“I already told...” I begin.
His voice deepens, waves of compulsion lancing from it. “Donotlie.”
The ferocious power emanating from him reverberates from a million directions at once, pressing down upon me and almost rattling my bones as he looms over me like a terrifying specter. The tenebrous king of Everlea. I don’t have a single doubt in my mind that this man is more than capable of violence. Darkness seethes from his very pores.
Stars above, I want to obey, but my brain is still blank. “I swear, I... don’t know.”
Vengeful shadows bleed into his eyes like an ink-spill, and I stiffen at the obvious threat. Unbidden, a burst ofsomethinggathers in my center, like the wingbeats of some formidable creature, each powerful pulse crashing into my rib cage frominside.
I gasp aloud as those strange cuffs on my wrists ignite, runes lit crimson...and everything slams to a violent, oppressive halt.
Blood, breath, bones...
Sleep, something commands, and I can only obey.
Chapter Twelve
The darkened quarters I awake in are not the same as the healing wing before.
Mortified by the strange oblivion that had gripped me, I flush at the thought of whether the aptly named nightmare king had carried me here when I’d fallen unconscious, but then shake my head. He probably had one of his lackeys do it. I inhale and exhale a long, slow breath. I am alive and breathing. The pressure in my chest is gone. My head feels clear.
And said king is nowhere in sight, thank the gods.
The chamber I’m in is a bedroom fit for a princess. The enormous bed is deep and wide, with a thick mattress and soft pillows. It sits on a raised dais with filmy burgundy curtains hanging over the top. Comfortable but luxurious furniture accents the room: a pair of armchairs near the window, a mahogany dresser and vanity, and a handsome carved mantelpiece near the fireplace. The carpet is a delicate blue with intricate gold flowers.
The room is feminine and beautiful, and far more extravagant than I’m used to, but I’m more concerned with my current state and whether I can fight my way out of here if I have to. The king certainly did not leave me with a sense that I was welcome.
Slowly, I roll my neck, wincing at the sound of crackling bones, and then glance beneath the blanket to the simple shift I’m clothed in. Under the thin garment, I can see that clean bandages are wrapped around my torso as well as one of my thighs. Scrapes and faded yellow bruises cover my skin. But shockingly, most of the wounds look like they’ve been healed for weeks.
I haven’t been herethatlong, have I?
My gaze drifts to the cuffs on my forearms, and I study the shimmering bands that are no longer glowing red. They don’t hurt, and anyone would think they’d been crafted for me, fitting my wrists perfectly. I lift one, studying the plethora of runes carved into its surface. I’ve never seen anything like them in my life, and I’ve forged plenty of runic blades for Lord Vasha, a powerful Jaxxian noble.
That gives me an idea: if there’s a forge here, maybe I can cut the cuffs off myself.
But first, I need to get myself out of this room, because no one’s coming to rescue me. And if the king of this realm has his way, getting tortured for information I can’t remember is the least of my worries—I’ll likely be in an unmarked grave before day’s end.
Gingerly, I sit up and swing my legs over the side of the bed and belatedly realize I’m not actually alone as I’d thought. A young woman I don’t recognize is on the other side of the room, sitting at a table and hunched over a thick volume while making notes. A half-eaten sandwich rests on a plate next to her, and my stomach gives an obnoxious growl even as I yank the blanket up over my short, sheer shift.
She glances up at the noise and smiles shyly. “Oh! You’re awake!”
I put her in her twenties or thereabouts, younger than me, though looks can be deceiving. I wonder if she’s the older healer’s apprentice or some kind of guard, though if I’m truly suspected of being an assassin or a spy sent from Oryndhr, then why aren’t there more guards than just her? She’s so lean, I’m sure I could overpower her if I had to.
“Who are you?” I ask.
“I’m Ani,” she says, and then scrunches up her brow. “I mean, it’s Anahima, if we’re being formal, which I hope we’re not.”
I lift my brows. Anahima, as in the goddess of wisdom, fertility, and war? The only reason I recognize the name is because it was in one of my mother’s old books on ancient gods and the Royal Stars. That’s a substantial weight for any woman to carry. No wonder she prefers to shorten it.
“Well met, Ani. Are you a healer?”
She shakes her head, her long, dark hair swinging. “More of a scholar, but I enjoy learning about all the different magical disciplines, including the healing arts.”
The casual reference to magic has me gawking, but maybe I have their supposed magic to thank for the fact that my various cuts and bruises are healing in short order. It would make sense. I still can’t get my mind around it... and how easily the king had moved me on the bed in the blink of an eye, without lifting a finger.
“So you’re not here to make sure I don’t covertly murder your obnoxious monarch like the assassin he thinks I am?” I ask before I can help myself.
Blue eyes sparkle as she shoots me an amused look. “I volunteered to keep an eye on you out of curiosity. No one wants to come near the spy from Oryndhr.”
