Page 121 of Ravenrose

My eyes close, and I fight back the tears burning inside. I can’t allow him to win the mental war it turns out he’s been waging against me all this time. And crying now would be conceding. Rage burns, and my magic flares in response; the searing pain of the rune on my wrist can’t even bring me to open my eyes. Ayer shouldn’t have the power to make me cry. When did I give that to him? That his words—the trap he laid—hurt so much is further proof that somewhere along the way, I had dropped my guard.

Idiot girl.

He nursed me through that feverish night, taught me to ride horseback, pulled me out of that river, and I—stayed close to him. I was more afraid of the monsters in the woods than I was of him. I trusted him to protect me. And he knew that. Used that to manipulate me exactly where he wanted me.

A cage.

The darkness doesn’t help.

The second the heavy iron door slammed shut behind me, almost all the light disappeared with it, leaving me alone in the darkness. There’s no torchlight, no windows the moonlight might sneak through… just suffocating darkness.

I couldn’t breathe. I was at the door in an instant, tugging on it, banging against it with my fists, screaming—begging to be let out. But no one came, no one cares. I swear I could hear snickering on the other side, mocking my cries, but I was too afraid to be ashamed, pounding desperately until I was left shaking. My back slid down the freezing iron until I was crumpled on the floor, holding my knees. Where I remain.

It’s been a few hours now. My chest is still tight, and it’s a struggle to breathe. The darkness is everywhere, pressing in on me—suffocating me.

My head and eyes dart back and forth, whipping around at every slight noise—every creak imagined or otherwise, watching the dark shadows of the cell, half-expecting anything to come out of them.

It’s been years. Years, but the darkness still gets to me. Anger rips through me at how much I let my fear control me. I shove myself back up to my feet, pacing the small space. I need to move. I need to— I need to think.

Riggs, Ayer— At the moment, I don’t know who’s a bigger threat, but I need to be ready for whatever their next move is.

First things first, I need a weapon.

My hand travels down to the slit in my dress. My knife is still there.

A wave of relief rolls through me. I didn’t fight them when they brought me down here—didn’t want to play into any more of Ayer’s games. And for that, I got to keep my knife.

It’s a small comfort, but one little knife will hardly be enough to get me out of this fort or over those walls.

I look down, tugging up the sleeve of my dress. In the dark, I can just barely make out the thick lines of that cursed mark upon my wrist.

It’s been a few days since I tested it… Maybe the thing weakens over time. I take a deep breath, fighting to steady my mind and my breathing despite my still trembling hands. My emotions are volatile, but honestly, that’s usually better for drawing out magic.

A small burst of satisfaction blooms when I feel it respond to my call. It’s there, the warmth of it briefly chasing off the chill of the freezing cell. Like a living flame beneath my skin. I try to pull—try to push it out of me, but the rune mark on my wrist just burns hotter and hotter the more I try. Gritting my teeth, I ignore the pain, focusing harder on the feel of my magic.

I am royal-born fae of the Valrose bloodline. Not to mention the Miselyian royal blood on our mother’s side. The power running in my veins is ancient, and it is strong. I can break some shadows-cursed ink mark.

I push and push until my skin is on fire, again and again until I yell out, releasing the hold I have on my power with a scream so raw it leaves my throat burning just like my wrist.

Tears well up again, but I shove them back down.

No tears.

No bloody tears today.

Why didn’t I fight harder? I should have fought harder to get away. I’ve been too complacent, too… obedient. Even when I thought I was being defiant, I was playing right into his hands.

I ball my hands into fists just thinking about it.

I need to be ready, seize any opportunity no matter how small. If I run and they catch me…

My jaw tightens.

Hells, what’s the worst they can do?

Kill me?

The thought settles in, heavy but strangely steadying. Maybe trying to run will even force their hand. There are a lot more men here; only Ayer seems to care if I live or die. I just need one of them to do it…