Kyzari peeks up, meeting Arkyn’s stare through matted tendrils of hair. Only the swiftest glance, though he sees a spark of light in her eyes despite the dire circumstances.
He smiles, the tips of his fingers itching so much it’s an effort not to lift them to his mouth andgnaw. “Find it.” Kyzari’s cheeks lose all their pallor, filling him with sadistic glee. “Whoever has the diary will be beaten.”
Veya heaves, like the first breath after almost drowning. She whips her head around, watching the guards pour into both cells.
She screams past bloody lips, mining the strength to wrestle against her chains—veins bulging, tendons stretched. Kyzari, however, goes so still Arkyn half wonders if she’s turned as solid as that glinting stone on her head.
Guards rip Kyzari’s and Veya’s straw pallets to shreds, scattering their contents across the filthy floors. One holds up both halves of the torn parchment lark. “What about this?”
“Leave it,” Arkyn mutters, holding Kyzari’s cold stare. “There’s no life left in it anyway.”
Her lids flutter, threatening to squeeze shut. The first sign she’s struggling.
The diary is retrieved from beneath Kyzari’s waste bucket, passed to Arkyn from one of the guards, who dips his head in servitude.
The princess finally blinks, sending a tear darting through the dirt on her cheek.
“I thought you would’ve learned,” Arkyn murmurs, waving the diary. “Hopeonly leads to pain and disappointment.”
The softest whimper slips past her now-trembling lips, but she keeps her chin high, eyes blazing with hope that will soon be snuffed out.
He breaks her stare, turning to Veya, who thrashes like she’s prepared to unsheathe the skin from her hands in the effort to free herself.
“I thank you, sister.” He passes the diary to one of his guards, flicking the lid on the weald, distracting from the itchy, feverish shake running through his fingers. “Had you not come and offered me such clarity, I would’ve gone to great lengths to keep the princess alive, given the diadem requires a host to feed on.” He shrugs. “Knowing I can place it on myFire Lark is somewhat a relief. I hear she’s grown to be rather competent with the Creators’ songs during her time away.Toocompetent. The extra shackle will be useful.”
Veya stops fighting, her next words snarled through gritted teeth. “Once Raeve learns the truth, she willobliterateyou. Shackle or no. As will Kaan.”
He won’t. He’ll be dead within cycles.
Arkyn doesn’t say the words aloud. Doesn’t admit the trap’s already been laid. He’s not one to taunt fate.
“I agree,” he muses. “My Fire Lark could obliterate me. Except I forged her. She fears little more than she fearsme.” With a snap of his cloak, he gives Veya his back and shapes his hand into a tingling fist around his brother’s weald.
A trigger that has Veya trying to lash her shackles loose, screaming with pitched desperation. “Beat me instead! Please! I’ll do anything. ANYTHING!”
Arkyn ignores his sister. Homes his bloodlusting attention on Kyzari, her pretty features marred with loathing.
She stares at him through eyes pitching almost as dark as the Aether Stone, and Arkyn sees his Fire Lark in the way the princess holds herself. In the way she looks at him like there’s a deeper, darker rage welling beneath her skin.
Another treasure, he realizes.She just needed a little buff.
But Kaan doesn’t deserve a daughter. Not when his mereexistencesnuffed the life of Arkyn’s dear mah. The one fae who lovedhim.
Treasuredhim.
Kyzari gathers a wad of saliva and spits on Arkyn’s cheek.
He chuckles, remembering his Fire Lark when she first came to him. Blazing.
Fearless.
He swipes off the spit while Kyzari holds his stare—defiance sizzling in her eyes. She doesn’t falter; not a lick of terror to be seen as he swings his entire body into a fisted throw, striking Kyzari’s temple so hard a cracking sound fills the tunnel, echoing off the walls.
She crumples. Slides down the bars, landing in a rumpled knot of filthy blue material, hair dashed across the ground like moonlight spilled from a cracked jar.
The atmosphere shudders.
The guards look at each other, passing wary glances, but Arkyn doesn’t notice the juddering disruption … frothing formorepain.
