What Lurks Between the Fates (Of Flesh & Bone, #3)(38)

“Shhh, my star. Keep quiet,” Caldris said, his grip tightening on my forearm.

His fingers pressed into my skin, a warning in the touch as well as his words. I was in no place to interfere, and his meaning was clear.

I bit my tongue, clamping my teeth down on the fleshiest part and turning my head to bury my face against my mate’s chest. The sword cut through the air, a distinct whistle as Mab’s guard struck.

I stood by and did nothing, made no move to save the male. I hadn’t owed him anything, aside from basic decency. Those who lingered within the throne room didn’t seem bothered in the slightest, going about their business as if death were irrelevant to them.

All it took for evil to flourish was for the good to do nothing.

Mab hadn’t even done the job herself, instead ordering her man to handle her dirty work for her. The callousness of it all made me want to weep. I determined then and there that no matter what came of me, I would always kill my enemies myself.

I would not put the stain of that soul, of that death, onto another person. I would give them the dignity of being worthy of my time, more than a muttered command or the wave of a hand. There was honor in that, something the Queen of Air and Darkness seemed to have none of.

Mab’s guards moved, grabbing the body and dragging it from the throne room. The name of the place she’d sent the male echoed in my head, the word a mantra that seared itself upon my soul.

I’d heard of it in a story a long time ago, the whisper of a prison designed to contain even the strongest of criminals.

Tartarus.

The Prison of the Gods.

There was no telling how many of the Gods had been locked in there, trapped in a magical place that no one seemed to know how to access. As a girl, I’d wondered who ruled the prison, who knew where the entrance was and who sentenced creatures to an eternity of suffering within its confines.

It seemed Mab at least knew where, and she knew how to send someone into it.

But what was locked within it that she wanted to remove?

“Get out,” she muttered, her anger at being denied making her quiet voice echo through the silence of the room. “I said get out!” she yelled when nobody moved.

Caldris took me toward the doors, following the rush of people trying to escape the Queen’s wrath before she could single them out as the target for her anger.

“Not you, Little Mouse,” Mab said, the words crawling upon my skin. “You and I are going to play a little game.” She flicked her hand, and Caldris stepped away from me. His movement was sluggish, as if he fought her for every step as he moved toward the dais and the chair that waited at the edge.

The legs of another chair screeched against the stone as Malachi dragged it over the floor, depositing it directly in front of Mab before he turned for me and held out a hand, as if he were a gentleman wanting to push in my chair for an evening meal.

Shit.





12


Estrella


Caldris sat in the chair at the edge of Mab’s empty throne room, his posture tense as he watched Malachi guide me to the seat that waited in front of Mab. I held my head high as I approached it, longing for the moment when the shackles would be removed for whatever Mab’s purpose was.

I would be useless if my magic was crippled, impossible to perform tests on to determine what I might be. My wrists ached with the constant abuse of the iron upon my skin, feeling as if they would wear down to the bone soon enough.

“Have a seat, Little Mouse,” Mab said, waving a hand to the chair in front of her.

I stepped around the edge, lowering myself into the seat slowly. The arms were made from thick wood, the scratch marks of previous victims clawed into the surface a clue for what was coming. I paused, hovering just above the seat as I cast a glance toward her. I didn’t want to think about what she might do to elicit such a response from me, but I swallowed and sat fully in the chair.

Caldris fidgeted in his seat, putting pressure on his feet as if he was about to stand. He grunted, his nails digging into the arms of his chair as he sat back. Mab’s pointed stare, which was fixed on him, melted into a sinister smile.

Malachi stepped up beside me, a metal key grasped between his thumb and forefinger. He lifted one of my arms to the arm of the chair, unlocking it and opening the shackle until it dropped free. He shoved it onto the fabric of my dress so that it rested in my lap. The sight of my mangled flesh beneath it forced me to turn my head away. The blackened, burned skin looked like something from my worst nightmares.

As if I’d been engulfed in flames, my skin bubbled with blisters and wept blood. I stretched it, wincing at the pain the movement brought to my injured flesh. He reached beneath the arm of the chair, grasping two ends of a shackle I hadn’t seen and pinning my hand to it. The iron sealed around my wrist once more, binding me to the chair as the too-familiar burn returned.

I looked from him to Mab, confusion overwhelming me as I tried to process what was happening. How was I to do any sort of magic with iron upon me?

“What are you doing?” I asked, elbowing Malachi as he stepped around me and reached for my other arm.

He pinned me down, releasing the shackle and using both of his hands to pin me still as Mab stood from her throne. She approached slowly, clasping the iron shackle from beneath the arm in her hands that were covered by black silk gloves. She lifted the two halves, wrapping them around my wrist and securing them together until I was pinned to the seat completely.