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I wake propped up on the floor of a stone cell. My tongue feels thick, and my head pounds with a searing headache. That’s nothing compared to the pain of trying to get up. My ribs burn with agony that only intensifies with each movement. Careful to keep my torso as still as possible, I pull my blood-soaked shirt up and inspect the damage. It’s not the stab wound I expected—especially considering the last thing I remember is being impaled by that bitch Maricha and her poisoned knife. But instead of a single wound, my skin is an intricate map of shallow cuts. They mar my skin in thin red lines that look like pure chaos until I notice a strange pattern they’ve cut on my flesh.
Some kind of symbol.
Beneath the burn of pain, dark magic pulses through it.
I try to move again, gritting my teeth against the resistance that meets my efforts. The thin red lines inking the strange symbol blacken as the agony worsens. It reminds me of the curse and the dark veins it caused when it activated.
Fear grips me as I wonder if she somehow learned the curse was broken and cast it all over again.
I’d rather anything else than to be kept from Legion’s touch again. The thought of him alone has me thinking of strategy. I need to conserve my energy if I’m going to have any hope of escaping this hellhole.
I go still, letting my shirt fall and my hands rest on the cool stone floor. With my head tipped up against the stone wall behind me, I survey the space. Thick stone surrounds me on three sides. The fourth is nothing but iron bars that have rusted and begun flaking from age. The air is stale and musty. Wherever I am, it’s old and likely forgotten by the rest of the world.
Through the cell door, I see more stone extending down a wide hall until the space opens into what looks like a larger cavern. Dim light emanates from fixtures mounted on the stone walls.
If I squint, I can make out an iron door on the far cavern wall. Symbols have been carved into its surface, not unlike the one currently carved into me. A window with iron bars offers a glimpse of a stairwell that leads up.
I don’t see even a shred of daylight anywhere. The damp, musty smell suggests a windowless space all around.
Underground then.
The question is in which realm?
No, the question is where is Legion?
I refuse to leave without him even if escape becomes an option.
Settling in to wait, I remember Kendall’s prediction that Legion would go alone and it would end in his death. She gave no indication she’d seen our failure as a team, and I cling to that now.
It’s not over.
It can’t be.
I don’t have to wait long before the distant door opens and a figure steps through. Not Legion, judging by the slimmer stature, but not Maricha from the height.
Footsteps sound, echoing off the stone walls as the figure approaches my cell. Finally, the visitor’s face appears from the shadows as he steps up to my cell.
“Hello, Torissa,” Uziah says smoothly.
“Where is he?” I snarl, the sight of him sparking instant rage.
“My son is no longer your concern,” Uziah says. “Are you comfortable? Can I get you anything?”
“Comfortable? Are you fucking serious? I’m laced with some kind of poison and locked inside a dirty dungeon who knows where. What do you think?”
“Maricha’s mark was a necessary precaution,” he says. “We had to make sure you wouldn’t resist transport. As for your accommodations, you’re right, I’ll get you a blanket.
“A necessary precaution. Of course. Well then, I forgive you since you explained your reasoning.”
His crimson eyes flash with impatience. “If it’s any consolation, the original plan was to kill you outright. But it seems you are a strong motivator for the death dragon, thus your value to him has kept you alive a little longer.”
“Gee, I’m so grateful.”
His eyes narrow a fraction. “Sarcasm won’t get you that blanket.”
“I want to see Legion.”
“You’re not exactly in a position to make demands.”
