I saw it too late. “No.” I step back immediately. “No, you are not doing that. I am not sitting in that chair.”
“Asharin.”
“No.” I keep moving until there is nowhere left to go. “I’m not doing this.”
“You’ve already shown me what you will do if I don’t restrain you.”
“I said no.”
His jaw tightens, then his power moves. It closes around me before I can react, holding me in place, cutting off movement in a way that leaves me straining against something I cannot touch.
“Let go of me.” I fight it anyway, my body pushing against it, my breath coming faster as I try to force it to give. “Teorin, let go of me.”
“You’re not well.”
“I don’t care.” The words come out raw now. “I don’t care. Let me go.”
“No.”
“You lied to me.” My voice breaks. I cannot hide the pain of his betrayal.Stupid, stupid, stupidto think that someone like him was capable of caring about me.
He does not respond. He guides me forward, my body moving whether I want it to or not, and presses me into the chair. The cloth tightens around my wrists before I can stop him, his hands working quickly, securing it in place.
I feel sick. Sevrin locked me in rooms. Now Teorin ties me to a chair.
Stupid, stupid, stupid.
The difference was that, with Sevrin, I had believed good behavior would earn me something. Time. Privilege. Enough to hold out until Colsar returned. It earned me nothing.
Now, I was done being good. But this time, it wasn’t will I lacked. It was strength. By the time I pull, it already holds. “You’re unbelievable.” My voice drops, lower now, the anger still there but dragged through something heavier. “You think this is going to make me cooperate?”
“If I thought there was another way to keep you alive, I would take it.”
“You mean contained.”
“I mean alive.”
“Same thing.”
He does not argue. Instead he turns toward the door.
“You can force me onto your ship,” I say, quieter now, the words more controlled. “You can tie me to a chair and tell yourselfthis is necessary. You can shut me in here and pretend this is protection.”
He pauses with his hand on the door.
“But I am not going to help you win your war.”
He remains at the door, his hand resting against it, and then he leaves without looking back. The door closes behind him, and the space he occupied gives way to the low, constant movement of the ship, the rhythm of it carrying through the floor and into my body.
I test the restraint once, more out of instinct than expectation, but it holds. The strain settles gradually into my shoulders, the tension building as the minutes pass, my hands losing feeling where they are bound.
My leg did not hurt anymore. I do not know why it comes to mind or what it matters in this moment. But at least my leg does not hurt. Because everything else certainly does. My body, my feelings, my pride.
After a while, I lower my head and turn inward, searching for something that refuses to come into focus. There is something there, but it is faint, too distant to hold onto with certainty.
I sit back and close my eyes.
If the child is gone, then there is nothing left for anyone to use against me.
