Page 101 of Her Tortured Beasts

She shows me her teeth. Today she wears a yellow lace dress that ties at the breast. It’s oddly cheery for her. I’m still wearing my black dress from the estate. It needs to be washed, but she hasn’t given me anything else and I refuse to ask.

“I want to show you something.”

Oh, there’s more to see. “Great,” I say stiffly.

She throws me a knowing smile before I’m escorted out of the room and down a corridor, deeper into the house. The cell is on ground level, and I’m not surprised when she leads me to an elevator that descends several floors.

As I stand there, surrounded by metal and guards, listening to the mechanical whirr, I’m reminded of Halfeather mansion and another dungeon that was kept underground.

I’d met my mates in such a dungeon; I shouldn’t be afraid.

Except, a voice reminds me, your mates are monsters of their own kind. Monsters are kept in dungeons.

The Collector is mysteriously excited as the elevator comes to a stop and pings. They slide open to reveal a brightly lit corridor of all white, with a row of steel doors. Apparently, the dark isn’t her style. She leads us out, her energy positively giddy, her gait near bouncy, and I wonder what on earth could have a bloodthirsty person like her so damn excited.

We come to a stop by a door and one of the guards unlocks it with a heavy set of keys.

“Do not fear,” the Collector reassures me, a little breathless, her pupils dilated. “He’s not the violent sort.”

It swings open, revealing a complete darkness. But the soldiers take no heed and march right in, sweeping me along with them.

When the door closes behind us, we’re entombed in the dark. My heart pounds in my ears as I strain to see what type of monster of pride and joy she keeps here.

A warm glow expands from a dimmer. It’s a small globe set in the corner as an afterthought, but its light reveals something I never, not in my wildest dreams, expected.

The beast lies on his side, amongst strewn hay, motionless, bereft, his hooves bent to the side. A pelt of silver glimmers under the meagre light. A long, powerful horn extends from his forehead. It has its own glow, dimmed, I think, from?—

I can’t breathe. I can’t blink. I can’t tear my eyes away from the horror I see before me. This creature of light and beauty… Someone had hurt it.

On its rump is a blackened mark, circular, festering with necrosis.

The Collector sighs wistfully.

“You have a unicorn.” My voice sounds far away. “You keep him in the dark.”

“You can make many Boneweavers, Aurelia,” she replies in a dreamy voice. “But this is a male. He cannot make more of himself.”

She turns to regard me and my response. I tear my eyes away to meet her gaze in grave disbelief.

“He’s not been forthcoming about what his order’s powers are,” she continues. “As you can see, I cannot risk trying to convince him. That wound hasn’t healed, which leads me to believe he’s ill. You will need to heal it. You’ve healed mythical creatures before.”

She means a particular basilisk, who’d also lain in a dark dungeon all alone.

“He needs to see the moon. The sun. That’s why he is ill!” That mockery of light in the corner is hardly a replacement.

But the demon before me is shaking her head. “I cannot allow it. With great difficulty, I claimed him. I willnotrisk discovery.”

My mouth twists in utter contempt. Selfish creature of the gutter.

“Don’t you see it, Aurelia?” she presses. “Who wouldn’t want the seed of a unicorn? The most majestic creature in existence. It would be an honour to carry his offspring.Youwould be greatly honoured.”

Except nausea is twisting in my stomach, along with an insidious feeling that extends its wings in protest. I look back at the unicorn. “Of course I’ll try to help him,” I say softly. “May I go forward?”

“You may not touch him,” she says sharply.

I flinch at the sudden change in tone.

“I know what you can do. You may not touch him. You may heal him from a distance. Go and stand there.” She points to a spot next to a guard on the unicorn’s other side.

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