Page 8 of Heart of Night
The thought should give me hope. Instead, it’s like another downward spiral in a growing assortment of downward spirals. If only I understood how Tavras fit into the equation, if this is merely about a failed punishment that needs to be re-exacted, or if it’s something more. Something personal.
Before I can come to a conclusion, the door opens with a bang, and two males in leather armor stride in, lifting me from where I kneel by the toilet, and dragging me back to the bedroom. No, not the bedroom. They hook their arms under my shoulders and pull me into the hallway while I protest with weak kicks and wriggles.
There is no getting rid of a Flame I learn as I’m being hauled down the set of stairs where windows are black as the night outside, the only thing illuminating the tall hallway is the bright fire flickering in brass sconces lining the walls. A distant part of me notices how similar they look to the torches at the Crow place, and it’s suddenly very clear that I’m at a Fire Fairy residence and these are everlasting flames.
Sharp pain runs through my arms and sides as the males tear at my shoulders to pull me into a more upright position. The hem of my skirt catches on a heavy boot, the fabric ripping somewhere at the height of my ankle. The male on my right curses, but the one on my left growls for him to shut up. I don’t get a proper look at either of them, other than that they are tall and powerfully built, before I’m being shoved through a hidden side door down a narrow set of stairs. I barely catch myself on the wooden handrail attached to the wall and slither to a halt on my knees at the bottom of the stairs, heart pounding as I take inventory of my bones. All are intact.
It’s not the fall I should have feared, though, but the creature awaiting me in the small, dim room, towering over a plain wooden chair. He turns to face me, a cruel curl to his lips, and cracks his knuckles.
“Welcome, Wolayna.” He gestures at the chair with his leather-clad arm, golden blond hair shifting into his harsh face as he nods in clear dismissal at the door behind me where I know the two guards must still be standing.
I don’t dare turn around to watch them close it. A heartbeat later, the sound of a lock clicking shut confirms they locked me in, and the terror in my veins won’t allow for me to tear my gaze away from the hulk of a fairy in front of me.
“I’ve been looking forward to this moment for quite a while.” He gestures at the chair as if I had a choice whether I sit or turn and run. “Take a seat.”
Trying not to acknowledge the petrifying panic surging through my body, I push myself up instead and stand on shaky legs with my hand braced on the wall. How I wish I had my dagger—or any weapon for that matter—even when I doubt any fighting trick I have up my brass and gold embroidered sleeves might help me defeat the male in front of me.
“I said sit,” he growls, the only warning I’ll get before he uses his brute strength on me; I can see by the gleam of violence in his eyes.
My legs barely carry me, but they march on to the chair anyway, the traitors.
“Good girl.” He pushes me down by the shoulder, the touch like fire, right over the tattoo I discovered before Katrijanov’s visit.
“I’m not a girl.” My voice is as weak as my legs, but I grit my teeth and hold the male’s stare as I face him from my position in the uncomfortable piece of furniture.
That merely costs him a rough laugh. “I don’t care what you are, Wolayna. Only who you are.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Call it bravery or sheer stupidity—or the missing energy to reflect on my words before speaking them—but I speak unfiltered as I defy him with all I have. Which isn’t much, considering I’ve barely eaten and have been poisoned or drugged—who knows with Ephegos; I wouldn’t put it past him to kill me slowly with poison—since I almost died three days ago. Four, perhaps, if I count the time I was passed out after the gloriously sedating tea Kaira served. I make a mental note to tell her all about how little the taste of the brew was worth the pain I went through after.
“Just that we have things to talk about, you and I.” He turns to the shelf against the wall where a set of tools is waiting to be used. Sharp metal and tough wood. Leather slings and various thicknesses of ropes.
“Are you going to torture me?” It’s a stupid question to ask a male who seems to be ready to exact violence and pain on any soul stepping into his path, but I need to know. I need to know if I have to brace myself for more pain or if I can take a breath.
“What makes you think I’d revert to such primal methods when I have the perfect ability to lead a conversation that’s not dictated by pliers to pull your teeth and hammers to shatter your bones?” His stark, gray gaze slides to my stiff wrist as if he knows exactly where I’m most vulnerable.
He’s wrong, though. The most vulnerable part of me is the splintered lump I used to call my heart. And that can be hurt most with words. So, I brace myself for a storm rather than the stabbing pain of a blade and study his scar-flecked face, his sharp, stubbled jaw. He seems older than most fairies I’ve seen, who are all timelessly beautiful, frozen in the prime of their years. But this male looks more like he’s in his late thirties. Handsome still, the pointed ears slightly out of place.
“Since you already seem to know who I am, how about you tell me who you are?” I pray to the Guardians that he will opt for words rather than the instruments of torture he’s turning toward again and fold my hands in my lap in aspiration of indifferent calm.
The male barks a laugh, his leather armor creaking as he lifts his arms over his head to reach for an item high up on the shelf. “Herinor.”
I wait for more as he rummages above my line of sight for something, I’m not sure I even want to know what, but he leaves it at that one name.
“Herinor,” I repeat.
He hums his confirmation.
“Are you a Flame?” I know better than to call him a Fire Fairy. While Kaira’s anger seemed manageable, I don’t want to be on the receiving end of this male’s fury.
“Do I look like a Flame?” He glances at me over his shoulder, brushing back his hair with his free hand while he tucks a small, longish item into the side of his belt. I’m too busy squirming under his brutal stare to notice what exactly it is.
“Is there a right answer to this question? Because I have only seen so many Flames from up close, and I have no idea what other fairies live in this estate.” It’s not exactly the smartest response, but it’s one that leaves room for him to pick up the conversation if that’s what he’s set on doing.
He measures me with a sharp look before cutting his gaze back to the shelf and arranging a few tools.
“I’m almost disappointed you don’t remember me, Wolayna. It’s been less than a week since I last saw you, and you have already forgotten.”
I rack my brain for a memory of this male, of his tall and broad frame, his scarred face and unique eyes, but come up blank.