Page 109 of The Hive Queen

“Lies,” I hiss. “You may wear his face, but I won’t be tricked.”

“This isn’t a trick.” Marc touches the rod driven through my right shoulder. “We’re getting you out of here.”

“Why, so I can have a moment of hope before I’m captured again?” I bare my teeth at Marceau, then glare at Flint, who stands behind him. “She should have put Merripen’s face on you. It would have been more convincing.”

“Pen’s with Sharpe, petitioning the court for your freedom, or she’d be here now.” Marceau shuffles around to my back and curses. “I’m going to have to reheat the rods to separate them from the grate before we can get them out of you.”

“Get away from me, imposter.” My hands jerk, and the choker cuts off my air.

Marceau ignores me. “Flint, can you do anything about the chains?”

“Free me and I’ll kill you first,” I snarl as Flint steps toward me.

“If you wanted me dead, you should have just let the Fox god take me.” Flint limps closer and winces as he kneels next to the cuff on my right hand. “It’s not like I asked you to be a freaking hero.”

Doubt trickles in. I’ve told no one how I died outside of Marceau’s body. “Why are you limping?”

He glances up at me in surprise. “Amalia’s back in town, and we had a minor disagreement.”

A smile spreads over my lips. “I always like that vicious little brat.”

“Still an asshole, I see.” Flint pulls a pair of lock picks from his vest and gets to work on the shackle. “Just so we’re clear, saving my life didn’t make me suddenly start liking you.”

I search his too-pretty face. “Prove that it’s really you. Show me what’s under the glamour.”

He rolls his eyes at me before the pretty facade melts away, revealing the scars and inhuman violet of his left eye.

Hope digs its claws into me that this is real. That they actually came for me.

The glamour sweeps back into place, and Flint raises one black eyebrow. “Satisfied?”

“You look better with the scars.” I jiggle my wrist. “And you used to be faster at picking locks.”

“Pain in my damn ass,” Flint mutters as he bends back over the shackle.

The rod in my right shoulder shifts, and a hiss of pain escapes me.

“Sorry.” Marceau’s hand steadies my shoulder. “This is going to hurt.”

With no further warning, he yanks it the rest of the way through my body, tearing the flesh that had melted to the heated metal and opening the wound.

A scream bubbles up my throat, and I clench my teeth to hold it back. If I cry out, it will draw Lady Casira back. She’s already been gone long enough that the chances of my escape are ticking away. If Marceau and Flint are caught trying to free me, they’ll be thrown into the dungeon, too.

The shackle on my wrist opens, the weight falling from my arm.

I breathe heavily through the pain and flex my fingers. “Do you have another set of picks?”

“Of course.” Flint reaches into his vest, pulls out another set, and hands me two of the picks inside. “You think you can free your other wrist one-handed with that hole in your shoulder?”

“I’ll certainly try.” My stiff fingers make it difficult to work the picks, but I get them into position. “Free my neck. It will help me move.”

Flint shifts behind me, and I focus on the shackle on my left wrist. While I feel the picks around inside the lock, the rod in my left shoulder wiggles and warms, followed by a sense of separation when Marceau melts through the shaft, but he leaves the rod in place while I work.

Instead, his fingers graze my right ankle as he works to unlock the shackle there.

The tension on my neck releases, and Flint slips the collar off.

For the first time since I woke in the dungeon, I draw in a deep breath. The air that fills my lungs tastes of blood and burned sweat, but also of freedom.

---