Page 38 of The Shadowbound King

Rane was close on my heels, ensuring I couldn’t attempt to get away. Not that I had anywhere to go. Even if I managed to escape the Embervale, the Edelfen waited beyond the castle. And the collar stopped me from slipping into the shadows.

Moments later, we entered a cavernous space with low-lying ceilings. A crude wooden chair sat in the center of the room, which was ringed with flickering torches that cast eerie shadows on the ceiling. An ancient-looking table shoved against the wall was the only other furniture. The sole source of heat was a metal brazier in the corner. Barred windows high on the walls allowed weak moonlight to spill over the dusty stone floor.

Here was the dungeon I’d expected when I arrived in the Embervale. The flames atop the torches danced as Andrin led me to the chair and gestured for me to sit. Memories of the dungeon in Nordlinga flooded my mind, and my throat went dry as I sank into the chair. Despite the chilly air, sweat beaded my forehead.

Rane went to the table. He kept his back to me as he fiddled with something on its surface. Metal clinked, and I folded my hands tightly in my lap.

Andrin stood in front of me, his arms folded over his chest. Light from the brazier haloed him. Most men—especially warriors—looked ridiculous in court clothes. Once they were out of their armor, they seemed shockingly ordinary. But not Andrin. His shoulders strained the seams of his jacket, which appeared black in the dungeon’s dim light. His biceps bulged beneath the fabric, and his leather trousers molded to his thick thighs.

The dark sigils around his neck appeared to move.

No, theyweremoving. My breath caught as shadows curled away from his throat and extended toward me. They twisted in the air, forming into braided ropes. Andrin stayed perfectly still, his hard gaze holding mine as the shadow ropes detached from his body. For one tense moment, they shivered in the air. Then they streaked toward me.

A scream ripped from my throat as they whipped around me, securing me to the chair. One rope circled my chest above my breasts. The other bit into my abdomen. The bindings pinned my arms to my sides. Panic surged, and I struggled against my bonds. The chair rocked, the legs scraping on the stone.

“If you tip over,” Andrin said, “you’ll stay that way.”

I stilled, blood rushing in my ears. Andrin’s face swam in my vision.

“Slow your breathing,” he said, a slight frown appearing between his eyes. “You’re going to faint.”

“Maybe because you tied me to a chair in your dungeon,” I bit out.

Something flickered in Andrin’s eyes, the look there and gone so quickly I couldn’t decipher it.

Metal squeaked, drawing my attention to Rane. The table had small wheels I hadn’t noticed before, and now he rolled it away from the wall. He stopped at Andrin’s side and flipped a crudely woven cloth back from the table’s surface.

My stomach dropped. The table held an assortment of hammers, pinchers, and other tools. A set of wide manacles sat to one side. Several long rods with pointed ends extended over the table’s edge.

Nausea sloshed in my stomach. They were going to torture me for information about my father. But I didn’t have any, which meant I was going to suffer.

“Where is the Kree?” Andrin demanded.

My mouth had gone so dry that I had to swallow a couple of times before I could answer. “I don’t know. I’ve never heard that word before. Please, you have to believe me.”

Andrin said nothing, his mouth tight and his blue eyes like ice. Rane was just as still and silent behind the table. A shaft of moonlight spilled over him, picking out blue highlights in his black hair.

Finally, Andrin spoke in a low, dangerous tone. “You expect me to believe you have no knowledge of the Kree? That your father entrusted you with nothing?”

“Yes!” I cried, my voice echoing off the stone. “I’m not lying. Whatever you think my father stole from you, he never discussed it with me.”

Andrin turned to Rane and nodded. Rane looked over the table, then selected one of the long, thin rods. He tested the tip against the pad of his finger. Blood welled, the bright red dot almost obscene in the dim, gray light.

I pressed my back against the slats of the chair. “I d-don’t know anything about the K-Kree,” I babbled, jerking my gaze from the blood to Andrin.

Rane rounded the table.

“Help!” I screamed, straining against the ropes. “Gods, someone help me!”

“Stop,” Andrin said.

Rane froze. It took my fear-addled brain a few seconds to realize Andrin had addressed him instead of me.

Andrin crouched in front of me, one big hand on my knee. “It’s all right, Mirella,” he said, his gaze steady. “No harm will come to you as long as you tell us where Walto is keeping the Kree.”

My chest heaved. The food I’d eaten in the hall threatened to come back up. This was a game to them, I realized. Like the bullies I’d encountered as a child, they wanted to see how far they could push me. Andrin was prepared to play foil Rane’s aggressiveness, offering comfort to persuade me to spill my father’s secrets.

But I couldn’t be pushed. I was already at the edge, with nothing but a fall before me. In my mind, a starling took flight over Purecliff, its wings wide and a song in its throat. Maybe I had somewhere to go. Maybe, when Andrin was finished with me, I could find it.

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