Page 9 of Taken By The Dark Three
Silence hangs heavily, broken only by the scuff of boots and the distant clamor of Lowtown behind us. When we finally emerge onto a better-maintained avenue, I catch sight of Orthani’s sprawling ramparts overhead, carved with menacing reliefs of winged beasts. Lamps burn with flickering purple flames, a hallmark of the city’s harnessed arcane energy. The swirling shadows thrown by those flames reflect across the woman’s face, highlighting her scornful expression.
My frustration melds with an undercurrent of fascination, warring in my chest. I’ve never felt drawn to someone I so thoroughly despise. It’s disorienting, and I hate it. I lead the way without a word, ignoring the knot forming in my gut. My men flank us, pride in their postures. They captured the purna, they’re bringing her to justice—there will be praise, maybe a commendation. I should be satisfied, yet my thoughts stray to the memory of her voice, her sneering dare for me to come claim her.
We cross a final bridge above a canal that glows with faint magical residue. The flicker of torchlight plays over her face, and she meets my stare with a silent vow of retribution. I can almost taste the tension. The distant stars overhead watch indifferently, while the towering spires of Orthani seem to press down like spectators eager for the coming spectacle.
As we approach the outskirts of the main fortress, the iron gates loom. My men slow, shifting uncomfortably. They sense something, perhaps the raw hatred rolling off the woman. Or perhaps they recall stories of what the court does to purna once they’re interrogated.
I keep my grip on her cuffs, guiding her forward. She tenses, trying to yank away. I hold firm. “You’ll get your moment before the inner court,” I murmur, voice low so that only she hears. “Don’t waste your breath on false bravado.”
Her gaze flickers with fury. “I never waste my breath.”
My heart thuds painfully, though I keep my face neutral. We pass through the gates, stepping into a paved courtyard lit by arcane braziers. Black statues of dark elf warriors line the walls, each carved with impeccable detail. The entire space hums with authority. A handful of lesser guards glance our way, curiosity evident in their expressions as they see the chained woman and the trembling child.
My men deposit the child into a separate hold, ignoring her tears. The woman bares her teeth, frustration etched into every line of her face. She tries to lunge for the child, but the chain restrains her. I yank her back, my voice clipped. “Enough.”
She breathes fast and uneven, glancing around. Then she settles that molten stare on me. I see the faintest glimmer of raw anguish behind her anger. Something pangs in my chest. I lock it down.
One of my subordinates steps forward, saluting. “Commander, the court should convene at first light. What are your orders for her in the meantime?”
I hesitate, absorbing the unexpected weight of that question. She’s captured, but our superiors might demand immediate interrogation. Still, they said they wanted her alive. “We’ll keep her in the secured wing until we receive further instructions.”
The soldier nods. I push the purna toward him, forcing her to break eye contact with me. Her tense muscles resist, but there’s no choice left for her. She’s shackled, surrounded by armed guards, and the child is in custody. As they move to lead her away, she glances over her shoulder. That single look brims with unspoken vows that make my spine prickle, like I’m glimpsing a tempest caged behind those dark eyes. My throat constricts, though I can’t pinpoint why.
I snap my attention to the nearest guard. “Keep watch. Don’t underestimate her, understood?”
The guard nods, gripping the chains. The purna is led down a hallway, her figure disappearing into torchlit corridors. The flickering flames paint shifting shapes on the stone walls, and I’m left with a keen awareness that something irreversibly changed tonight.
My men disperse, murmuring about securing the child and reporting to King Rython’s council. I stand alone for a moment in the courtyard, midnight wind brushing across my face. My pulse still hammers, refusing to settle. She’s just another prisoner, I tell myself. Another threat neutralized, a victory for Orthani.
Yet the memory of her defiant stance gnaws at me, fueling an unfamiliar heat that I can’t quite banish. I remind myself that I despise purna for what they are, for the betrayal that cost me my fiancée’s life. But something about this woman unsettles me—she wields her power with a quiet, lethal confidence that sticks under my skin.
I finally turn away, steps echoing on the dark stone. The city waits to watch her fate, and perhaps mine, unfold in the days to come. As I ascend toward the war chambers to file my report, I clench my fists, determined to bury any notion that her power or presence could tempt me. She’s a prisoner, a purna, and her place is in chains. That’s what I tell myself, even as the echo of her gaze haunts me like a distant drumbeat in the night.
3
SELENE
My eyes flick open to nothing but stone and darkness. The air tastes stale and metallic. A single torch sputters in a sconce on the far wall, weak flames illuminating damp floors streaked with something I’d rather not identify. My shoulders ache where iron shackles strain my arms overhead, leaving me barely able to stand upright. An incessant drip of water echoes from somewhere behind me, each droplet tapping on stone.
I work a slow breath in and out, letting the stale smell of this cell fill my lungs. My wrists throb against these restraints, and my knees threaten to buckle from fatigue. Despite the discomfort, I raise my head, determined not to present any hint of surrender. If I slump, they’ll see it as a victory, and I refuse them that pleasure.
Ornate patterns carved into the walls catch my attention. Dark elf script frames a decorative crest—twisting lines that symbolize Orthani’s power. My eyes narrow. I can sense faint magical wards woven into those etched runes, likely designed to dampen the abilities of captives. The air itself hums with low-level energy, clashing with my purna magic. That would explain why my usual reservoir feels sluggish. They’re cunning.
I shift, and the chain overhead rattles. I can’t fully move my arms, but I roll my shoulders to stave off numbness. My ankles remain free, though that hardly matters when I’m so securely bound from above. My thoughts turn to Ai. Have they caged her in a similar cell? Or is she locked in some distant chamber, terrified and alone? Anger sears beneath my skin, fueling a desperate desire to tear these shackles free and find her. But for now, I must remain focused, calm.
The scrape of heavy boots approaches from beyond the iron door. Torchlight grows stronger, and my pulse kicks. The door creaks open, revealing a figure in black leather armor. He’s tall, broader than typical for a dark elf, with a shaved head and a single silver brand cutting across his chin. A cruel grin twists his mouth.
He holds a short rod etched with runic symbols. “Awake, are we?” His voice drips with condescension. “Good. The masters want answers, purna.”
I keep my gaze level with his, not shrinking from the heat of his stare. “I can’t wait to see how you plan to extract them.”
His grin widens. He lifts the rod and taps one end against his palm. “Spirited. That won’t last long.” He steps forward, sliding the rod’s tip under my chin, forcing my head higher. An electric current prickles across my skin. “First, your name.”
“Go to rot.”
A spark leaps from the rod, nipping at my flesh. Pain stings, but I clamp down on a hiss, refusing to give him the satisfaction. He laughs. “We can play all night, little purna. The more you resist, the more I get to amuse myself.”
My anger simmers, threatening to burst. I swallow it down, letting cold scorn fill my voice. “I’ve endured worse than your pathetic rod. You have no idea who you’re dealing with.”
