Page 97 of Crown of Tides and Fury

Without speaking, he moved around the space and replaced most of the torches, even the few that still burned brightly.

“Thank you,” I said, when he lit the last one.

He turned his head and cursed me, twenty-first century-style.

I knew him! Even with his face distorted by loathing and disdain, I recognized him—he was the taxi driver!

“You!”

Archer Carew, Griffon’s brother, really was alive! And he’d probably heard me say I was glad his sister was dead!

“I serve the Fae King, not you.” He glanced toward the stairwell and strode angrily toward me. I was glad there was a barrier between us, but then he pulled out a ring of keys and I wondered, if I cried out, would Griffon hear me, or had he already flown away?

I pulled the dagger from my boot, braced my feet apart, and told myself this was just another Fae creature wanting to spill my blood. I’d kill him if I had to.

“I never touched you, by the way,” he hissed. “Now, back into the corner and hold the bars.” He produced a bucket, moved it next to the gate, and gestured to the rear of the cell with his chin. Then he cocked his head and waited for me to do as I’d been told before he put the key in the lock.

Hedidn’t trustme? Good.

I retreated to the corner where the bars buried themselves in stone and gripped a bar with my empty hand. I wasn’t about to put the blade away, and I refused to turn my back to a Fae who had been beaten for my sake, possibly to death.

My curiosity got the best of me. “Did you survive? Or have you been brought back to life?”

“Stay where you are.” He ignored my question and set the bucket inside, then brought a white enamel bowl, which he carefully sat on the table. Two water bottles were next, then a large paper sack. He pulled the gate shut with so much muscle and venom that the clang made me cover my ears. Then he looked me in the eye and spat on the floor.

I could barely see a resemblance between him and his brother, but it was there. The angles of his nose and cheeks, the tint of his skin that reminded me of Griffon’s wings, twenty shades lighter. I took comfort in the fact that I hadn’t yet pushed Griffon into hating me as much as this man did.

If I had, I’d already be dead.

While Archer gathered the spent torches, I edged my way back to the gate to peek in the wooden bucket, worried it might contain snakes or some Fae creature that would be equally as deadly. It was half-full of gray stuff that looked very much like kitty litter, and I was reminded there was no toilet in my cell. I’d planned to ask Griffon for a trip to the loo, but I’d been hellbent on pissing him off. Now it was too late.

I spoke quietly, hoping the man would hear at least a hint of regret in my voice. Humility if not contrition. “What is this for?”

Archer laughed and disappeared into the stairwell without looking back. “You’ll figure it out.”

The enamel bowl on the table had fresh water for washing, presumably, with the bottles of water for drinking. In the sack were three apples, a block of moldy, smelly cheese the size of my shoe, and a box of British-brand hygiene supplies.

Stupid, unmarried men. Didn’t they know you always buy chocolate with tampons?

36

Growing To Love The Bucket

Ipeed in the kitty litter. What choice did I have? I considered digging a hole in the dirt floor, but I feared finding a layer of Daphne Carew’s blood under my fingernails. In addition, I didn’t know how long I’d be stuck there, and the last thing I wanted to do was cut down on my available floor space.

I absolutely refused to have a bowel movement in a bucket—if that meant I’d die of stomach pain, I figured there were worse ways to go.

Some other things I learned that night--shiny blankets rip easily; the less I drank, the less I’d need to pee; and just a little pinch of strong cheese kept my stomach from growling. The fact that I’d missed out on hot croissants was yet another grudge I didn’t intend to forgive.

Melted butter and fresh blackberry jam…Dammit!

Griffon didn’t come back. Wickham didn’t pop in. And the hissing of torches made for a decent white noise that kept me from completely freaking out. I remembered waking once to the sound of booms, varied in volume. It might have been thunder, or it might have been the tide coming in, and neither possibility posed enough danger to give up a few more hours’ sleep.

I did open my eyes, hours later, to see if the waft of coffee was only in my dreams. And if it was, I’d hurry back to sleep and track it down.

It wasn’t.

Adrenaline and various hormones dove into my blood stream when I sat up and found Griffon standing on the opposite side of the dungeon consulting with his brother. His chest was bare except for a thick, hairy sort of vest, which might have been some animal skin. Apparently, the chill of the dungeon was enough for him to have noticed. Or maybe he didn’t appreciate me staring at his chest.

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