Page 158 of Prince of Darkness and Deceit

“The moment Anton told me of your capture, I visited your home to search for the texts. The large tome was missing, but I found this one tucked between your couch cushions.” She snorts. “I imagine the soldiers believed they’d found the extent of your contraband material with the single tome.”

And thank the Gods for that.

“Thank you,” I sigh.

“Of course, my dear.” She tucks the diary back into her satchel, and my unease surrounding the diary lifts.

“You mentioned Anton,” I say.

“I did.” She pushes up my gown to assess the bruises on my legs and ribs.

She wears her professional healer’s mask now, the one that hides her true reactions to her patient’s condition. That tells me all I need to know about how bad it looks.

I train my eyes on the wall of bars. “How did he know I was taken?”

“I do not know, but I am in that boy’s debt. Thanks to him, these bastards won’t be able to get their hands on your sister.”

“What?” My gaze snaps to her. “How?”

“Anton took her away. He swore she’d be safe, and I trust him.”

I do, too. But that doesn’t mean I don’t have questions.

“Where could Anton take her where the general couldn’t find her?”

If he overthrew the Elders, all the soldiers in Verdanthia are at his disposal, even more so than they were before. His search power is immense.

“If I had to guess, I’d say the forest.”

“No!” My voice rises. “She wouldn’t.”

Ferria knows about the beasts. We fought them off. Surely she wouldn’t willingly go into those dark depths knowing what lingers there.

“Rest easy, Elara. Ferria is safe with Anton.” She changes the subject before I can object again. “Now, didn’t those Fae teach you anything about your magic? Why haven’t you used it to get out of here?”

I frown. “And what would I do if I did escape? The whole town is under Ironheart’s control.”

“It’s not the town that will protect you.”

My forehead furrows. “What⁠—”

BOOM.

The distant door slams open, followed by heavy footsteps and the jangle of keys.

Panic grips my chest. Juniper grabs my shaking hand and rises to her wobbly legs, facing the cell door with bravery I’ve always admired but have failed to emulate.

Be brave, Elara, I tell myself, gritting my teeth.

But I can’t stop the cry of dismay that passes my lips when I take in Silas’s limp, bloody form, dangling from Fief ’s grip on his bicep.

My stomach churns.

“Got another one for you to heal, Mistress Fearnweaver.” Fief grins.

Blood speckles his cheeks.

He opens the cell door, drags Silas back to his chains, and locks them around his ankles before straightening and turning his hateful eyes on me.