The walls were bare except for one area designated for Graysen’s books. Across from me was a small dining table crafted from the same type of ebony wood as the bed I’d slept in; an office workspace of sorts; and several tall drawers. The black leather couch’s cushions were in soft grays, charcoals, and blacks, much like the blankets in midnight colors that adorned the bedding, which enhanced the stark feel of imprisonment.
And no Graysen.
It was hard to push out the words or even care to. “Where is Graysen?” To my own ears, my voice sounded flat, dull, andlifeless. A heavy feeling pressed down on me, lethargy perhaps, but it felt more than that. I also realized I was starving…and my bladder was nearly bursting.
I half-fell from the bed. My knees wobbled under me like a newborn foal as I stumbled to the bathroom, rushing to the toilet. After I’d relieved myself, I washed my hands, then dried my palms on the towel wrapped around my body, tightening and re-tucking the edge. I had no clothes. I had nothing that belonged to me.
Before fear could slink back in, I exhaled a long breath as I took in my appearance in the mirror. Though my hair was clean of soot, I needed to untangle the frizzy knots. My tired eyes were a little bloodshot, my complexion duller, and I ached and stung from the bruises and scrapes all over my body.
And that collar.
That godsdamned magical rope.
It was a parasite. A blocker. A ward between me and my wyrm. I fumbled at the knot at the nape of my neck, and trying to untie it proved impossible.
Besides all that, it fucking itched. My fingers weaseled past the gap beneath the coil, seeking to soothe the irritated skin. My nostrils flared as rage heated my blood like a billow pumping air onto embers. The collar was the choice Graysen had made. His own. A message to my father—that he held my family’s safety, their very lives, in his palm—and it was the last act that cleaved him and I apart.
I had to free myself from the Crowthers, and right now the only person I could threaten stood outside that bathroom door.
Quietly, I pulled out the drawers in the vanity, shooting quick, furtive glances over my shoulder, listening for a warning of Penn’s approach. Carefully rifling through the products, looking for anything I could use as a weapon. Nothing. No razor blades for shavers, or scissors, not even a godsdamned nail file.
Curse him to Nine Hells!
Frustration had me rapping my fingertips against the vanity counter. Resolve had my gaze snapping to the door. Surely there’d be something out in his room, maybe a knife brought in with my breakfast.
I stepped out of the bathroom and found Penn standing beside the dining table where a silver breakfast tray sat beneath a cloche, catching the soft light from the reading lamp. I was right—she had to be only five-foot-four, with a dainty-looking figure and doll-like features.
Perfect.
It should be easy to overpower her.
All I had to do was get hold of her. Rough her up a bit and scare the hells out of her, which at this moment I certainly wasn’t averse to. I was practically itching to deliver violence.
Penn pulled the cloche off, set it aside and placed my breakfast on the table, along with silver cutlery.
The knife gleamed, teasing me.
It should be easy to grab hold of Penn by her hair, press the blade to her throat hard enough to draw blood, and terrorize her into unknotting the collar.
She turned to face me, smiling politely, and I quickly plastered on an innocent expression.
She said, “Have something to eat, and if you need more sleep, you can—”
“I’m not going to sleep there,” I shot back, scowling at the monstrosity that was Graysen’s bed. Large and tall, carved from a single mass of wood. Posts rose from each corner, curving inward as they climbed, twisting and flaring until they met overhead. The shape was unmistakable.
A birdcage.
I barked a harsh laugh that caught in my throat and turned into a hacking cough.
Holy shit.
Pressing a hand to my chest, I sucked in a slow, careful breath to ease the soreness.
“He said you’d say that,” she replied.
I rolled my eyes and caught her lips twitching with amusement, but she refrained from smiling. “And…that eye-rolling thing, too.”
Arrogant bastard!
