Page 34 of The Faceless Queen

“You’re not sleeping in the dungeons,” he scoffed. “You have a room.”

My nostrils flared, my fingers flexing. My mind was desperately trying to send energy I no longer possessed into my arms, trying to grow muscle to break free of my bindings.

But I barely had enough energy to stand.

He stalked forward, his body towering over mine. “You are my prisoner. And hers. But no one else, not a single witch in Azeal, is to know you’re here. So,” he grabbed my arm and opened the door to my childhood bedroom, shoving me inside. “If you want to eat when you wake—and by eat, I mean food for your mortal body,” light flashed in his indigo eyes, “you will be quiet. You will go to bed. And then I will bring you to Her Majesty myself for an audience when you’re fit to do so. And when she decides she wants to see you.”

The door slammed shut behind me, the Hermit on the opposite side.

Within seconds, my bindings dissolved and I was finally able to move my arms and legs.

Yet I couldn’t move an inch.

I was in my old room. The place where I’d grown up, slept, dreamt, and played. The place where I’d become me. I took a tentative step forward, my mind and body flashing back and forth between the present and past as I began to take it all in, seeing the details I hadn’t thought about since I’d left.

I used to have a rug, woven from the softest wool, dyed a warm pink and purple. It was gone. On a bureau with a mirror resting on top, I kept my comb and bottles of perfume. They were gone, too. The room was bare save for the furniture. The bed, the red couch where I’d read, the small writing desk and the gold-framed mirror that spanned floor to ceiling. I used to spend hours dancing in front of it, unknowingly perfecting the choreographies that would serve me at Geoffrey’s.

And a large bay window, where I’d sit and daydream.

A window that opened …

I raced across the room to it, flashes of seeing myself over the years in my mind. Sitting at the window and reading in the morning before my lessons, and by torchlight before bed, daydreaming there on the days when the rain was endless.

The first light of sunrise glowed across the sill. I stared down, on the verge of wondering how far the drop was. Could I climb down? I’d tried once as a girl, trying to find the grooves in the wall, sticking my foot into each one as I shimmied my way to the window beneath.

But without warning, the windows shuttered, each one slamming shut around me, carrying the distinct aura of magic.

The Hermit.

The blankets on my old bed pulled back on their own, and a sharp wind swept me across the room. I tumbled onto the bed, and my boots flew off my feet, landing neatly before my locked door. It was like he was laughing at me, mocking me. And yet, I’d never been more tired.

I lay down in defeat. I couldn’t fight it any longer. Too much had happened to me through the night. And as the sun rose against the horizon, I fell asleep.

CHAPTER EIGHT

“Samara.” My mother’s voice was hushed, weakened by pain. “It’s okay. I trust you. I love you. And I need you to live. To survive. So take it. Take as much as you need.”

“No, no, I can’t. You’re … Mom, you’re—” I cut myself off before I said the word out loud. Before I made it real. That she was dying.

She took my hand. But I pulled away, shaking my head, too terrified to continue touching her, to continue taking from her. “No,” I said. “Don’t. Don’t touch me.”

The chimera howled behind me. And from the corner of my eye I could see the dead bodies of our guards. They lay strewn unceremoniously across the snow-covered ground, their corpses mixed with the soldiers of King Tirian. There was so much blood, so much seeping out beneath them.

“Samara, my love, my daughter. Princess Shamhira,” she whispered, her eyes shining with tears. “I promise. You are strong. You will survive this. And you will lead.” She shook her head. “Now fight. For me. Fight.”

My lips trembled, tears blurring my vision.

She reached for me, wrapping me in her arms, pulling me against her chest. It was the kind of hug I hadn’t reached for since I was a child, the kind of hug I feared. The hug that would allow me to take too much, to steal from the very last person I wanted to. But I was practically lying on my mom, her arms tightening around me. Her love engulfed me, surrounding me. And for one split second, amidst the chaos and violence, I was safe. I was hers.

Until the forest ground shook as the chimera stalked closer.

I could feel it, feel the Azete inside awakening, hungry. Desperate to survive. To feed. It was already happening.

My stomach twisted.

“No! No.” I tried to pull back, but my mother wouldn’t let go, her grip on me vice-like. She knew it was happening. I could feel it in her touch, hear it in her mind. And yet, she kept giving and giving, pouring her love, her trust, and her hope into me. I couldn’t help it. I took it. The Azete devoured each drop, taking more and more. She grew weaker, and I grew stronger.

Slowly, my body stopped struggling as the Azete took control. It began to strengthen, to feed with vigor, drawing more, needing more. Taking, taking, taking.