Chapter 7

Aplethora of guards peer down at us from the towering stone walls of the castle's stronghold. They are preparing for Legion to return then—to reclaim their stolen witch. I don't doubt they will come. Cathal won't risk allowing someone with my power to remain behind his enemy's walls, even if that means foolishly ordering his threadbare army to rush into the kingdom storm that will surely consume them whole, bones and all.

Swallowing hard, I toss my hair, still tangled and free from its braid, over my shoulder, and step into the dim tunnel as the grated gates of the portcullis are raised for us. Sin thinks I am a Legion spy, that I surrendered to his army as some sort of elaborate ruse to infiltrate his borders. He is treating me as a prisoner of war. He has no idea I was Legion's prisoner long before I was his, and he certainly doesn't know why Cathal would go to such lengths to snatch me back.

A tussle of burnt steel and smoke assaults my nose as we emerge from the tunnel. The castle rears up in the distance, its spiked turrets a serrated knife threatening to tear through the tender wisps of clouds. Sin dismisses the others, and they head towards the barracks to my right, the tight rows of buildings with sloped roofs and burly men chortling outside them. Sin motions for me to follow him, and we head towards the castle, the shadows of its magnificent towers hovering over us. The last rays of afternoon light stretch from either side of the looming stone walls, as if the setting sun was embracing it in a warm hug.

The cobblestone feeds into a lush green carpet as we step into the same gardens visible from the balcony of my room last night. Spring is upon us, the weather already much warmer than the bone-chilling nights I spent in a Legion camp. It was winter both times they captured me—the night I confessed my secret to Cathal many years before, and a few weeks ago when I made a foolish mistake—one that resulted in me hitched over a horse's backside like freshly killed game.

"Your Grace," a man with short, dark hair approaches us, stopping to bow to Sin when he is near. He is clad in a suit of blackened steel, a blue-gray cape billowing out behind him as a squall rips through the keep, its icy kiss on my neck a violent reminder of the nights I spent huffing into my hands and rubbing my arms vigorously while Legion soldiers draped their shoulders with sun-dried hides.

Sin nods in greeting. "Aldred."

"The council is waiting in the war room, Your Grace—your father requests your presence at once. What are the arrangements for this one?" Aldred asks with a nod in my direction.

Sin's downward eyes sweep to mine with a look that could melt glaciers to rivulets. "Lock her up."

A wry smile twists my lips as I meet his stare with a threat of my own—a promise to incinerate his soul should we find our positions reversed one day.

"At once, Your Grace. I will send Anika to follow up on her wound." Aldred glances at the rotting two-day old bandage peeking out from my dress.

"Don't. Maybe she'll start remembering some things once the infection sets in."

I hate him.

Aldred snaps his fingers at me and waves me forward. "With me, then."

Restraining the urge to scream a combustion spell in his face, I follow Aldred the rest of the way to the castle. He leads us down the stairs at the end of the long ornate hallway, down to the sickly yellow dungeon where I spent my first night chained to a post. Barred cells stretch along both sides of the hall, the stench of death hovering around us like a sentient host welcoming us to its rotting, forgotten home. With no iron bracelets on my wrists, Aldred unknowingly walks with a predator at his back.

Sin believes my power to be that of a garden witch and nothing more—he doesn't know every throb of his pulse beckons to me like a virgin begging to be touched. I wonder what his goddess-blessed blood would taste like if I slashed open his chest and drank from his bleeding heart.

Aldred pulls open one of the cell doors with a metallic clang that rattles the room and motions for me to hurry inside. I fix him with a hardened stare as I step into the too-small space, and he—he turns his back to me—to pick up a bundle of chains from the dark corner under the stairs. If I wasn't so godsdamned determined to not be the monster my mother was sure I'd become, I could have ended his life a hundred times over now, each time more painful than the last. I'll escape from this castle, one way or another, but I won't shed blood to do so. And right now, there's no chance I'm slipping through this keep unnoticed—not yet anyway.

Flexing the chain between his hands, Aldred returns to find me standing with my arms already outstretched in front of me. I will my face to erase all expression, knowing it is best to keep the uncertainties of my current predicament to myself. He slaps the iron on my wrists and binds them together with just enough slack I can keep my hands from touching. I don't so much as blink when he slams the cell closed with an ear-splitting clatter.

* * *

I perk up at the smell of food before I take note of who's carrying it. River slides a dinner tray through the small opening under the bars—a bowl containing some kind of meaty stew with vegetables, a chunk of soft bread, and a few cubes of cheese. Unable to satisfy the rumbling in my stomach quickly enough, I scarf it all down immediately.

"I'm sorry, dear. Singard… he gets into these moods."

"Does he force you to serve him?"

"Gods, no," she chuckles, and I discover I adore her laugh—a warmness amidst the algid emptiness of the dungeon. Her face falls as she realizes my question was genuine. "I don't find myself agreeing with every decision that boy or his father makes, but I do love him like a son. Raised him as one too. His mother isn't around, you know."

I didn't know, but I suppose I have never seen the Lady of Castle Scarwood before.

"Where is his mother?"

"Now that is venturing into territory I don't think I'm fit to discuss. These walls have ears, best to remember that. Eat up, dear—I'll be damned if you reduce to skin and bones on my watch."

Her faint laughter fades as she climbs back up the stairs, and it isn't until the heavy door closes behind her that I realize how much I yearn to hear the soft creaking of those steps again, indicating her return. Hopefully with more food.

Alone with intrusive thoughts of traipsing through a sea of bodies adorned in kingdom uniforms, I stare into the flames flickering softly from inside metal sconces. I envy the fire, so unbothered and content to burn as it strives to reach greater heights. If it were to climb a little too high and reduce the castle to ash and dust, no one would blame the torch for the destruction—for doing what it was simply created to do. If only I were as lucky.