Page 13 of Taken By The Dark Three
He scoffs. “Mercy? Orthani does what it must to maintain order. And if you think we’ll simply set her loose—” He lifts a hand. “No. That’s not how this works.”
My nails bite into my palms. I want to lash out, to conjure a wave of retribution. But the wards around my cell press on my senses, keeping me at half strength. Instead, I fix him with a smoldering glare. “One day, you’ll regret those words.”
He matches my gaze with a calm that borders on infuriating. “Threaten me all you like. You’re still the prisoner here.” Then he turns on his heel, stepping toward the door. Before stepping through, he says over his shoulder, “Food will be brought later. Don’t test the guards.”
The door slams, leaving me alone in this spartan chamber. My breath shakes for a moment, exhaustion crashing over me now that no one’s watching. But I don’t let the weakness linger. Slowly, I approach the barred window and rest my wrists on the ledge. Outside, Orthani’s grand skyline spreads out—a mazeof towers, sharp angles, flickering arcane lanterns in the early morning light. It’s a city that fancies itself invincible.
They’ve thrown me into their own fortress, believing they can break me with rods, noxious potions, and psionic infiltration. They demand I serve them or die. My arms still burn where that soldier pressed the electric rod, my nerves raw from Zareth’s vicious game. Yet I’m still here, breathing. They have no idea how far I’ll go to protect Ai, or how deep my cunning runs.
I close my eyes, recalling Ai’s tear-streaked face, the flash of despair when the elves seized her. A vow solidifies in my heart. I will bide my time, maneuver within Orthani’s walls, gather the advantage. When the moment comes, I’ll shatter these shackles and make them pay for every lash, every humiliating chain, every scar they carved into me.
My lips twist into a grim smile as I whisper to the empty room, “I’ve survived worse than you, Orthani. You’ll regret chaining me.”
4
ZARETH
My footsteps echo across the polished marble floor of Orthani’s inner halls. Torches set in ornate iron holders cast wavering light along the walls, creating a dance of living shadows around me. I savor the hush of this corridor, enjoying the momentary privacy before I reach the door ahead. Tonight has been exceedingly entertaining. The purna we captured has stirred more excitement in these ancient chambers than I’ve seen in ages.
I pause near a tall mirror, adjusting the black velvet collar of my fine robe. My hair, a deep crimson, is tied back in a sleek queue to reveal the golden sigils spiraling up the back of my neck—a mark of high-caste psionic mastery. Dark elves who pass me in the corridors avert their gazes, well aware of my family’s reputation for mental domination. The thought makes me smile. The fear we inspire is deserved.
Only one person in this entire fortress challenges me in ways I find truly interesting, and she’s the subject of this evening’s outing. Selene, the purna. I recall the brief but tantalizing encounters we’ve shared. She survived the dungeon with minimal compliance, and despite the pain inflicted bythat brutish soldier, Sathran, she offered only taunts in return. Impressive. My memory replays how she glared at me during the hearing, refusing to cower even under the combined scrutiny of the city’s highest authorities. Most purna would have cracked. She, however, defied every attempt to break her. The notion that her mind remains unbowed excites me beyond measure.
A slender figure materializes from a side corridor. A servant, timid and silent, opens the heavy door leading into my private wing. I pass by without a word, stepping into a wide antechamber furnished with plush obsidian seating. Velvet drapes border tall windows that overlook Orthani’s labyrinth of spires and bridges. The city sprawls under the moonlight like a glittering labyrinth. Usually, I find that view more interesting than any captive. Tonight, my pulse beats with a different kind of anticipation.
At the opposite side of the room, a pair of guards stand alert, each dressed in dark armor accented with the sigils of my house. Behind them, a second door leads to a more secluded suite I reserve for personal—research. The men snap to attention when they notice me. One extends a ring of iron keys.
I wave him off. “Stay outside. I’ll handle her myself.”
Their gazes dart to each other, uncertain. They know what I’m capable of, yet the purna is no trifling prisoner. She’s proven herself more resourceful than the average captive. But their fear of disappointing me outweighs any worry, so they bow and step aside. I take the keys, feeling the chilled metal press into my palm.
Inside the suite, lamps cast a low, sultry glow across polished floors. The walls are carved with swirling patterns that reflect my family’s devotion to psionic arts. Low tables hold an array of instruments—glass vials brimming with faintly smoking liquids, coils of chain engraved with runes, and delicate metal bands used to heighten or suppress certain mental frequencies.
At the center of the chamber is a raised dais. Selene stands on it, wrists locked in narrow metal cuffs that connect to a short chain overhead. Not so high as to force her to dangle, but enough to keep her from lunging. A second set of restraints loop around her ankles, limiting her range of motion to a few meager inches. Despite these bonds, she holds herself with a fierce kind of dignity. Dark waves of hair spill over her shoulders, partially hiding the faint silver lines that mark her purna heritage. Her golden-olive skin looks drawn, evidence that the last day or so hasn’t been kind to her. Still, there’s a steely resolve in her bearing.
She notices me at once. Her gaze lifts, eyes narrowing with immediate hostility. A shiver of delight traces along my spine. There’s nothing quite like a challenge.
“Zareth,” she says in a low tone. There’s no respect in how she addresses me, no attempt to pretend civility.
I let the door click shut behind me and place the ring of keys on a nearby pedestal. “You remember my name. Good. I was worried the dungeons might have muddled your senses.”
She snorts softly, rolling her shoulders against the restraints. “I’m no one’s plaything, if that’s what you came to check.”
My lips tug upward. “Yet here you stand, chained in my private suite. You might forgive me if I assume otherwise.”
She exhales through her nose, making no effort to disguise her contempt. “You’re a noble. You think everything belongs to Orthani’s upper caste.”
“True, we do claim most things we desire,” I reply. “But you’re unique. Your mind, in particular, intrigues me.”
She scoffs, as though insulted by the suggestion. “You think rummaging in my head is a party trick? Let’s see you try again.”
My blood warms at the challenge. It’s not every day a captive invites me to test their mental defenses. Most cower, begging me to stay out of their heads. Selene instead dares me to attemptit, practically flaunting her resilience. A current of raw tension courses between us.
I step closer, circling her as a hawk might circle prey, trailing my fingertips across her forearm. The cuffs clink in protest when she tenses. Even bound, she stands with her chin lifted, eyes tracking my every movement. The faint glow from a single lamp illuminates the curve of her cheekbones, the parted line of her lips.
“You have no idea the levels of subtlety I can employ,” I murmur, sliding my hand higher. “In the dungeon, you resisted my preliminary approach. I was impressed.”
“Is that what you call it?” She sets her jaw. “I call it you prying into what isn’t yours.”
