I expect him to chain me to the wall, but his hands squeeze my shoulders, painfully tight, and his voice is treacherously low. “Do not test me right now, Thyra. You will stay here, where you will be safe from me right now, and?—”
Click.
He jolts.
The shackle I clamped around his left wrist clatters as he wrenches himself backward. “What did you?—?”
With my heart in my throat, I dart away from him.
I may be chained to him by the ruby circlet and unable to move more than three paces from his side, but he’s now chained to the wall, and the circlet’s length allows me to move farther than he can.
Particularly, I get myself clear of the other shackle in case he tries to snap it around me. A bad possibility, since then we’d have no hope of reaching the key on the far table to free ourselves.
Quickly, I locate myself in the space between him and the bed.
His focus flies past me to the little table, where the key rests, confirming for me that it is, indeed, the key for the shackle.
“Thyra,” he snarls at me. “You don’t know what you’re doing.”
That’s probably true. But I’m not letting him out of here until I understand what has triggered his mindless rage.
“Thyra!” He strains against the shackle, turning to brace one foot against the wall, groaning with effort. The tension in his posture, so extreme that I expect the shackle to warp andsnap, certainly the chain links to groan and separate, but it seems the restraint was designed to withstand even his great strength.
I relax, although I probablyshouldn’t.
After all, he could wrench on the circlet and pull me close to him at any moment.
I stand my ground. “Talk to me.”
Especially because I need to speak with him. I need to tell him everything I read and saw in the Chronicle.
He doesn’t seem to be listening, seething with effort as he pulls andpullsat the shackle.
“Tell me why,” I say, deliberately making my command unclear, trying to force him to focus on my question and away from his rage.
He stops struggling, his back partially to me, his shoulders hunched, but I don’t think it’s in defeat.
He’s crouched over like a caged animal, coiling as if to attack. “Whywhat?”
I gesture carefully at the room. “Why do you want to get away from me?”
“I don’t want to get away from you.” His voice is even lower, nearly unrecognizable. “I want to get closer to you.”
“Then get closer to me?—”
“No.”
I’m puzzled. He’s been physically much closer to me on many occasions. He keeps me chained to him for the Goddess’s sake. “Why not?”
When he doesn’t answer me, I dare to take a step toward him, hardening my voice. “Antony. Talk to me.”
“Her face was cut up,” he roars, shouting at the wall, his free hand smashing into it, but the rock appears designed to handle his strength, not a single crack appearing.
My heart is suddenly heavy with all the horrible possibilities.
Softly, I ask, “Whose face?”
With another brutal thump, he turns his fist on his own chest, a blow so violentthat theclangmakes me flinch.
