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I ease it onto the gritty sand and push it toward the foaming surf. I’m almost there when I duck, my senses on alert as a knife flies past me and into the sea.
7
Beth
Granthos’s estate is just as I remember it—purple wisteria twining around the marble columns marking the wide entryway. The massive home rivals those of the other longtime nobles of the summer realm, though Granthos prides himself more on his menagerie of creatures than he does on the glitz of his mansion.
The Catcher yanks me along, my wrists bloody from the constant chafe of the shackles. I’ve had worse. I look up at the wide glass windows that have a view of the palace and the port. Granthos stares down at me, his eyes missing nothing and his lips pressed into a fine line of disdain.
“Keep up.” The Catcher pulls me through the front door, the lesser fae butler giving me a hard look as I pass. He never liked me. The feeling is mutual.
I spit at his feet.
The Catcher grabs me by the hair. “I said keep up.” His voice hisses through his teeth as he shoves me ahead of him and up the stairs.
I know every step, every creak, every jewel in the chandelier. I hate them all.
Two maids stand to the side as we pass, their eyes downcast. One, Emily, is a changeling like me. Taura is a lesser fae, her short horns and hooved feet marking her as either a slave or a servant, nothing more. Girls like us are never allowed to be anything more in the summer realm. I peer down the hall and look for Clotilde, but either she’s waiting for me in my room or working in the kitchen as usual. Maybe she doesn’t know I’m here.
The Catcher leads me to Granthos’s study. I shudder when I enter the ebony-paneled room full of bookshelves, the large desk at the center ornate and heavy. Granthos stands at the window, his back to us, his hands clasped behind him as if he’s completely at ease. He might be, but I can feel his anger simmering just below his collar. He won’t let it overflow in front of the Catcher, but as soon as he gets me alone—I swallow hard.
The Catcher pushes me to my knees.
My former master doesn’t turn. “Your coin is on the desk, Catcher. Take it and go.” The Catcher may be a high fae, but his line of work doesn’t endear him to the moneyed elite of Byrn Varyndr.
Unfazed by the condescension, the Catcher leans over and unsnaps the metal from my wrists, then hangs the cuffs on his leather belt.
When he turns to grab the black sack of coin on the ornately carved wooden desk, I jerk forward and grab the hilt of his blade—the notches for each slave he’s captured giving me an easy grip.
I almost have it, but the Catcher drops his pay and lunges for me. Pushing forward, I try to ram the edge of the blade into him, but he’s too strong and rips it from my grip. My wrists burn from the bloody shackle marks, but I smile with unbridled satisfaction as the Catcher scrambles back.
He glances down and freezes. Blood leaks onto his tunic from the cut along his side.
“With your own sword, no less.” I put teeth into my taunt. If I can get him to kill me now, I won’t have to find some other way to do it later. I get onto my knees and lift my chin, offering him my throat. “Just think how the slaves will chatter about how I almost felled the Catcher.”
Ire lights in his eyes, and he raises the sword. “You little bi—”
“Go. Now.” Granthos finally turns, his disapproval like a chilling breeze. “You have fulfilled your contract.”
The Catcher hesitates, but finally sheathes his blade and snatches the pouch of money from the stone floor. “Pleasure doing business, Lord Granthos.” He gives me an acid look. “I hope you get every bit of what’s coming to you, runaway.” Tapping his hilt, he adds, “I’ll carve you right here, because I won’t remember you otherwise.”
“I can’t wait to tell all my slave pals how I nearly impaled you.” I grin. “And word will only spread from there. This is the first step in your ruin. The last will be when I finish the job with that cursed sword.”
He grits his teeth, but Granthos steps closer.
The Catcher gives me one more murderous glare and leaves, slamming the door behind him.
“Sensitive, eh?” I sink onto the stone floor and lean against the bookcase at my back.
“You ran.” Granthos walks around his desk with his usual grace, his fae good looks and lithe body a delicate mask for the monster underneath. “Why would you run from me, Lenetia?”
“It’s Beth.”
His silver eyes narrow. “Your name is Lenetia. Now, explain yourself.”
“What can I say?” I shrug. “Arin needed me. And I needed a break from your sadistic, demented games.”
He pinches the bridge of his nose. Never a good sign.
My self-preservation kicks in and tells me to curl into a ball for protection, but I don’t cower. Not when I seek death. If I can rile him, he might do the job right now.
“I fear I’ll have to make an example of you, Lenetia.” He whistles low and long.
My stomach twists, and I feel bile rising in my throat. I know what that whistle brings.
He strides to the door, his fine gray linen not wrinkling a bit, and opens it, then calls the rest of the staff inside. Once the maids, butler, and other staff are lined against the wall—but careful not to touch any of their master’s books—he points at me. “As you all know, our beloved Lenetia ran from us.” He paces down the line.
I look for Clotilde, but she’s not there. Where is the old woman? The skitter of claws on stone ricochets down the hall, and I pull my knees up close and wrap my arms around them. Maybe it’s better that she doesn’t see this.
Granthos crosses his arms over his chest, his cold eyes perusing me as I cave in, terror overtaking my bravado with ease. “I can’t abide such disloyalty. And I think you all know that Lenetia must be punished. Wouldn’t you agree?” He turns to them. They all nod. I don’t blame them.
He drops to his haunches as a howl sounds just outside the door. “My puppies have missed you.”
The slaves collectively cringe as the beasts approach. The biggest one trots inside, his claws tapping on the stone and his snout in the air. He was always bigger than me. Still is, even though he’s thin now, his ribs creating ripples along his dark fur. But his eyes are the same. A beast with the cunning of a fae. I’ve dreamed of killing him, of using my bare hands to rip him apart. But he’s always been too strong. His smaller brother and sister trot in and turn to me, their black fur shining as they advance. I don’t know how Granthos found them. Maybe he created them. But they’ve always been attuned to me, always clamored for my blood. Now, after being so long deprived, their thirst is almost palpable. I try to shrink into a ball, but I can’t get any smaller. Can’t hide from them.
“Beautiful creatures, aren’t they?” Granthos pets the bitch, her red eyes narrowing with displeasure. “You’re their favorite, you know? Something about the way you taste.” He shrugs. “I’m afraid they’ve suffered since you’ve been gone. But now you’re back.” Granthos leans down and grabs my chin, wrenching my face to his. “If you ever run from me again, I’ll have them rip you apart. Slowly. Do you understand, Lenetia?”
