent, perhaps? If you actually have any skill beyond endangering your life, that is.”
Somehow, I know he’s referring to the threat he poses as much as the guards on the other side of the door.
But even with the creaking and thudding of their inevitable progress, I don’t leap at his offer. I can’t. Not when there’s a wave of terror building inside me, one that tells me I’m looking at a creature far more dangerous than Albrecht could ever be.
I’m in this now, though—and the only way out is to keep pushing through. Still, that doesn’t mean accepting his first offer. I’ve spent many years bargaining with the fae, learning not to easily give into their deadly prices—and now of all times, as I face the most ruthless dealmaker of all, I can’t afford to forget all the lessons I’ve learned just because he terrifies the wits out of me.
I can feel my knees shaking as I consider what will happen if this encounter goes wrong. If Clara’s fate was what she got for misjudging a fae I’ve never heard of, what will Ruskin Blackcoat do to me if I give him any excuse?
I’m queasy with the fear of it, but I’m also driven by my will to survive—and to live free, not as a caged bird for Albrecht to put on display. So where does that leave me? Staying isn’t an option, but leaving means making an offer Ruskin will accept, and I suspect he’s an expert at bargaining to take exactly what his victims can’t afford to lose.
Ruskin lets out a growl, and I’m painfully aware that the gouges from his claws are still there, just inches from where my hands clutch the desk for support. He’s clearly getting to the end of his patience. Cautiously, I stick with what I know is safer to bargain. Maybe like Albrecht, the idea of piles of gold will be irresistible to him.
“This isn’t all I have,” I say, trying to keep my voice from shaking. “I can make you more.”
His teeth shine out at me again in a snarl.
“You have wasted my time—” he hisses, then stops. I realize he’d begun to speak before he’d truly heard what I’d said.
“What do you mean, ‘make more’?”
I swallow, so grateful for a moment’s reprieve that it takes a second for my mouth kick into action. “Er…I made this…” I hold up the gold, though my movement is limited by his powerful form standing over me. His coat hides a multitude of muscles—a broad chest and thick, strong arms. I briefly wonder what would be a worse death: to be slain by those claws or have the life crushed out of me by those arms.
“How?”
“Alchemy,” I say, and then, when I see this won’t be enough, I add, “I found a way to alter base metals into gold. It’s my own, special process. No one else knows how to do it. I can make you…” I stop myself. I’d been so close to saying as ‘as much as you want,’ but that kind of loose talk would see me working for him until my dying day. “I can make you more,” I repeat carefully. “A reasonable sum by human standards, and within the terms of any agreement we make.”
His eyes hold mine, and as I notice the traces of green in them, it feels like he’s seeing me for the first time.
“What’s your name?” he asks.
I hesitate. It’s an oddly civil question when he seemed ready to rip my throat out a moment before. “Eleanor Thorn.”
There’s a strange flash in his piercing, predator’s gaze—almost of recognition.
“Family business, is it? Playing around with metals?”
“I…No, not really,” I say, wondering if he thinks we’re blacksmiths or something. It occurs to me to mention my mother’s alchemy kit, but the thought comes too late. My time is up and the commotion outside the door reaches a new crescendo as it buckles inwards under the force of half a dozen blades. I look to Ruskin, sure he’s deliberately chosen this moment to release whatever magic was holding Albrecht’s men at bay.
“Please,” I say, knowing it’s madness appealing to a fae’s conscience and letting my desperation attempt it anyway.
He straightens, no longer cornering me against the desk.
“Very well, Eleanor Thorn. You will use your alchemy skills to help me and in return I will get you out of here,” he speaks without a hint of urgency, despite the men dismantling the last few pieces of the door behind him. A chill goes down my spine. He’s trying to trap me.
“In return for my freedom.” I correct him. “No locking me up.” The words fly from my mouth in an almost unintelligible rush. Getting me out of here didn’t mean anything—he could drop me off in a dungeon somewhere and demand I start making gold for him right away. It’s the only provision I have time for, the guard’s boots hitting the bedroom floor as they climb through the jagged hole in the door.
His lips twitch. “We have a deal.”
