Chapter 22

Julian

My head pounds, my temples throb, and my jaw is clenched so tight my muscles seize. Not the best feeling to wake up to. Hesitant to open my eyes, I do it anyway, only to find myself in a dimly lit stone room, tied to a chair, ankles in chains.

"Ah, there you are." Rune's voice, raspy and singsong, from behind me and far too close for comfort.

I struggle, but my wrists are bound at my lower back.

"Can't have you sleeping the night away, pretty princess. Not when we have so much to talk about."

I cough, clearing my throat. "We have nothing to talk about."

"Nonsense." He rounds on me, holding my dagger to my throat.

Not to cut. To tease.

He drags the flat of the blade along the sensitive skin in a mockery of a caress. His eyes are bright yellow like a panther's. "Tauren tells me you're the Gatekeeper's git. Spawned from the loins of the ice king himself. Is it true?"

Tired old question. Tauren always nagged me over those rumors, even before he revealed his true self. I'm sick of it. If no one ever mentioned the Gatekeeper ever again, it would be too soon.

"Answer me," Rune snaps. "Or I'll cut out your tongue and pry the information from your mind. Do you think I can't?"

As I'm processing the threat, he demonstrates. A burning line of heat cuts deep into my brain, setting fire to my thoughts, then retreats as fast as it came.

I'm panting, reeling from the onslaught.

Mind magic?

What can't this mage do?

The Vesper bloodline is known for its talent with fire magic but little else. They keep to themselves. Haven't caused any trouble in ages. Where has this one come from, and why would he be helping Tauren?

"Hurts, doesn't it?" He looks joyfully pleased with himself. It's revolting. "Where were we? Ah, yes. Who is your papa bear, hmm? The Gatekeeper?"

I have little choice but to play along. "Lies. I have no family."

He tuts. "Well, we know that's not true because here you are. Or did no one ever explain this part to you? When a man and a woman?—"

"Oh, shut up. You're wrong anyway. He's not my father."

"He's your something. How else would you come by this tedious work of art?" The sharp bite of the blade stings at the hard line of my collarbones.

A small cut. A warning. A beginning.

Fear speeds my breathing, making my heart gallop.

I cannot endure this again. I'd rather die. Reaching for my magic, I test my limits. Can I gate? No. Call my shield? No.

I struggles against the unforgiving restraints. "What are these chains made of?"

His cackle strikes a chill down my spine. "Wouldn't you like to know, strumpet?"

Knowing won't help. My magic is bound as tightly as my wrists.

He dips a finger in my blood and smears it over my throat. "Whatever did you do to lure Tauren to your bed, I wonder."

"Very little, actually. Why? Did you have a hard time of it? Ruining one mage wasn't enough for him, hmm? And you. I bet you couldn't spread your legs fast enough?—"

The sting of a slap heats my jaw.

At least it wasn't the blade this time. Blood wells in my mouth where my teeth have cut into my cheek.

"If you are of the Gatekeeper's blood, you shirk your duty to Luminia, hiding among the commoners."

"And you shirk your duty to common decency." I spit blood at his feet. He shuffles back, wrinkling his nose with distaste.

Is it true? That I'm the Gatekeeper's son?

No.

But he is my uncle, and without an heir, that does make me the next in line. But I have no intention of ever guarding the ancient gate.

Let it rot. Let it open. Let it be locked forever for all I care. I refuse to be concerned with that infernal contraption. One man's obsession should be enough for its vanity.

I swallow blood and stare Rune down. "What care you for duty to Luminia? Here you are, doing Tauren's dirty work for him, a disappointment to your noble lineage, I'm certain."

"My lineage is none of your concern, but if it's Tauren you'd prefer, that can be arranged." He spins on his heel and exits through a thick wooden door.

The lock clicks shut behind him.

No, no, no.

I flail, yanking the chains taut but accomplishing little else. This was a terrible idea. I should have done more reconnaissance. Should have hired help. Should have told someone where I was going. Should have done anything but barge down here with nothing more than an enchanted dagger and my anger at my disposal.

A glance around the room reveals nothing useful. Bloodied stone floor, stained stone walls, no windows, only eerie brown faerie lights to see by. Empty except for me, this chair, and the anchors my chains are bound to.

The place reeks of fear.

This makeshift jail cell might be the last room I ever see.

My thoughts turn to Cricket. He didn't deserve any of this. He'll be fine without me, but he'll always wonder what happened. I know what it's like to live your life without that closure, to wonder what happened to someone you once cared for and not to know. I wouldn't wish it on an enemy, much less Cricket.

At least he will be safe without me. Probably returning home to his village come morning. Home to a warm welcome. I hope he feels cherished. Missed like I'm sure he was.

My mind spirals, panic threatening.

I strain against the bindings again. It's no use, but I have to try. Have to do something. Anything. The urge to fight remains strong, but what I need is a realistic plan.

A plan I might stand a chance at accomplishing.

Rune is easy enough to provoke. It won't be hard to trick him into killing me. Anything would be better than becoming Tauren's plaything once more.

I can do what I have to do. I can muster up the courage to let go.

Knowing Cricket is safe, even if I am doomed, is a comfort.

One I don't deserve.

The bindings pinch my skin, rubbing it raw. I'm wriggling, still trying to somehow slip free of them, when a commotion outside my cell stops my movements.

Men yelling. Boots thumping. Metal clanging.

The fight is crashing in closer.

The wooden door slams open, splintering on its hinges with the force of the blow.

Cricket appears at the threshold, bedraggled, hair wild, eyes wilder, a knife in one hand and the coin in the other, panting like a racehound fresh off the track.

He waggles the blade at me.

"I thought"—huff—"I told you"—huff—"not"—huff—"to leave!"