Page 18 of A Realm of Fire and Ash

"What will this cost me?"

She grins. "You're learning."

With a snap of her fingers, the tub disappears along with the water, and I spill onto the ground, sopping wet, naked, and sputtering. She tosses a bundle at my feet.

"Dry off and put these on."

Irid leans against the stone wall, watching as I dress. My cheeks heat under her perusal, her attention less clinical and more curious.

"Tell me, why is your hair straight and the thatch between your thighs curly?"

"What?" I yank the skirt on, cheeks burning.

"Well?" She raises an eyebrow. "I'm not asking out of prying. It's a viable question. Most fae have the same hair texture between the two, but you have ... variations."

"Ask the gods," I mutter. Her tail trails up my leg, and I kick it away, smacking her with a vicious glare. "You do that again, and I'll cut it off."

She raises her hands, her eyes dancing with glee. "And the kitten has claws. Who knew? You'll need them here," she sing-songs.

I pull the tank top over my bare breasts, not missing the way her eyes rove over them. They're bigger than hers, though I'm not proud of that. These just get in my way.

"No underthings?" I hiss.

She hums. "Mmm, no. I quite like you like this." Her hand reaches for my hair, and I slap it away.

"Keep your paws off me."

She laughs. "No wonder he likes you so much."

My eyes narrow. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"Well, you're obviously not like the other fae. He likes your spirit, your wildness—your refusal to be tamed."

"Or what's between my thighs," I mutter as I follow her out of the cavern.

Our footsteps sound down the passage, echoing off the stone walls until we reach another intersection. The exit opens into a vast, dark forest. A chill runs through me at the thought of what could be hiding in the trees. These aren't like the ones in Castanea, where gentle fae put their sleeping babies to bed inside treehouses and curl up to read a book by the fae flies dancing amongst the canopies.

"Where are all the other inmates?" I ask, my whisper a frightened hush on the air.

"It's not like the other realms, Morte. This one is for the truly terrible—the ones who have committed such heinous crimes that even the gods won't forgive." Her icy eyes gleam in the moonlight as she looks me up and down. "The others are out there—" She nods towards the forest. "It's difficult to find your way through the woods without a guide."

Grief nearly saws me in half. Iama monster. Part of me always knew it, that I was capable of terrible things, but having done them and facing the repercussions almost has me crashing to my knees.

"Where are you taking me?"

She smiles. "Your room."

My steps falter. "You haven't told me what it'll cost me yet."

The woman turns around, her mouth set in a grim line. "Come with me, and let's see what we can agree upon?"

I follow her into a decrepit shack at the edge of the forest and she ushers me into a small room. Nails are missing from the walls, which are made from weathered wood, and a single cot rests in the corner. I can smell that someone spent a long time chained there recently, and I'm troubled by both the stench and the implications.

I'm about to ask what she wants from me when the familiar weight of the manacle latches onto my ankle once again.

A groan rumbles in my chest, and I plop onto the bed, the mattress lumpy and riddled with claw marks. Better than a cave floor, I suppose. But it's still unbearably warm.

Each cold link in my shackles digs into my skin as I shift on my knees. "Will I always have to be chained up?"

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