Page 38 of Under the Iron Sky

He set his helmet on the floor, then clasped his hands in front of him, surveying her just as coldly as she was studying him. There wasn’t a drop of blood on his face. “How’s the escape plan coming?”

Even without the magic in his helmet, his voice demanded attention. Deep and slow. Rough but smooth. The kind of voice that could command armies and bring kings to kneel without ever having to raise an octave.

Blood or no, Soraya refused to be intimidated. She stared up at him from the other side of the bars, infuriated that she had to tilt her head back to meet those strange eyes of his. “I will find a way out of here,” she said slowly, savoring every bit of anger and venom that dripped off her tongue. “And when I do, I will sever whatever this connection between us is, and slit your throat with a smile on my face.”

“Is that before or after you carve my eye out with whatever you’re hiding in your jacket?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

He held out a hand, careful to keep his palm on the other side of the bars. “I’m in no mood for games, human. Give it to me.”

Soraya opened her mouth, about to tell him to fuck all the way off to hell, but the words died in her throat when the fires on the sconces in the walls all suddenly flickered and her needle was yanked out of her hand by an invisible rope. She hissed, brow scrunching as she watched the piece of green metal zip between the cell bars that seemed to be twisting in on themselves before it spun around and shot back toward her, halting just before it speared through her throat.

Soraya froze, not daring to swallow.

While fairies were all masters of plants and earth and Ethereals monsters of shadow, Dar’rak abilities were as varied as the oceans were deep. The power to move things with their mind like Ikarus was fairly common, but in every one Soraya had ever fought there was always lots of hand moving and arm throwing used to control and channel that power. One of the first things she trained into new recruits was to cut their enemies’ limbs off. No hands, no magic.

But Ikarus hadn’t lifted a finger just then, and the entire room—her hair needle included—had seemed to bend to his will. What did that mean about the depths of his power? Soraya didn’t let herself think about it.

Ikarus let the needle hang there, the sharp edge an inhale away from slicing into her skin, letting her know precisely how easily he could end her if he wanted to, before calling it back and sliding it into a panel in his armor.

“Now that we’ve got that out of the way, remove your earrings.”

Soraya barked a laugh. “Don’t tell me the big bad Demon is afraid of a few earrings?” In fairness, she had considered using them if the needle plan didn’t go her way—a thought that had apparently occurred to him too. He was clever, then. Tricking him wasn’t going to be as easy as she’d thought.

Ikarus’s eyes bored into her face. “I’m no fool. I know your reputation, and I know perfectly well that anything can become a weapon in your hands. Now, if you please.”

“Keeping you from something, am I?”

“You could say that.”

Twisting her face into a sardonic smile, Soraya did as she was told.

Ikarus’s answering smile was just as deadly. “There’s a good girl.”

Sadistic prick. Lip curling in disgust, she removed the gold knife-shaped stud at bottom of her ear, then the tight hoops decorated with a rusting star above them, working her way up to the bare bands of gold at the very top.

“Got a lot of time for piercings above, have you?” Ikarus asked.

Soraya flipped him the middle finger as she removed the last tiny stud from her right tragus, a greenish bronze sun, and threw them at his boots. “Happy now?”

“I will be after you’ve taken off those knuckle-dusters.”

“I can’t.”

A crease formed between his brows. “Why not?”

“They’re welded onto my hands.”

“For what purpose?”

Now the smile on Soraya’s face was genuine. “Come in here and I’ll show you.”

His eyes slid down to the bands of rotting gold on the back of her hands, the scarred skin across her knuckles where metal met skin, then the four spikes across each duster, most blunted or chipped after so much use.

He met her gaze again, the coldness in his eyes enough to make Soraya’s spine stiffen. “I wouldn’t expect anything less from you. Did you know you’re almost as famous as I am among my kind? So much so the others have come up with a name for you. Vous Mylista,” he said, his voice dropping into a deep caress as he slipped into his native tongue.

“What does that mean?”