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“It’s enchanted. It won’t go out, and it won’t leave the confines of its cage until you set it free.”
“Hang on—” I shimmy out from under the cot, rising up on my knees. A stray lock of teal hair falls free of my messy braid. I shove it back. “What do you mean, me?”
Is it my imagination or did his unblinking stare watch as I fiddled with my hair?
Rys shrugs, crossing his arms over his chest. “It’s yours now, isn’t it? I gave it to you. The fire will listen to you. You control it until it’s free.”
“What am I supposed to do with it?”
Another shrug. “Hopefully you’ll never have to use it. It’s… a last resort. Understand?”
Maybe?
The fairy lights wink out. In the next breath, the torch lights burst into flame.
Bedtime. And I still have the whole one bed problem to work out.
I remember from the few days where I shared a wing with Rys that he’s an early to bed, early to rise type of guy. I guess it has something to do with him being a Light Fae. He’s the strongest during the day and he usually goes to sleep as soon as it’s dark. Even in Faerie, the shadows tend to weaken him; it’s for the same reason that, at night, the Unseelie rule the prison, though both types of fae work around the clock. Being behind iron bars affects the prisoners more, though. In his case, light’s out really means light’s out.
I’m not surprised when he immediately turns toward the cot. However, when he takes the sheet from it, leaving me the blanket on top, I have to admit I’m not so sure what he’s doing.
Then he lays it on the floor before telling me that the bed is mine.
Holy shit. My scarred, gruff Seelie cellmate is a gentleman.
No matter how I try to convince him otherwise—and, I admit, I don’t try too hard—Rys refuses to take the cot. He says something about how he’s used to sleeping on the ground.
Okay, then.
I wait until he’s made himself a small nest on the stone floor. He has the sheet and I insist that he take the pillow, too. I have the mattress and the blanket. I can spare the pillow.
He fluffs it then places it near the top of the sheet. It doesn’t escape my notice that he’s stretched the sheet out so that his body is directly between me and the cell bars.
I expect him to go straight to sleep. When he doesn’t, I muster up the nerve to say, “Hey. Can I ask you something?”
Rys is laying on his back, hands folded behind his head, his tawny hair splayed out until it covers the entire pillow.
After a moment he asks, “Does it have anything to do with my imprisonment?”
It… might’ve been if he didn’t say that.
The more I learn about Rys, the more I realize I don’t know anything about him at all—and I kind of want to. I can’t explain why, but something about him just intrigues me. He looks and sounds so regal until he reveals his scar and something puts his back on edge. He’s a former guard who worked in Siúcra and for the Fae Queen, but who also is bloodthirsty enough to have wanted to be there to witness her assassination.
He acts like I’m not here half the time, but he saved a pear for me specifically and conjured faerie fire in case I needed it.
Rys is a contradiction wrapped up in a package so pretty, I almost forgive myself for being so drawn to him.
He’s in here with me. A guard turned prisoner. A traitor. Of course he’d expect that I’d want to ask him about the reasons why he’s locked up.
Too bad I can’t now.
“No.” It’s not a lie. Not really. It might have been my first choice, but I’ve got a ton of other questions I could ask him if he’ll give me a chance. “Something else.”
“Very well. Though I might choose not to answer you.”
Fair enough.
One question. Something tells me that this is the only chance I’ll get. If I fuck this up, Rys will go back to being the guarded prisoner from before.
