“Why haven't you just let yourself out?”
The voice tears through my concentration, my calm state slipping away as though it never was. My eyes slowly open, and I find myself staring at a high-fae prince once more, only this time, it’s the one with magic. Tyton.
The one my forest speaks to.
That makes me want to trust him, the echo of the forest in his voice still ringing in my mind. If the trees have deemed him worthy, who am I to argue?
I stare at him, unwavering, but he only gestures at his face, his fingers flicking over his mouth as he glances at the gag in mine. “You can take it off. I know it, and you know it. I told Soren that you could, to make sure he's aware of the true danger that laid in wait for him here, and yet you keep it on just to fool us.”
His voice is soft, sweet, like honey in a trap, but there’s no doubt he’d kill me just as swiftly as the others would. I don’t need the accusation in his words to know it—the sharp edge in his tone makes it clear enough. He’s dressed in fine clothing, more casual than his armor but more formal than the clothing worn by the other princes so far. He’s put this outfit together for…something. Certainly not to come down here and speak with the likes of me.
I stare him down, and then my hand rises, and I loosen the bindings and tug the gag from my mouth. My lips are cracked, and I taste blood when I try to wet them, my tongue swollen and sore. My body might be in good health, but it still bears many signs of my captivity.
When I don’t immediately answer his original question, he frowns at me. “Your silence grows wearisome, your inaction worse. Speak to me, witch.”
My voice is cracked and weak but loud enough for his high-fae ears to hear. “Or what? Are you going to come in here and make me?”
His eyebrows slowly creep up his forehead as he stares at me. “Are you hoping I will? Are you trying to goad me into crossing the iron bars so that you can kill me?”
I don't need to cross the iron bars to kill this man
I don't need to cross the iron bars to killanyof them.
A smirk stretches over his lips. It’s simple enough for me to read how confident he is in his abilities against me. I’m happy to use that confidence against him, and so I ask him the question I truly want an answer to.
“Tell me about the Ravenswyrd trees.”
His eyebrows come crashing down into a scowl, and I let a smile pull up the corners of my own lips, happy that the barb hit him right in the center of his chest. “You want to talk to me, don’t you? I'll tell you mine if you tell me yours. Tell me what the trees say to you.”
He stares at me for a moment before answering, “You first. Why not leave this cell if you’re not planning on lulling us into a false sense of security and then killing us all in our sleep?”
Bluntness delivered from the face of an ethereal creature. I’m glad I’m well versed in the games of the high fae, because I’d be tripping over my answers if I wasn’t.
I rest my head against the cold stone of my cell and answer, my tone clear and sure. “I’m here to fulfill my fate. Whether you believe me or not doesn’t change a thing. Unless you plan on going against the Fates and starting a whole new war here in the Southern Lands, then I know I am safe enough. Have you ever seen a Ureen? Ever learned the process it takes tounmakeone? It's a terrible thing, and I’ve learned that it’s better to leave my fate intact through my obedience. Now…tell me what the trees say to you.”
He shakes his head, ignoring my request. “Why haven't you gone mad down here? Every witch we've ever brought here hasn't lasted longer than a day. How are you surviving?”
I shake my head back at him, a mocking display of disappointment, as though I really had assumed he’d speak to me. I know he won’t, that none of them will give me anything. We’re quickly reaching a stalemate that will end only with me being stuck down here forever, but I suppose telling him this truth won't hurt anything.
I close my eyes and let the power flow through me once more, my skin singing as the magic knits my damaged lips back together. “You’ll always assume the worst because I’m a witch. What's the harm in acting the exact way that you all expect of me when you’re going to treat me like this regardless? That's why I left the gag in. As for how I'm keeping my mind together down here, it's simple. I was born of this earth, and it cannot harm me. The others you brought down here—their markings were black, weren’t they? Those witches turned away from who they are and what they’re meant to be. I have not.”
He scowls at me. “You’re speaking in riddles. For all I know, you're attempting to cast some sort of curse against me, and only the iron bars are keeping me safe.”
Around in circles we go.
I ignore his words and reply, “What did the trees say about the Favored Children? That's what you said to the Savage Prince, wasn't it? The Favored Children. What did they say?”
His lip curls as he snarls at me, “Don't call him that.”
It’s a sore point for them all, a wound I can poke and prod whenever I want to gall them into a tantrum. It's strange to me that Prince Soren’s nickname is what upset him, but Tyton turns and leaves without fulfilling his part of the bargain. I'm not surprised or upset by it. I’ve learned a good way to dig under the skin of my Fates-blessed mate and his friends, should I need to.
* * *
The first true break in the pattern of my days is the door above opening in the middle of the night, the sound ricocheting off the stone walls like a clap of thunder. There's not supposed to be a guard shift change. There's not supposed to be anything happening right now, and so my eyes flutter open and slowly adjust to the darkness. It’s always dark down here, but at night the guards let the torches burn out without relighting them, going down to the barest of essentials as though they’re conserving resources.
It makes sense, given how dire things seem to be here.
I hold myself still and stare through the bars, taking in my surroundings only to find nothing has changed during the hours I’ve been asleep. The guard standing watch looks nervous though, straightening up carefully as footsteps on stone echo through the cells.
