Page 52 of Freeing Hook

“Well, now you know.”

I wish I didn’t.

That night,I sneak back to the cave.

As I undo the latch on the cave cell, Tink watches me, gaze steady.

Her hands are trembling by her sides. When she notices me glancing at them, she tucks them behind her back and offers me what I imagine is the most intimidating smile she can muster.

It’s fairly effective.

“I’m not here to hurt you again,” I say, fiddling with the lock. I can hardly look her in the face as I say it, so I have to avert my eyes. My mouth goes dry, and as I feel for the feedback of the pick, the lock clicks. For a moment, I wonder if I’m about to die. If she’s going to come bursting from the cage and break my neck. Maybe that will be too quick of a death for her captor, and she’ll want to feast on me alive instead.

I’m fairly certain she’s not actually a cannibal. But technically, eating me wouldn’t be cannibalism since she’s fae and I’m human, so I’m beginning to rethink that one.

Tink stands, her legs shaking, though I can’t tell if it’s from fear or lingering weakness from the rushweed. Still, she doesn’t attack. At least, she hasn’t yet. She looks me up and down, as if searching for evidence of some kind of trick or treachery. Shemust not find any, because she strides past me, hardly offering me a second glance as she exits the cage.

It’s as if I’m invisible to her. A mere blip, an inconvenience in her life’s story. I think back to what Simon said about Tink being mentally unstable. Will she even remember me, or will her time in this cage be indistinguishable from her nightmares?

“I apologize,” I say as she makes her way out, “for hurting you. It was morally wrong, and I can’t tell you how ashamed—”

When I glance up, Tink is already gone.

CHAPTER 20

WENDY

Laraeth is a port town, just like Jolpa, except cleaner. Whereas Jolpa stinks of fish oil and the occasional plague, Laraeth smells of fresh salt air and a host of fragrances traded from around the world. There’s a headiness to the air—but that might just be the faerie wine in such abundance it scents the wind.

I have to breathe through my mouth as we dock, as we scale down the ramp and onto the pier. The captain shoots me an inquisitive look, but I shake my head. My loose lips have already shared too much with the captain. There’s no need to tell him about my mother pressing faerie wine to my lips when I was young. Of the night my father found me passed out in the wine cellar.

Estelle trades in common goods, but Laraeth trades in the exquisite. It’s the type of town even my wealthy parents would have aspired to own property in, though those hopes would have been futile. The only way to own property in a place like Laraeth is to inherit it. And that’s if you’re lucky enough not to have parents paranoid to the point of assuming you’ve been plotting to kill them for an early shot at your inheritance.

It’s a more reasonable fear than one might think, given the rate of patricide in Laraeth is the highest in the region. Granted, the rate of the inheritance ending up in the hands of the true offspring when murder is suspected is rather low. You’d think people would question whether the risk of a hanging is worth the potentially nonexistent reward, but the actuaries can tell you otherwise.

Marble houses line the coast, tucked into the mountainside. I can’t imagine what a pain they must be to keep looking as pristine as they do, but those who live here have more coin than they know what to do with. Hiring an army of workers to wash the exterior is probably a small price to pay for the beauty the coastline exhibits. It’s still midday, so the sun glares off both the waves and the manors’ facades, making the streets of Laraeth almost blinding to walk through.

The walk to the Carlisle manor isn’t far from the coast, but it’s set in the crag of one of the rolling seaside mountains, so we wait for a carriage at its base.

At his command, my arm hangs off the captain’s.

“Your gown is too tight,” he says, scanning the teal evening gown Charlie happened to have lying around. Considering most of Charlie’s possessions were burned when her family was slaughtered, I don’t want to think about who this gown belonged to originally. Whether that woman is still alive or is rotting at the bottom of the ocean.

“It’s not as if I chose it for that purpose,” I snap at him, conscious of how little of my bosom the clingy dress leaves to the imagination. If it weren’t for its high neckline, it would remind me of something my mother would have picked out for me. Well, picked out for my suitors.

Astor shakes his head, confused. “No. I mean, you’re hardly breathing.”

I blink, steadying myself on his arm.

“We should have had Charlie loosen the corset.” If I didn’t know better, I’d think he was scolding himself.

“It’s not the corset,” I say. “Believe me, I was wearing them long before I had the body structure for them.”

His eyebrow arches. “Then why are you struggling to breathe?”

I swallow, my fingers tightening on his forearm despite myself. My left hand dangles at my side, grazing the air rather than risk grazing my dress. I imagine the position does look rather stiff. “It’s the velvet,” I say, gesturing with my chin down to my gown.

When Charlie had first shown it to me, I’d come close to hyperventilating. But I’d found myself in that armchair in the parlor enough times to know how to defer my panic for later. The pocket in the back of my mind that I used to hide away in is still there, and I’ve been curling into it since Charlie helped me slip into this gown.

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