Page 47 of Her Tortured Beasts

“That’s right,” I say quietly. “Savage, Scythe and Lyle have done that to Serpent Court officials.” I let it sink in for a moment. “Because of you.”

“I…I have to get them to stop. Get them to?—”

“The only way that they’ll stop is if they have you back. And that’s not going to happen, is it?” The gloom of the underground corridor makes my voice seem deeper and darker. I chuckle under my breath, and even to me, it sounds evil. “And a part of your surrender was no communication with them, or I will execute those nimpins. Trust me on that. But if you think Mace Naga will stand by and watch his court bleed for you, you’re not as intelligent as I gave you credit for.”

Spawn covers its mouth with both hands now, muffling its sobs. I turn around and tug it back to my room.

Spawn is quiet the next morning. Its period of isolation has made it flinchy and it blinks more often than it used to. It comes with me to every appointment with my father, and the meetings with my mother and Sissy where we go over every detail of the wedding. Though it makes no sound, its heart rate remains a constant irritating trot. The gravity of the situation seems to have hit it. This is not the game it thought it would be.

I never treated this like a game.

“Here, poppet, have some cake,” Mother says, gesturing to a bundt Sissy and the hatchlings made for afternoon tea.

To my great irritation, she’s not talking to me.

“It doesn’t eat cake, Mother.”

“No thank you, Lady Drakos,” Spawn says, blankly staring at the carpet where it kneels next to my chair.

“Do you enjoy keeping her on a leash?” Sissy suddenly asks, her mouth twisted.

It comes out without much thought. “Wouldn’t you enjoy keeping Ragnar on one?”

She drops her spoon with a clatter.

Hurt mars her expression. “Really, Xander?”

I sigh, rubbing at my forehead. Another fucking headache coming on. “Sorry. I’m not?—”

“Thinking?” she snaps. “Not feeling yourself? I wonder why.”

I stop rubbing my forehead to glare at her. “You have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Let’s not fight,” Mother says breezily. “Aurelia, dear, will you pass me my tonic?”

She is trying toinvolveSpawn in things. Offering it food, asking it to fetch this and that. It bothers me to no end, but my mother is so sweet, so fragile, that telling her to stop something she seems to enjoy feels counter-intuitive.

“Yes, Lady Drakos.” Spawn rises to its feet before heading to the mantelpiece to get the silver bottle Mother’s tonic is delivered in. It lingers at the mantel, apparently forgetting why it’s there.

“Hurry up,” I drone, sipping my own tea.

It brings the bottle back, handing it to Mother.

“Have we decided on the flower arrangement for the aisle?” Mother asks, pouring the tonic into her teacup. “Lady Hellfire has allergies; we had better cross lilies off the list.”

“Francesca wants hydrangeas,” Sissy says. “Do you have a preference, Xander? We need to order them tonight, otherwise the florist won’t have enough time.”

They could get black flowers for all I care. “No preference.”

“Your vows are finalised?” Mother asks.

“Not yet. It’s on my long list of things to do.”

“Well, prioritise it,” Sissy snaps.

I put down my cup and saucer. “Is there something wrong, Sissy?”

She purses her lips and says in a voice that is clearly the opposite of her words. “No.”

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