Page 16 of The Blood that Binds Us

“Listen in on them?”

“I need to know who I can trust and who I cannot. I have reason to believe an ally is aiding Legion—smuggling resources to them. They should have collapsed in on themselves by now, and yet, they continue to come back time and time again, throwing bodies at my keep. Tell me, Wren, how does a rebellion that’s hated by half the isle continue to show up healed from injury and wielding new weapons? Attend my gala and mingle, get a read on people. Tell me if I need to divert myattentionsto certain individuals.”

“You want me to spy for you?”

His eyes sweep over me, taking in my disheveled appearance, and I wonder if it is obvious how weak the infection has made me. “It would be a mutually beneficial agreement.”

“Enlighten me.” I smile with feigned interest.

“You heard Cathal, same as I. This family of yours, he sounded rather determined to take his resentment towards you out on them. One in particular—something about a dark-haired sister with… qualities I won’t repeat.” He shakes his head, as if even he didn’t appreciate Cathal’s vulgarity when describing Cosmina. “Legion can’t hurt your family if they’re dead in the sea. We eliminate their supplier, we eliminate Legion. No Legion, no Cathal running around making predatory comments.”

“Did you kill him?”

Sin shakes his head. “I want himalive.”

He doesn’t elaborate, and I don’t ask. “If I help you, what’s in it for me?”

“I’ll consider not killing you,” he answers, not a sliver of amusement on his face.

“I want my freedom. If I help you, I go free.”

“You help me, and yourfamilyremains free.”

I push my collective against his again and shred at it with phantom fingernails, searching for any trace of deception. Hatred burns through me instead—his hatred for Legion, I presume.

“Think about it, Wren. Every minute Legion remains alive is a minute you risk them hurting your family. Help me cut off their supply chain, and the rebellion is one less threat in their lives.”

“Your entire kingdom threatens their lives,” I spit. He must think even lower of me now knowing I was brought up by transcendents. Bloodwitch by birth, transcendent sympathizer by choice. I wonder if it rivals how low I think of him.

“It’s your choice. How’s that shoulder healing up on you?” the Black Art smirks, his eyes honing in on the rotting flesh now oozing a sickly yellow pus.

I glare up at him and scoff at the green irises now beaming with wicked amusement. “You’re willing to heal me and remove the iron so I may dance with some strangers at a ball?” My tone implies the severity of the risk he would be taking.

“You’ve already shown me you aren’t willing to do what it takes to escape.”

His words punch me in the gut. I want to hate him for his remark, but the anger now surging through my core is reserved for me. He is right. I don’t know if I’m making it out of Scarwood alive, but if helping the Black Art ensures my family’s safety, I owe them that.

I blow out a breath. “Alright, Your Grace. I agree to do your bidding and pry the secrets from your enemies’ minds since you and your council have failed to do so.”

“Careful, witch.”

I extend my arms in front of me, the chains dangling from my wrists like metal serpents. He throws open the cell with magic and breaks my iron bindings in the same cast. Storming into the dank cage, he reaches for my wounded arm.

His predatory grin widens as I scream with the stretching of tissue.

Honey steeped in a piping cup of jasmine tea. The deep golden fabric of the gown River cinches tight around my waist is familiar, and an image of the warm beverage that never left Morrinne’s side flashes in my mind, followed by a pang of homesickness. If she saw me standing here now, adorned in a dress that likely costs more than the entire value of everything we own, tears would drip from her eyes. But they wouldn’t be tears of joy as she beheld her daughter in the finest fabric money could buy—she would cry out in horror and beg Sin to show mercy, knowing the elaborate dress was merely his way of sprucing up his next meal before cutting into me like I was nothing more than a tender roast.

“I can hardly breathe,” I say as River gives an exceptionally aggressive tug of the corset strings at my back.

“Good. That means I’m doing it right.” River meets my eyes in the mirror and smiles apologetically.

Sin arranged for me to return to the ornate room I slept in my first night, before he knew I was the very monster his kingdom was hell-bent on eradicating from existence. The room—more like a small suite—is exactly as I left it, except the large armoire now holds an array of finely tailored dresses, most of them able to be stepped into without the need of an assistant to secure the bodices. While I may have glowered at the fancy attire before, I find small comfort in knowing it was unlikely the Black Art would have ordered for my closet to be stocked if he intended on killing me. Or at least not in my immediate future.

I frown at my own reflection. The rich golden gown drips from my shoulders and fans out at the elbows, leaving my forearms and shoulders exposed. Deep bronze piping in a crisscross pattern garnishes the bodice, and flowers of the same matching golden-brown thread are woven through the skirts in a brocade style masterpiece. I may be the only mage in the room, but it is River who has the real magical hands. She painted my lips a warm shade of pink, the color reminiscent of the rose petal jam I made for holidays and special occasions. The hue is bright against the light brown of my eyes and snowy hair River pinned back with an elegant crystal hair piece. The rest cascades down my back like hilly, snowcapped peaks, all the way to the small of my waist.

Sin lifted the fever from me when he closed my wound, and after a cold wash in the bathhouse and a hearty meal of roast mutton and crusty bread, the blush tint returned to my cheeks. The bruised purple marks left behind from the iron faded from my wrists sometime overnight, and if it wasn’t for the Black Art’s bidding I must do tonight, I might even be feeling sprightful.

If he told River what I was, she didn’t mention it, and I didn’t ask. With my fever gone and all traces of iron vanished from my skin, there is nothing stopping me from fighting my way out of here. Nothing except my own stubborn will to not stoop to the devilish legends whispered about my kind.

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