A fist drove into my stomach. Breath tore from me in a single strangled sound as I doubled over. For a moment, I considered summoning my magic, but revealing myself as a Twilight would only increase the danger of my circumstances. My chances of survival were much higher if the goblins traded me for pleasure or work. If they turned me in to the Crown for the substantial reward, I would only be kept alive long enough to prove the validity of my gift.
Beneath the terror, another sensation sparked.
The tether.
A searing thread drawn taut. The farther they dragged me, the hotter it burned. The fear spiraling through me was not wholly mine.
Mav.
I could feel him.
His panic. His fury. His pain.
It flooded me, stealing my breath, making my lungs labor for each inhale.
The goblins shoved me through a warped doorway into a chamber of rot. Damp stone wept black streaks down the walls. A single lantern sputtered from a rusted hook. In the corner, bones tangled with discarded, rusty tools.
I stumbled, caught myself on the edge of a splintered chair—only to have a boot sweep the backs of my knees. My body folded. One goblin looped a rope around my arms, torso, and legs. The fibers were coarse, abrading my skin as claws pulled them tight.
The second goblin chewed something that crackled like beetle shells. He spat a husk, then drew a dull knife from his belt. The blade was rusted, its handle wrapped in the skin of what I hoped was once an animal. With a single impatient swipe, he sliced my sleeve open from shoulder to elbow. Cold air licked over my exposed arm, raising gooseflesh.
“Clean skin,” he rasped, tilting his head in a way that reminded me disturbingly of a carrion bird. “We’ll mark her later.”
Mark me?
Panic surged.
My mind seized around the phrase. A mark could mean anything: a tally carved in flesh, a claiming brand, or a ritualistic sigil. Would my skin become a map of their cruelty? Each possibility spun darker than the last, tangling my thoughts until my breath came too fast and shallow.
Attempting to steady myself, I mentally repeated, “I am not helpless.”
I had not wanted to use my magic, to expose myself, but I feared my circumstances left me with no other option. I would not allow myself to be mutilated by these monsters.
Twilight rose within me. The familiar buzz of silver starlight gathered at my fingertips—then died with a hiss. The ropes flared white-hot, searing my wrists. I bit back a cry as the scent of scorched fiber and skin filled the air.
One of the goblins laughed, a low, wet sound. “A Twilight?” he said, almost gleeful. “Now that will fetch us a fortune.”
“Don’t bother with your tricks, girl,” another added. “Those ropes nullify magic.”
The words hurt more than the burns. My only defense had been stripped from me. A rasping laugh followed, as the pair slouched toward the door, conversing in a guttural language as they exited the chamber. The bolt slid home with a scrape I felt in my teeth.
My throat burned with swallowed sobs. My limbs ached from the pull of the ropes and the burns they had inflicted. And I was, in every way that mattered, alone. The tether throbbed in my chest. Was he hurt? Bleeding? Dying?
“Mav,” I breathed, closing my eyes.
Two voices argued behind the door.
“She’s worth coin,” one rasped.
“She’s worth more to the king,” the other hissed.
The king?My body stilled. Was the king connected to these brutes? To what end?
“He’ll gut us if she’s torn up.”
“Where’s the fun in that?”
The words warped through the wood. I had been reduced to a sack of flesh, a relic for auction, no more than another object to trade in the goblin black market. A desperate sound left me, half-sob, half-laugh. My body trembled; I could not ascertain whether from cold or despair.
