A chip.
Anythingcan be broken.
My wrists burn, and I glower down at the damned bargain bracers trapping my magic. I’d need the full force of my briars to bring these down. Regardless, it’s enough to realize it can be done.
I walk to the side of the obelisk where my memory is trapped. I stare into Kel’s face. At my face, so happy and in love.
Now I know these exist.
And I won’t forget.
I reach a hand up toward the floating pool of water. A current sweeps over me, sucking me into the dark. I kick and kick until I break the surface, then sprint away from the pool and up the passageway.
As I slip through the secret door, the air seems fresh by comparison. The earthy smell of Cryptgarden washes over me. Something else fills the air too. A loud, rhythmic chanting.
I drift over to the edge of the lookout and stare down at the city. A great commotion is happening down below. A parade, marching through the main street. Goblins, fae, and nameless other creatures hoot and holler, thrusting torches skyward. At the end of the procession, they’re dragging someone. He’s stripped near naked and bound in chains, his long, white hair flowing over his shoulders.
My husband.
33
The Prince of Thorns
Is there anything sweeter than the thrill of the hunt?
Oh, yes. Yes. Yes. Basking in the spoils. That is sweetest of all.
I lie on my side atop a perch I crafted of briars, just high enough that I can watch the entire parade. With one finger, I swirl the violet wine in my goblet, barely able to take my eyes off my trophy for a sip.
A procession of goblins, trolls, and fae caterwaul as they dance down the street. Shadows hop over the buildings from the swinging torches and gemlight lamps they carry. Someone’s pounding a drum while another blows on a bone horn, the two sounds in complete dissonance.
And at the back, the hero of Winter pulls at his chains like a rabid beast.
I sit up and run a tongue over my top lip. The parade has not been kind to him. His clothes have been torn, leaving him fully bare besides a pair of ragged shorts. His muscles ripple beneath bruises and filth. On the sidelines, citizens jeer at him, though some make obscene gestures. A troll woman flashes her breasts.
Shadowed by his matted hair, its usual starlight-white now streaked with dirt, his eyes flash with rage. A beast, through andthrough, but a calculating one. Given his power—like all the high rulers—originates from Castletree, his magic is lessened down here. But I’m sure if he was so motivated, he’d see the entire city covered in a blizzard.
Yet he’s not fighting back.
Perhaps he thinks this is the only way he’ll get to see my precious Flower.
I cannot wait to break him.
Leaping down from my perch, I await the end of the parade. We’re at the southeastern corner of Cryptgarden. No usual prison for my pet. Oh no.
I want everyone to be able to come and gaze upon the High Prince of Winter. Witness this great and powerful man brought low. To the Vale, he was the Sworn Protector of the Realms, but I always knew he had the heart of a beast. And this is where beasts belong.
With a flick of my cape, I walk beneath the wrought iron sign that reads MENAGERIE.
Two stone walls creep in on either side of me. Old stone covered in luminescent moss squishes under my boots. The air smells like honey and blood. A shiver runs up my spine as I suddenly realize how many eyes are on me. Not the creatures in the procession following me but the ones in the cages.
Rows and rows of bone cages infused with obsidian flank the path through the menagerie. Pathetic roars and howls sound around me. A small gryphon huddles in the corner of a cage, its wings clipped, coat dulled from bronze to beige. A pure-white stag paces in another, its antlers so big for the enclosure, it must keep its head permanently bowed. Behind the cages, there’s a tiny glass aquarium where a siren keeps her pink tail coiled. This tank is so much smaller than the one she’s shown in when it’s time for her to perform.
I square my shoulders and keep my gaze forward. I don’t enjoy looking at them, these sad, pathetic creatures. Miserable about their own existences.So what? We’re all caged here.
Straight ahead lies the end of the menagerie: a steep drop-off down into the depths. Right on the edge sits a small cage, six feet by six feet, the bars double infused. The zookeeper stands beside it, a fae man who could honestly be mistaken for a ghoul for how ashen his skin is, how loosely it hangs from his bones. His eyes are dark caverns, but they gleam with delight.
He offers me a delighted smile, his one tooth barely hanging by a thread, as he opens the cage door. “What an offering for my collection, my prince!”
