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“No,” I say. “This isn’t as bloody as when you punched me in the final task, is it? Maybe I should be grateful for this comfortable bed.” I squirm against the cuffs holding me snugly to the table.
That gets his attention. His eyes flick to mine, sharp and assessing. Like I’m a problem to be solved, not a person.
“Careful, Akemi,” he says. “Nostalgia doesn’t suit you.”
“Funny,” I say. “I was thinking the same about betrayal.”
He steps closer, boots scraping stone. “You sold yourself the moment you hid what you could do. I just made sure the right people noticed.”
The stars surge, responding to the spike of anger. I grit my teeth and force the magic down.
“You could still help me,” I say quietly. “You know what he is. What he does to—” I swallow. “And I am to be his… bride.”
Ragnar’s mouth twists. For a heartbeat, something like doubt flickers there. It’s small, but I latch onto it.
“You remember the Watch oath,” I press. “Protect the treaty. Protect each other.”
He laughs then, a short, ugly sound. “The treaty?” He shakes his head. “You’re still thinking like a student. The treaty rotted long before we got our channeling stones.”
“So this is better?” I gesture weakly at the straps, the chamber, the waiting stars. “Handing me over to a lord who collects people like trinkets?”
“You’re not a trinket,” he says. “You’re leverage.”
“That’s supposed to make me feel better?”
“It should make you feel useful,” he snaps. Then he exhales, running a hand through his dark auburn hair. “Look. I didn’t expect it to go this far. The Jord Lord wasn’t supposed to… fixate.”
Hope flares, hot and dangerous. “Then help me leave,” I say. “Untie me. Walk me out. You know the way.”
He meets my gaze fully now. Whatever softness was there is gone, sealed behind something hard and calculating. “Don’t be stupid. If I help you escape, I die. Slowly.”
“And if you don’t?” I ask. “You live with this?”
“I live,” he says simply. “That’s the point.”
The straps loosen. Ragnar helps me sit up, his grip firm, impersonal. “Comply tonight. He’s watching you more closely than you think.”
Mercy wrapped in advice on how to survive in a cage.
He marches me through the tunnels, back to my cell only long enough for me to wash the sweat from my brow and pull on the velvet dress they’ve left.
Red.
Mocking.
A mask, I tell myself. Just another kind of magic.
Ragnar waits outside as they fit a collar of rubies around my throat. When he escorts me toward the dining hall, his hand is heavy on my shoulder.
“One more mistake,” he says, “and I won’t be able to stop what happens next.”
I lift my chin, school my face into something obedient, something calm.
Then I walk to my spot on the arm of the Jord Lord’s chair.
4
Pretty Little Bird with a Silver Tongue
