My heart just about stops. In his hypnotic voice with his strange accent, it almost sounded like he said Helen. I know he didn’t—the whole first part is nothing like my normal, human name—but forgive me for being on guard.
“You can’t just give me a name,” I sputter. Not in this place where names have meaning and I’m already struggling to get used to being called Elle. For reasons even I don’t understand, I’d give anything to hear his lilting, lyrical voice call me Helen, but since that’s never going to happen, I’ll accept Elle.
Except he doesn’t want to call me that.
“Why not? If the name you have isn’t yours to begin with, what does it matter what I call you?”
I’m not going to win this. There’s a spark in his golden eyes that warn me against even trying.
Fine.
“What does it mean?” I ask, turning the conversation back on him again. “That name?”
His lips quirk just enough that maybe I could call it a smile. Maybe. It doesn’t last, though, and from the way he gestures his hand in a careless wave, I probably imagined it anyway.
“Forget the meaning. It’s… more a reminder.”
“A reminder?” I echo. “For what?”
“For me,” he says. Then, before I ask again what that means, he tells me, “Dusk has his eye on you. He calls me a human lover, but he’s warned the other guards away from you. He’ll take you if he can.”
Why is he telling me this? “How do you know that? You haven’t been here. Where were you anyway?”
He doesn’t answer that.
“He’ll use you,” Rys says instead, a conversational note creeping into his tone. Like it’s a foregone conclusion that I’m going to let Dusk touch me, and that he’s just offering some advice because he’s bored and I’m a captive audience. “He’ll use you, but you won’t mean more to him than a rush of power, a warm body for his pleasure, and a receptacle for his Cursed seed.”
Wow. Wow. He’s just going to put it out there like that, isn’t he?
“I have to give him permission.” I cling to that certainty. “He can’t force me.”
“Not without your true name, Leannán.”
That’s not my name. Neither is Elle.
I’m freaking Helen Andrews and if I have to take that name to my grave to avoid Dusk reaching for me with his slender, pale fingers, I will.
3
The next morning, I wake up all at once. One second I’m out, the next my eyes are springing wide open. There is no in-between.
Something’s wrong.
“Fourteen,” I whisper to myself before kicking my thin blanket off of my feet. The fabric gets tangled around one of my ankles and I yank it before tossing it to the floor.
The first thing I notice is the ringing noise. It’s a high-pitched keening, worse than the expensive car alarms that blare outside of my window back in the city. It keeps rising, one long, unbroken note, before it chirps and starts again.
The fairy lights outside of my cell are flickering. On. Off. On. Off. It looks like some kind of symbol, just one I don’t get.
What the hell is going on?
With a whoosh, the sealed doors on either end of our wing dissolve into a shower of sparkles. That’s a first. The guards usually only activate the partitions when they need to, and never both at once.
I run to the front of my cell, peering down the center strait. I’m not the only one, either. Rys is already up, doing the same thing I’m doing.
And that’s when the first rush of guards come tearing down our wing. If they were humans, I’d think it was like a stampede. Since the guards are all fae, they move easily, gliding at a pace that’s way faster than anything I can pull off. Their long hair streams behind them, and most of them are clutching their drawn swords.
Yeah. This is definitely new.
I take a few hesitant steps away from the bars.
Not Rys.
He reaches past them. The air crackles with magic, the small amount of iron tucked in the crystal enough to burn the length of his forearm as he fishes for one of the guards running by our cells.
He snags one and, Jesus, he’s stronger than his delicate beauty suggests. The grip on the guard’s collar stops the Seelie in his track, gagging as the material of his uniform cuts into his throat. His body snaps and he stumbles. The only thing keeping him upright his Rys’s tight hold.
He jerks his hand. The guard reminds me of a marionette, the prisoner manipulating his strings. Rys sets him on his feet before demanding to know what is going on.
Too stunned to do anything but react, the guard chokes out, “The Summer King has returned.”
Rys immediately lets go of his collar. To my surprise, the guard doesn’t retaliate. Neither do the other ones who continue to fly past us. At least twenty have thundered down our wing, heading toward the heart of the prison, and those closest to Rys’s side swerve around the Seelie guard that he grabbed.
This is crazy. I didn’t even know Siúcra had that many patrolling at once.
What is going on, I wonder again. The Summer King? Last I heard, Faerie was ruled by the Fae Queen.
Rys doesn’t seem to buy what the guard’s selling, either. “You’ve got to be wrong. Oberon is dead.”
“He lives. It’s the queen who has lost her head.”
I watch as Rys’s fingers twitch, like he wants to grab the guard again but it’s not worth another burn. Even from across the way, I can see the raw, shiny patch of burned skin covering the entire inside of his arm.
“What about the Shadow?” he demands. “The Shadow Prophecy, Vale. What about that?”
The Seelie shakes his head. “All that’s come down is that the Reign of the Damned is over. Melisandre is dead. Hail Oberon!”
It starts with one voice. As soon as Vale says that, the fae guards hurrying past repeat his cry. It becomes a chant.
“Hail Oberon!”
Rys clamps his mouth shut, the edge of his jaw going hard. I want desperately to ask if it’s a good thing or a bad that the Fae Queen—ah, jeez—lost her head and now there’s a new ruler in place.
But I don’t.
Because Rys?
He’s the only one of the fae not cheering.
Siúcra is on lockdown.
That’s the only way I can describe the rest of that day. As soon as the last of the fae guards come dashing down our hall, the doors reappear. The fairy lights turn completely off, leaving us almost completely in the dark; a few narrow windows are built into the ceiling over the aisle, shedding a little bit of light, but that’s it.
On the plus side, that screeching, loud-ass ringing sound turns off, too. To save my poor eardrums, I’ll take some doom and gloom.
Rys is pacing. His tanned skin emits a soft golden glow that almost leaves a trail behind him as he quickly crosses his cell, back and forth. He’s not as bright as the Seelie guards, but there’s no denying that he’s a Light Fae when he shines like that.
Hours crawl by. When it becomes clear that the guards are busy elsewhere, I figure I might as well use the shower box to get clean. Yeah. That’s a nope. When I say lockdown, I mean it.
None of the magic works. Thank God the toilet is the default because otherwise I’d have to piss in the corner of my cell if this keeps up.
There’s nothing else I can do. I’m thinking that I might as well lay down on the cot when, suddenly, the torches on the wall all burst into flame.
Rys swivels so that he’s looking at the nearest door. Thinking he knows something I don’t, I do the same thing.
It opens.
A Seelie male stalks through the door. The first thing I notice is his outfit. It’s different than the uniforms the guards wear—but I’ve seen it before. As he approaches, I squint, focusing on his face.
Hey. I… I know the guy. He’s the Seelie captain who Veron ordered to arrest me when I repeatedly refused to sleep with him. Bram’s boss.
What is he doing here?
He’s
not alone, either. Following close behind him, I see two guards. The one on his right is holding a length of gold chain. And the chain? It’s attached to the iron cuffs worn as shackles on a line of at least eight prisoners. Most of them are fae, too, though I see a tiny redcap hopping along to keep up and something with wings mixed in with the rest.
The captain strides down the aisle, his hands folded behind him, his sheathed sword hanging off his hip. He barely spares a glance at Rys, though his lips thin when he sees me.
“What are you doing here?”
He can’t be serious.
“You’re the one who put me here!” It slips right out. I probably shouldn’t mouth off, but I can’t help myself.
“No. That would be Lord Veron. And that’s not what I meant. Ah, well. Stay here for now.” He turns, gesturing for the Seelie guard with the chain. “I won’t take either one with me when I leave.”
“Where are you going?” My voice breaks. I can just see my freedom slipping through my fingers. When I leave… “I don’t belong here. You know I don’t. I want to go, too.”
The captain cocks his head just so, studying me like I’m a specimen on a slide. “Are you ready to return to Lord Veron?”
“I—”
Am I?
No. That hasn’t changed.
My mouth clamps shut. I shake my head.
“Very well.” Raising his voice, the fae captain calls out, “This wing stays. Move on out.”
The only sound they make as they leave is the clinking of the chains and the final whoosh as the doors close again.
I sink down on the cot, dropping my head into my hands. All I had to do was pretend like I was willing to give Veron another chance and I could’ve been out of here. When I was in his castle, I was sure I could find a way to escape the prison. Now that I’m trapped in my cell around the clock, I’m beginning to doubt that that’s even possible.
I just watched my chance at getting out of here walk right through the door. And I still can’t bring myself to even think about changing my mind when it comes to Veron.
Ugh.
Two weeks. I’ve been in Faerie for two weeks. It seems like forever, and it seems like no time at all. I just want to go home. To talk to Jim again, even if it’s to say goodbye. To see my family. To breathe in the asphalt and the smoke of the city while painting out on my balcony.
But I can’t. And maybe I was naive to hold onto my hope for this long, but now I don’t even have that.
Using my thumb, I twist the promise ring on my finger. It’s a habit I picked up shortly after Jim gave it to me when we were young, dumb, and in love. We were eighteen, trying to figure out where we were going in the world, and this silver band was a promise that, no matter, we’d go together.
Sure, we might’ve grown apart. Our relationship… it’s pretty much been over for a while now. Still, this ring has been a sign that I wouldn’t give up. When the female dwarf, Mitzie, tried to compel me to give it to her, I couldn’t. It’s a promise Jim made to me once upon a time. Now? It’s a promise that, somehow, I’ll make my way back to him.
He might not be the man I fell in love with all those years ago. But he’s still someone I care about. It shouldn’t matter what I have to do to find my way back to him.
But when it comes to Veron… I just can’t.
I shudder out a breath, careful not to give into my overwhelming disappointment. It only makes it worse when I realize that my grief has an audience.
“You didn’t fall for that, did you?”
Slowly, I lift my head.
“What are you talking about?”
“Precious Helix,” he scoffs. “You don’t honestly believe that he was setting those prisoners free. That he was saving them only to leave us behind.”
I… I did. Until he said that, I totally did.
“Of course I did.” I grow defensive. “I… he can’t lie.”
“No, but he’s very clever, the captain. Did he actually promise the creatures freedom?”
I think about it. “Uh. No. He just said that he’s taking them with him when he leaves.”
Rys tips his head.
That still sounds like freedom to me. Then again, I’m not fae.
“Okay.” I climb up, moving toward Rys’s cell so that I don’t have to raise my voice. “If he’s not freeing them, what is he doing?”
“There are only two ways to leave Siúcra once you’ve been imprisoned inside its walls. One is if you’ve proven yourself worthy of her mercy. The other? As a corpse. The golden chain? It’s a mark of death. Helix isn’t freeing those prisoners. He’s executing them.”
A shiver runs up my spine.
Executed? Shit. And I almost begged to be included with them.
The shiver turns into a disturbed tremble. “Why? Why would he kill them?”
“Helix was a soldier in the Fae Queen’s court. Since he’s kept his head when she lost hers, I’d wager that he immediately switched his loyalty back to the Summer King. Oberon would want to get rid of any of her sympathizers. There wouldn’t be many in here—who can adore a false queen who imprisoned them—but there were enough for a raid and a chain.”
“How do you know all of this?”
Despite how eager he was to talk seconds ago, my last question shuts him up entirely.
That makes me even more curious—curious and wary, too.
I think of the way the guards—especially Dusk—deride Rys, especially calling him a traitor. How often he’s taken from his cell. How, when the prison went crazy, he risked burning the crap out of his arm to snag one of the guards—who actually answered his demand.
The way he seems to always know the patrols, when meals will be served, and what certain things mean.
Suddenly, it all makes a little more sense.
“You used to work here, didn’t you? As a guard.”
Rys holds up a finger as if making an important distinction. “Once I was one of the Fae Queen’s honored guard. I served her, and I ruled this prison.” He drops his hands at his side. “Not anymore. Now Melisandre is dead and I didn’t even have the chance to watch as the Summer King ended her. What a shame. I would’ve liked to have kicked her head, see how far it could’ve flown.”
His bloodthirsty comment catches me off guard. I forgot for a moment that, despite his outward appearance, he’s as dangerous a monster as any that I’ve met since I’ve been in Faerie. Worse, because he’s actually locked in here.
And, besides being told he’s a traitor, I still have no idea what he did to be imprisoned inside of Siúcra.
Part of me wants to ask him that very question. However, now that I know about his former profession… that’s all that matters to me right now.
Maybe my hopes of escaping this place aren’t completely crushed just yet—
“You worked here… do you know how to get out? Not to be executed,” I clarify, “but to escape?”
“Escape? Oh, Leannán. There is no escape.”
—then again, maybe they are.
I can’t hide my pout. My pout, or my surprise when he softens his tone and says, “Let me correct myself. There’s no escape without a sacrifice.”
“Sacrifice? What do you mean, sacrifice?”
“The magic of Siúcra is impressive. To keep all manner of faerie folks and beasties in… to trap the cruelest and most dangerous of us all… it runs on its prisoners. Once we’re inside, Siúcra won’t let us go without a price and, believe me when I tell you, it’s steep.”
“You mean, like gold coins?”
Rys shakes his head. “Coins are worthless to Siúcra. It will only accept the most cutting sacrifice before it’ll even hear a petition. But what’s the point? For me, there’s nothing I have that I want to keep badly enough to give it away. You understand? Besides, why try? I have no intention of ever leaving Siúcra’s embrace. No need. I’m right where I deserve to be.”
“Why?” I gulp, thinking of what he just said. “Because you’re dangerous?�
��
“Ah.” He grins. “Don’t forget cruel, too.”
Silly Hel.
How can I forget that?
With the strange lockdown in place, there’s no evening meal.
There’s no breakfast, either.
It isn’t long before the cramps sneak up on me. They’re like my period on steroids, the way my guts twist themselves into knots. It’s a constant ache with a few sharp, shooting pains to remind me that my body is craving something I can’t give it.
The same thing happened on my second day of traveling with Bram in the locked caravan. He sat up front, guiding the horses, while I was trapped in an iron cage attached at the back. The captain ordered him to bring me straight to the prison and he did, though he was kind enough to make sure I had water and could pee if I had to.
Food didn’t seem so important at first. I was pretty much in disbelief that that was happening, that I was really being transported to fairy jail. I didn’t have it in me to be hungry—until the cramps started.
That night, Bram stopped so his horses could graze. He checked on me, to make sure I hadn’t figured out how to escape or something, and he found me curled up in a little ball near the back of the cage, moaning in pain.
It’s the faerie food. When I was tucked away in Veron’s palace, he kept bringing me plates upon plates of fruit. It didn’t seem so suspicious at the time. Now I know that, once you eat faerie food, it’s the only thing that fills you up. Without it, I’m not just hungry.
I hurt.
Thirty-six hours. That’s about how long it takes before I start to notice the cramps. If I had some Midol, or a heating pad, I might be able to get past the worst of it. I wouldn’t be satisfied, but I wouldn’t feel like taking one of the guards’ swords and tearing my insides out for some relief.
I can’t bring myself to leave my cot again. The flimsy blanket became too much for my overheated skin overnight. I balled it up and threw it across my cell. I was sweating to death inside my leather jacket. That had to go, too.
Now I’m lying on my side in my tank top and my jeans, my knees pulled up to my chest. My hair is slick with sweat. A thick hunk of blonde hair clings to my neck, a shorter streak of teal curled around my cheek.
Trapped Page 3
