“I don’t know any stories,” I lie quickly, forcing my gaze away from his broad, muscled chest, from the pale line of his lips. “I only know what is right in front of me.”
Impossibly, he steps even closer. Frost thickens my eyelashes, glittering at the corners of my vision.
“Well, it isIright in front of you, human,” he says, the word dripping disdain. “Your lord. Your master. You are indebted to me, and until that debt is repaid, the only concern in your short life is to ensure that each and every one of my desires is fulfilled.”
I tremble before him and squeeze my eyes shut, as if that could block out his presence, his power, his voice.
“And do you know what I desire now, Neve Devlin?”
I don’t answer.
His cold breath brushes my ear, and it prickles. “Ore. I want my fucking ore. And since this human you care so deeply for is too useless to get it for me,youcan work his shift for him.”
Then… he’s gone.
I don’t dare open my eyes yet. I hear everything instead. His boots pounding through snow. Sprites shrieking at one another. The carriage door slamming. The crack of the reins.
“Put her to work,” Luceran calls, voice fading with the thunder of hooves until both disappear entirely.
Finally, I open my eyes.
I’m still shaking, but it has nothing to do with the cold. I don’t know if I cried, and if I did, the tears have frozen on my skin.
Pax stands in front of me.
He straightens, looking me over curiously. “That was brave.”
I start to shake my head, but he lifts a hand to cut me off.
“And stupid. Very, very stupid.”
I nod at that, a fractured breath stumbling out of me as my heart claws its way back into a steady rhythm.
He jerks his head toward the mines. “Come on. You’d best get to work if you’re to complete Rollin’s quota.” A small grin tugs at his mouth. “I’m sure me and the others can help you… some.”
Pax turns and I fall into step behind him. My mind spins.
What was I thinking?
One minute I’m determined to know my place, keep my head down, and survive. Next, I’m arguing with my Fae master like some reckless heroine in a tale told around tavern fires. And now, now I’ve earned myself a shift in the mines. The mines with a supposedly haunted tunnel. The mines where men hear their names whispered from the dark.
As if I needed to invent new ways to die.
As I follow Pax, as we pass by the cage of ice, I glance back at Rollin. He somehow finds the strength to lift his head. To smile. Even with bruises blooming across his face, even with a violet handprint cinched around his throat like a collar.
“Thank you for trying,” he rasps. “But it is no use. We will all die here, either by his hand…” He forces himself to look back toward the mines, his entire body trembling. “Or another’s.”
I pause. “What is down there?”
Rollin shudders hard, eyes glowing red with tears. “A demon,” he stammers, and he grips the bars despite the burn, despite the pain. “We dug too deep… we dug too deep.”
“Neve,” Pax calls from the mine entrance. “Come on.”
I nod, drag my eyes away from Rollin and follow Pax back into the dark.
Pax wastes no time putting me to work, though he keeps it to tasks even I can manage. He shows me how to stack the freshly cut ore into the carts, how to brace my legs before pushing the heavy trolleys up the rails toward the scales. My arms burn, my shoulders ache, and silver dust coats my lungs until every breath stings.
As for Rollin’s quota, Pax and a handful of the miners quietly shoulder most of the burden. They pass cartloads along the track with grunts and nods, pretending not to notice when I falter or fall behind. I’m grateful, but guilt gnaws at me all the same.
