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Persis’s voice was small when he spoke again. “I heard her screaming.”

Lunaya closed her eyes. She pictured the dark-haired girl she’d once shared a class with—Florence Shen. She’d worn glasses. She’d been clever and kind. She was clever and kind. But now there was a leash around her soul. Lunaya knew bonds of pain. What she shared with Marcus and Catherine was cruel. They’d hurt her body. The dragon’s, too. Molindra had been whipped, tortured. And Lunaya … well, she didn’t like to think about what had happened to her. At least her mind was a place she could still lock. Florence Shen didn’t have that. Not anymore. She’d been soul-bound to Viktor Drakharrow. His hand was wrapped around her throat now from the inside.

Lunaya had tried to imagine it. Her memories and mind pried open. Her will gone. Her body no longer something she could direct. Her mouth speaking words that might not be her own. A living puppet. Persis studied her face, his own childlike one troubled.

“You need to be more careful,” Lunaya forced herself to say. “You shouldn’t sneak down to the dungeons anymore.”

Persis’s cheeks flushed. “I’ve been bringing them food. They’re hungry. They cry all the time.” He looked at her beseechingly. “Some of them are so little.”

The words hit her like a slap. “You’re kind,” she said, her throat aching. “And very brave. But listen to me. If you draw attention to yourself now, you won’t be able to help me, to help anyone.”

Persis glanced at the fluffin in the cage. “Who are we helping? Will we help Nell?”

Lunaya turned her head to the door, listening. She’d thought she’d heard footsteps. But no sound came. She breathed out. “We’re going to try.” She met the boy’s eyes and, this time, let him see a little of the hope that hid behind hers.

Chapter 54

MEDRA

I turned over, pressing my face against Blake’s shoulder. He was already asleep. Our tent smelled of smoke and damp wool. Even without day and night or any seasons, a chill seeped through the cracks in the rock, and sometimes when I lay awake at what was technically night, I could hear the wind whistle through them.

I studied the man laying beside me. He rested on his back, one arm tucked behind his head. His breathing was even, slow and sure. He’d put us both through quite a workout, so it was little wonder. I blushed, thinking of the sounds we’d made and how they must have carried. Blake had reminded me that if we’d had to listen to Rodriguez getting railed, then we could do our part. On a journey of life and death, shame had fallen away a little. There was no privacy down here beneath the stones.

I stared up at the shadowy roof of our tent, my body nestled against Blake. I wanted to sleep, but it wasn’t coming for me. That happened sometimes, especially when you needed sleep the most. I closed my eyes, trying again. Holding on to one thought above all others, like a dragon flying over dark waters. Orcades.

I breathed in and out. Eventually, the world softened and blurred.

I stood on a polished floor of white marble flecked with gold. Above me swept a graceful arched ceiling. Narrow white columns rose around me, their sides fluted, their surfaces etched in patterns of gold and silver. Along the walls, frescos of stylized blossoms and sunbursts repeated in a motif. I could hear music trickling in softly from a nearby room.

I walked ahead and pushed open a pair of golden doors, stepping into a ballroom. Gold candelabras hung above my head. Mirrors framed in gold lined the walls in between tall windows. Outside I caught a glimpse of an ivory city. On one side of the room, a woman in a white gown sat playing a harp of polished golden wood. She faced away from me, and long amethyst hair streamed down her back in a radiant cascade. I stepped forward, my bare feet quiet on the marble. As I drew closer, I saw the tips of her ears were high and sharply pointed. I came nearer until I could see the curve of her cheek. Her fingers moved over the harp strings with the skill of ages. Finally, she stopped playing. She turned and looked up at me.

My breath hitched. She was the loveliest woman I had ever seen in my life. Her eyes were large, wide, and a magnificent shade of violet. Her lips were a delicate pink and full and puckered like a rose. She glowed with charm and magic like a fire glowed with heat.

Orcades smiled. “Hello, my darling.”

“How are you doing this?” I asked stupidly.

I had never seen my mother in the flesh. I knew it was a dream, but it still felt very real. There was a lump in my throat. I’d known she was beautiful. I’d known she was fae. But this … It was one thing to know and another thing to see.

I reached out a hand to touch her hair. It felt soft and silky. She grasped my hand in hers and looked down at it. “Tsk, tsk. You must take better care of your nails, my love.”

I opened and shut my mouth. Then opened it again. “Well, I haven’t had much time lately,” I said finally.

“One must always find time for personal care. Appearances are powerful things,” she said brightly. “They win hearts and minds.”

I sighed. “Yes, Mother.” I narrowed my eyes. “Is that why you called me here? To lecture me on personal appearance?”

Her face softened. “Of course not. And you are a very beautiful girl, my darling. No matter what the state of your nails.”

“Thank you,” I said sourly. Then my face softened, too. “It’s incredible seeing you like this.”

She touched a hand to her hair. “Isn’t it? I’d almost forgotten what it felt like.”

“To have hair?”

“To have a body at all. Well, one without claws and scales.”

“How is Molindra?” I asked guiltily.