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My fingers go automatically to the knot binding my wrists together. The king is not here, but I have no way of knowing when he will be back. I don’t know what I can do for my sisters at this point except warn them, maybe, or at least have the decency to die at their sides.
As long as I am alive, she will do anything to ensure my compliance.Anything.
Terror numbs my fingers, so I force myself to take deep, shaking breaths. I need to get out of this room. At least this time I can take Khijhana.
The knots are tied well -- and tight, in a pattern I’m unfamiliar with. Since my hands are over my head where I can’t see them, my fuddled mind struggles with the intricacy of the ropes.
I could wake Khijhana to use her razor-sharp metallic fangs, but I would need to communicate with her, something that would make more noise than I am willing to.
So, I carefully pull on the right series of loops until the bindings are loose enough for me to slip my wrists through. I don’t take the time to rub the ache out of them, already gently setting aside my blanket to examine what I already know he has put on my ankle.
A shackle.
I tell myself that it doesn’t bring me back to memories of my time in Madame’s dungeons. That it doesn’t shatter the only illusion of safety and protection I have allowed myself since I was six years old. That it doesn’t sting that the man I walked willingly to my death for has chained me up like a wild animal for something he can’t begin to understand.
And it shouldn’t, not when everything we had was a fabrication, a means to an end.
This isn’t about him, anyway. It’s about my sisters, then and now. So, I focus on them, on one of them, in particular. Aika. My fiery middle sister who taught me the most important skill I currently have in my arsenal.
I dig around in my hair for the pin I always, always keep there, upon her insistence. My entire head is tender, aching at every point I prod it, but that’s not the distressing part.
I can’t find the pin.
I will myself to remain calm, because panic will only make the situation worse, but without a way to pick this lock, I am stuck here.
Trapped.
I bite back a sob of frustration, so caught up searching the blankets that I must have missed the shuffling of fabric that would have alerted me to another person’s presence.
I don’t, however, miss the low, bitter chuckle that comes from the direction of the passageway, or the larger-than-life man standing in front of his tapestry, looking at me with glacial eyes colder than the frost outside.
It’s so at odds with the warmth they held the last time I saw him.
I hate that I’ve put this look on his face, hate myself for everything I’ve had to do, and hate him nearly as much for the way it has taken him no time at all to deliver me a swift and damning judgment.
Whatever he sees in my eyes makes his own go even more frigid as he stretches out his palm to show me what he’s holding.
It’s my hairpin.
Chapter Twelve
Zaina
“Looking for this?” His tone isn’t half as casual as the way he twirls the pin through his fingers. I don’t answer, but he continues to speak anyway. “You know, that took you longer than I thought it would.” Every word is an accusation coated in disdain.
I narrow my eyes at him, feeling my expression go as hard as his.
“Next time someone ties me up with a head injury, I’ll be sure and work faster to free myself.”
“Next time,” he mutters under his breath with disbelief. Then, louder, “I suppose we can both stop pretending you’re an ordinary lady now.”
A cold smile graces my lips, but it doesn’t reach my eyes.
“I’m offended you ever thought me to be ordinary,” I respond after a moment.
It’s better if he paints me as the villain in his tale, anyway. If he believes me to be a victim and he finds someone to blame for that... It is enough that my sisters will pay for my mistakes without Einar invoking Madame’s wrath as well.
Not that it matters, when I’ll be gone again just as soon as I find a way out of these chains.
