“Cratos and I cannot continue to hold her like this forever,”Anassa says, sensing my train of thought.
“Okay,” I say, mind clearing. “We need to restrain her.”
I straighten up against Stark, and he must be able to tell that I’m not going to bolt toward Saela again, because he loosens his grip on me.
“And then we have to take her somewhere secure,” I tell Stark. “Somewhere she can’t hurt herself or others while we figure out what to do.”
Blinking to clear my vision, I wipe my cheek with a shaky hand. The solution has come to me, and I hate it.
“I can’t believe I’m saying this, but I think we’ll need to move her back to the dungeons.”
The suggestion tastes wrong and foul on my tongue. Putting my sister back in that dark, nightmarish place. But what other choice do we have?
Turning, I look at Helene and Grigore. The color has returned to Helene’s cheeks, but Grigore still hovers over her worriedly, a hand on her shoulder.
“You two will keep this a secret. You are to tell absolutely no one what you witnessed here.”
Finally, hearing the icy tone of my voice, Stark releases me fully, and the loss of his touch is momentarily jarring. His long legs carry him across the room in only a few strides, and I watch numbly as he yanks a chest open and riffles through it for something. He’s back at my side quickly but passes me by to reach Saela.
Stark drags his hand along Cratos’s side before he kneels and seizes my sister’s legs, pulling them together to bind them tightly. Silver chains, I realize, strong enough to contain her. And a cloth to use as a gag.
He takes hold of her dark hair so that he can fasten the gag between her fangs. The sight enrages me, my fingers twitching with the need to hit him. Anassa bristles, too, a low growl rumbling through her. But Cratos leans forward and nudges his nose to hers to help her through the emotion.
Even as I’m pissed, I’mgrateful, too, because it needs to be done and goddess knows I could never have done it myself.
I still can’t entirely admit to myself that this is really happening. That I’m about to lock my sister behind bars like she’s the enemy.
That, in fact, she’sbecomean enemy.
She would kill me. Saela would kill me if those chains weren’t around her limbs.
Stark nods Grigore over, and the two of them lift her together. She writhes in their arms, blood-streaked and struggling, but the chains have her bound tightly. I glance away, my throat tight.
I can’t watch her like this, so I do the only thing I can do: put one foot in front of the other and lead everyone to the dungeons. I take them to the primary ones, not the hidden place where Saela and the other children were kept.
It seems like only hours ago that Venna took me into the belly of the castle to discover my sister in captivity. Only hours ago we were plotting to get her out. I never dreamed I’d be imprisoning her again.
We move quietly, quickly, avoiding all notice. My surroundings are a cruel mimicry of my mental state as we spiral down deeper and deeper into darkness and disrepair.
The passageways that lead to the dungeons are damp and bleak, cracks running through the stones, meltwater seeping in here and there. The sconces on the walls are less and less frequent. Finally, we arrive at a row of relatively dry, well-lit cells.
The first has barbaric spikes and wall-mounted racks, and we quickly hustle past it. Stark and Grigore stop two doors down, peering into the space. I hover behind them, my eyes adjusting slowly to the ever-increasing darkness.
Stark looks to me for the decision, and I nod, almost imperceptibly. Approving my sister’s imprisonment. Reimprisonment.
“Helene,” I say hoarsely. She looks up at me, eyes wide. “Go find Leader Aldrich and send him to us.”
Leader Aldrich is the oldest Bonded at the castle and the most seasoned leader. He was in charge of our Bonding Trials.
He’ll have some idea of how to help us. How to fix this. He must.
Belatedly, I realize I could reach Aldrich in my mind if I wanted to. Anassa said we could reach all the Bonded now—and he’s Strategos pack anyway; I’m his Alpha. I don’t trust myself to communicate precisely at this moment, though.
Helene bows quickly and pivots, racing away from the dungeons. I watch her go, unsure if it’s the order from me or fear of my sister or the dismal surroundings that’s lending her such speed.
Grigore says something to Stark. He nods, braces, and lets go of Saela. My sister slams her bound fists against Stark’s chest, but he just winces and maneuvers her so that she can’t find any purchase.
Grigore yanks the cell door open with a screech, and Stark steps inside, lowering Saela onto a cot. He leaves her there still bound because removing her chains would risk lives.
