He dragged her towards an iron rung fastened halfway up the wall.
“On your knees,” he ordered.
Absolutely not.
She didn’t move. Just stared at him. Her defiance was all she had left.
“You’ll learn to do what I say,” he said conversationally. “I’m going to make it more uncomfortable now. Make sure the lesson sinks in.”
He pushed her to the floor, knees hitting the cold stone with another jolt of pain. He wrenched her arms mercilessly over her head. Pulled them so tight her shoulders screamed.
Don’t let him see. Don’t give him anything.
He watched her face with interest as he tied the rope to the rung. He was deliberate. Careful. He pulled the last knot tight with a satisfied smile – stepping back to admire his handiwork.
“Oh, Healer, you do look good like this.” He grinned. “Maybe I’ll pay you a visit before they burn you.”
The look in his eyes scared her more than any pyre.
“He was,” she said suddenly.
The gleeful look on his face slid to confusion. The smirk faltered.
“What?” he sneered.
“Worth it. Sebastian was worth it,” she said shakily.
He laughed as he left the cell, slamming the door shut behind him.
Hours later, well after nightfall, footsteps sounded in the corridor. Kara’s eyes opened – she hadn’t expected anyone until morning – least of all him. Alaric Hale stood outside the bars, his cloak pulled tightly around him, torchlight flickering over his face. He was paler than usual, the lines around his face deeper, more pronounced. He looked much older than he had a week ago.
The guard unlocked the door; her father stepped inside. “Five minutes,” the man muttered before retreating to the far wall.
“I’ll take as long as I–” her father began, but then he took in the scene, the nightshade, the extra rope pinning her arms above her.
“What the hell is this?” he yelled to the guard. The Thorne soldier looked at him, puzzled. “Why is my daughter tied to the damn wall?”
The soldier stuttered incoherently. “Untie her. Now,” Alaric ordered. “She is a lady of House Hale, not yet tried. You will show her respect.”
“Yes, milord,” the soldier murmured. He hurried into the cell alongside Alaric and began to untie the rope from the iron rung. Kara couldn’t look at her father. Her arms fell in front of her, wrists still bound but the pain eased as blood flowed back to her extremities. The soldier hesitated on the nightshade wraps around her wrists, looking to Alaric for confirmation.
“You may leave the nightshade.”
The soldier nodded and hurried out. Alaric turned his attention back to Kara.
“You’re hurt,” he said, looking at her clearly swollen ankle.
“I’m fine,” she lied.
He eyed her ankle, the iron rung above her. “Who did this?” he demanded.
Kara met his gaze. “Does it matter?”
Her father didn’t reply, just bent low and reached for her foot. “May I?”
She hesitated, then nodded. He unlaced her boot and she stayed silent as his emerald magic flowed warm into her ankle. The pain ebbed in waves until it was nothing more than a dull ache. He stayed crouched by her side.
“Better?” he asked.
