"How do you keep yourself from going crazy down here?" I asked, looking down at my ankle, feeling the burn that got no better with the passing of time or the stillness of my leg.
"Who says I'm not crazy?"
That was a fair point I hadn't considered. Was she crazy? Was she actually Cass' birth mother, or just some old woman with cobwebs up in her head.
"Crazy people don't stop to consider whether they are crazy or not," I decided, shrugging.
"Well, you're right there at least. I wish I had an easy answer for you, deary. I honestly don't know why I haven't lost my mind yet. After all this time. I guess I find the precious few good moments in my life, and focus on those. Let myself drift into them, see the sights, smell the smells, feel what I felt, let my mind think I am actually there instead of here. that helps. You got any good memories?"
Had she asked me simply a few months before, the answer would have been very different. "Yes."
I did.
I had Drake.
Aya.
Nesta.
Rayna.
Even Kieran and Tsar.
I had safety and usefulness and appreciation and, more than anything else, love.
Love for my new clan, for their acceptance of me, their willingness to show me their ways. Love for Aya and Nesta and Rayna who had become the mother and sisterly bond I had never been allowed to have before.
And, most of all, the love for Drake.
Just precious hours before, we had admitted it to each other for the first time. After weeks of feeling it, showing it.
Just hours.
It felt like days, like weeks.
I could see how easily time got lost here.
And as I drifted off to sleep, hoping the rest might dull the ache still in my temples, I wondered if maybe that was for the best, not being aware of each moment passing me by.
Maybe it was less painful that way.
"Girlie, wake up already!" Venia's voice croaked as something slammed into the side of my head, dragging me out of a dream I wished was reality, Drake and I planting mint and chamomile, rosemary and thyme in the beds out front of our house, happy, useful, in love.
But that wasn't the reality.
The reality was the hard stone floor making pressure points in all the wrong places, creating an ache that seemed to overtake my entire body at once.
The screaming in my temples felt more tolerable even if waking up made me suddenly, painfully aware of the burning in my ankle again.
I found myself unreasonably annoyed that she would wake me, rip me out of the only peace I had known for what had to be about a day and a half.
"What?" I grumbled, pushing myself to a seated position, brushing the grit of dirt and who-knew-what off my cheek.
"They're coming," she told me, almost sounding a bit excited. We hadn't been fed the day before. I figured she was glad to be fed. Which I understood given the grumbling of my stomach even if my thoughts were more leaning toward feminine issues with no supplies to be found since my bag was missing.
"Oh joy," I sighed, rolling a crick out of my neck, outwardly appearing a lot more calm than I was feeling inside. Which was pretty much facing a hellbeast level of panic as the footsteps came from stairs that were so far to one side of the cellar that I couldn't even see them.
"I don't think that is our meal," Venia observed. And since she knew a lot more about the sound of footsteps than I did, I guess I had no choice but to trust her.
But if not our meal, then what?
And, more importantly, who?
"Oh, boy," Venia said, shaking her head. "That was fast."
"Cass?" I hissed, eyes feeling like they were bugging which meant they definitely were.
My heartbeat skittered into overdrive as the sound of feet moved toward us.
Multiple sets.
Three, maybe?
Possibly more.
But no less than three.
"Get some fucking light on in here. I can't see my own hand in front of my face."
I knew that voice.
And, see, I didn't know Cass' voice.
And we were in the Dark Court.
So that meant...
Even as his name fluttered across my mind, a match flashed, setting a torch on fire, illuminating his darkly handsome face.
Jet.
"Jet?" I snapped, not meaning to. And certainly not meaning for my voice to sound quite so, well, pissed.
In response, one of his strong brows rose, but otherwise showed no sign that he was offended by my tone.
"That is His Royal Prince to you, prisoner," another voice pitched in from Jet's side.
I looked away from His Royal Prince finding three guards at the sides, one carrying a tray that he moved to set down next to Venia.
"Oh, am I not properly respectful of my fiancé imprisoning me?" I spat back at that guard, eyes shooting daggers, not caring if it would get me a kick.
"She's not wrong," Jet said casually, shrugging. "In fact, that is why we are here. Clearly, the guards brought you here in error. I am sure my father meant for you to be delivered to the guest quarters, not shackled in the cellar like a heretic."
From my side, Venia made some sort of noise, something akin to surprise and amusement at once, but she covered it up with one of her usual dry coughs, all dust and cobwebs. She said nothing.
"Well," Jet's voice snapped, a whip of a noise that even I shocked back at even though it wasn't being swung at me. "Is someone going to unshackle her, or should I remedy your fuck up myself?"
Everything about Jet's voice was pure royalty. Cruel, Dark royalty, sure, but royalty none the less. Confident, cocky, condescending.
And the guards responded to it, nearly tripping over each other to go fetch the equipment. Which I had a feeling was going to be unpleasant and sharp.
But it was better, I was sure, than having the iron continually eating my flesh away.
"Venia," I told him, making his brows raise.
"Who is Venia?"
"Your grandmother who is shackled down here with me," I shot back, irritation slipping into my words, for some reason knowing that Jet - unlike his father - wouldn't punish me for it.
We were all pawns, after all, in the Unseelie King's game.
"One thing you should be aware of, Amethyst. This is not an act of mercy. I am not a merciful man. You are my fiancée. This is a matter of respect. I take that very seriously. The fate of old women... not so much. So if you do find yourself occasionally plagued with ideas of benevolence, I advice you to keep it to yourself. There is no place for it in this life."
I had to work to bite back the response on the tip of my tongue, but luckily the guards came thundering back down the stairs, rushing over toward me, taking perhaps a bit more care than they would have if Jet were not standing there watching, his handsome face completely impassive, arms folded over his chest, not so much as wincing when the guards started hacking away at the iron, making me writhe and cry out as the metal was forced deeper against my skin at times, making it cut in.
"I don't think that could have taken any longer if you tried," Jet chastised, not offering me a hand as I struggled to get to my feet.
I had no idea at this point if he was putting on a show for his guards, or if he was genuinely just this much of a, well, prick.
But I got myself to my own feet, falling behind him as he turned and walked toward the stairs.
As I passed, Venia's gaze held mine. My pain for her must have been on her face because all she did was shrug. "Double the food for me," I could have sworn she murmured, sounding like she was trying to console me, trying to assuage my guilt for my sort-of freedom.
"Walk faster," Jet demanded. "The sooner I can get you to a bath, and get that stench off of you, the happier I will be."
Behind me, the guards chuckled, making the skin of my neck and cheeks heat. Because, well, I knew I smelled. Like sweat and oil and, well, blood. "Have someone fetch her some fresh clothing," Jet dema
nded as he stopped beside a closed door, giving them a pointed look when they didn't immediately turn to do so.
Only when they moved away did he reach for the knob, pushing open the door, ushering me inside, but careful to avoid letting any of my filth brush him.
It was what you might expect.
From a Prince.
In a palace.
In the Dark Court.
Jet's bedroom was easily three times the size of my childhood bedroom which was three times the size of the home Drake and I lived in together.
It was dominated by a canopy bed, the wood stained nearly black, the canopy itself a deep navy, matching the color on the walls. The thick carpets on the floor looked eerily similar to that of the hide that covered the bottom half of centaur, the idea making my blood run cold, making a shiver rack my system.
"Go through there," Jet demanded, waving a hand. There will be a basin to start cleaning with. The guards will be bringing in hot water for a full bath. I don't think I need to tell you what you smell like."
My lip curled, anger like I hadn't known before making my skin vibrate, made my lips become loose.
"One more comment about how I look or smell, Jet," I growled.
"It is an observation."
"It is an insult," I shot back. "Did it occur to you to ask about my ankle that has the skin flayed off?"
"It will heal. There are salves in the wash room as well."
"You're a real bastard, Jet."
"Indeed. And, apparently, so is my father. Funny, that. The thing he despises most about himself is what he inflicted on me as well."
"Yes, hilarious," I snapped at him as I made my way to the washroom, making use of the facilities provided, carefully scrubbing at my face and hands as the guards brought barrel after barrel of hot water in to fill the tub.
Left alone, I bolted the door, trying the windows, but finding them either locked magically, or simply too heavy for me to lift. Trapped. This was not my chance to escape.
But, I reminded myself as I filled the tub with flowers and herbs, stripping, and climbing in, a chance would come. And I would take it. Until then, I would...
"Better?" Jet's voice asked.
But not from behind the locked door.
No.
From inside it.
From directly beside the tub.
On a shriek, my hands flew to cover my body even though most of it was obscured by the floating petals in the water.
"Get. Out."
"Relax. I believe we have already established that I have no interest in you in that way," he said nonchalantly, resting his butt on the edge of the tub, looking down at my face. "How did you get yourself found?"
I bristled at the implication. Like I was naive, stupid, careless.
But, in a way, I maybe had been all those things.
I so wanted to be in touch with my siblings that I had risked everything. And, possibly, everyone that I cared for.
"I was trying to get a letter to my brother, telling him I was okay. I don't know how I was found. I was... hidden well."
"Trackers," Jet said, shrugging. "Once they get your scent - which they did in that hovel you called an apartment, along with three others - they can pick even the tiniest whiff of it up on the wind should it reappear."
Great.
Wait.
Three others.
"Did anyone else get taken in with me?" I asked, hearing a bit of franticness in my voice, and really not caring.
"Not that I am aware of. And I make it a point to be aware of just about everything."
"Does Cass know you took me out of the dungeons?"
"If he doesn't know already, I am sure he soon will."
"Will I be thrown back down there?" I asked, trying to keep the dread out of my voice.
"I doubt he will find it necessary."
"Because he trusts you?"
"My father is usually too busy with his own betrayals to wonder if I have my own."
"What is your plan? Why save me from..." I trailed off at the cold, humorless laugh that escaped him.
"I didn't save you, Amethyst," he told me, shaking his head at me as though I was a fool.
"Then what would you call it?"
"Stacking the cards in my favor. I don't do things out of kindness. I don't know how many times I need to reiterate that to you before you will believe it. I am out for myself. No one else."
I didn't believe him.
I would never tell him that, of course, but I didn't believe a word he said. Or, at least, I didn't believe they were all there was. Because, yes, I absolutely believed he could be backhanded and selfish, power-hungry and cunning. But I think there was some goodness there. Underneath it all.
Because he could have simply gone along with his father's plan. And killed me.
He didn't have to give me my freedom.
Twice.
He didn't have to bring me to his rooms, offer me a bath I desperately wanted even if it was humiliating for him to point out that I needed one.
I had a feeling there was a sliver of humanity in Jet, something Cass was wholly devoid of these days, it seemed.
Maybe he didn't want to see it in himself, would consider it a weakness, a soft spot to be pressed, a shortcoming to be exploited.
But I thought it was there underneath the coldness, the guards.
And, really, could one even blame him for being that way? When he was raised by a madman in a court of monsters?
"Fine," I said, keeping my opinions to myself. "Then what is your plan here?" I asked instead.
"I wish I had a solid answer for you. Cass has been wild and unpredictable. Intent, it seems, on an uprising. Holding court, he riles the Dark realm, feeding their blood thirst. Another Great War may be inevitable, I'm afraid. With or without you as a piece to play. I don't think the Light would be prepared for war, so used to relative peace. Cass could likely get Cece with very little fight."
"Which makes me useless."
"Precisely."
"Then why bother bringing me up here? Why not just let me rot?"
"I was thinking maybe you could learn to play a part as well. Take that hostility you think you aren't wearing on your sleeve, bury it."
"And what? Play the doting fiancé?"
"Cass likes compliance. He might see it as a chance to get Cece and Jasper here without a fight. To check on you. To make sure your decision isn't being made under duress. They'd come with a guard escort, of course. But My father's loyal numbers are substantial. And they're riled. They could take down a royal guard."
"But you don't want Cece to get here."
"No, I do not."
"Then..."
"You have friends, I gather," he cut me off. "Those three other scents in the apartment. A Salamander fae, I am sure one is. Another, just some low fae. And a third none of us could decipher. But they are how you managed to hide, yes?"
"Yes," I agreed, swallowing hard.
"Then they could get a message to our siblings about this being a trap."
"But then... what about me?"
"You overpower your guard and escape."
A snort burst from me. "Overpower my guard?" I scoffed. "Have you seen me?"
I shouldn't have said that.
I realized it when his eyes started to roam over me. And even through the petals, I felt like he was seeing entirely too much.
"I have," he agreed, nodding. "And it seems you have fleshed out a fair bit. Someone put you to work doing manual labor?"
"I'm still not big enough to take down one of those men."
"Not with your bare hands, no. But there are things easily used as weapons. There are vials of poisons. There are ways Amethyst, if you want them badly enough to utilize them. But make sure you pick the right time. Make sure your aim is sure or the dosage is enough. Because if you are caught, I can't help you."
"What would my punishment be?" I asked, having some morbid desire to know.
"Flaying. If you survive tha
t, burning."
My stomach flipped over as I swallowed back the horror of that. Even as a possibility, a rule and punishment that existed for breaking it was petrifying, inexcusably evil.
"You asked," Jet reminded me, voice cool.
"You would really be able to stand there and watch someone get flayed alive?"
"Amy, fuck. When are you going to get it? This is not the place for weak stomachs and consciences and mercy. Stop being naive. Stop expecting the best in those around you. This is the Dark Court. There is no good in anyone here." With that, he stood, stalking to the door. He left the door open, coming in with a pile of fresh clothing. "Take your time, but there will be food waiting when you are finished."
With that, he was gone, closing the door a bit roughly, the slam hard enough to make me jump even if I was expecting it.
As I washed my hair, rinsed, dried off, and climbed into the clothing he provided - undergarments with what I would need to maintain my moonsickness, pants made of the softest material available, wide of leg and high of waist in a creamy color and a tunic-style top of deep navy blue, I decided he was wrong.
There was good in this court.
Even if it only resided within him.
And then only in a very small quantity.
"Better," Jet decided when I walked out feeling refreshed, clear-headed, clean-bodied.
"Now what?" I asked.
"Now, you eat. And pretend to be - if not in love with me - then resigned to your fate as my future Queen."
"Resigned it is," I agreed, moving over toward the bed to the tray of food set there.
From his position propped up in a reading chair, legs spread a bit, hands steepled on his stomach, watching me with those honey-brown eyes of his, his lips curved up ever so slightly.
"Can't even pretend to love me, can you?"
"Not any more than you could pretend to love me," I shot back, shrugging as my fingers found a plump blackberry, the likes of which I hadn't seen since the human realm. They were out of season. But then again, this was the Dark Court. I was sure they had greenhouses solely to feed themselves, tended to by slaves who starved.
"Don't worry. The food isn't enchanted. I fetched it myself."
"You know how to fetch food? Color me surprised."
"You're not afraid of me, are you?"
Escape From The Green Page 21
