I pull feebly on my chain and realise that I’m trapped in some kind of underground cell. “Is this Arthur’s Seat?”
My voice sounds as if I have been drinking seawater.
“Sure is,” Portia says chirpily. “I know a hideout inside an old volcano is a bit passé but I’m a traditionalist. I thought you’d make your own way here when we took your little woodland friend, but ho hum. The Druid dropping you off is fine, too, I guess. Not quite as poetic.”
“Where’s Alona, what have you done with her?”
“I’m here, Ramya,” a tiny quiet voice says, and I see her behind Portia, sitting curled up in another corner of the cell. She is looking at me with fear, as if I’m the deadly Siren.
“You okay?” I wheeze. “We were on our way.”
“I’m fine,” she says, avoiding my eye. “You—you shouldn’t have come.”
“Do you maybe want to tell Ramya why that is?” Portia asks, casting a glance back towards the Dryad.
“Please don’t,” she says softly, and her eyes are hitting every centimetre of our cell, but they never land on me. “Please.”
“See, Ramya,” Portia says genially, “Young Alona hasn’t been entirely truthful with you. She’s not quite the sweet little tree girl you thought she was. She’s been doing me a solid and keeping tabs on you for a while, feeding information back to me here while you were both up north.”
I don’t know how much more I can take. I put a hand to the back of my head, expecting to find a wound. I feel cut into pieces and I don’t think I can hold myself together any longer.
I see Opal’s face in my mind, and I suddenly realise I have two ghosts to contend with now.
“Is that true?” I say with poison, glaring at Alona.
She finally looks at me and she doesn’t need to say anything. I can see the guilt and the shame written across her face, little marks of betrayal. I shake my head and let it drop against the wet stone.
“I lost everything to try and rescue someone who doesn’t deserve it,” I say faintly.
“Shame the Druid couldn’t bring that dragon,” Portia says thoughtfully. “I could always use one of those. No matter.”
“So, now what?” I say. “You kill me?”
“Ramya, we’ve talked about this. Stop being so melodramatic.”
“Apologies,” I snap. “You’ve got me locked up in a dungeon, inside an ancient volcano, so I thought we were going full tilt on the melodrama.”
“She’s good, isn’t she?” Portia says, turning to Alona, who looks more miserable than anyone I have ever seen. “I wish she would relax a little, she’d be much more fun.”
“You’re controlling humans via the radio, aren’t you?” I say. “Telling them to be mistrustful of each other, that kind of stuff?”
“The ‘stuff’ that will ensure a safe future for my son and my kind?” Portia says, all humour and levity gone from her demeanour. “Stability is not something to joke about. I’ll do anything to make sure my son has the future he deserves. And a world that will accommodate it.”
“You don’t care about Freddy,” I counter, my voice flat and emotionless. “Maybe the parts of him you feel are extra pieces of you. But not him. Not really.”
Her eyes darken; I can just make them out in the dim light. “You think because my son’s a little enamoured of you, you know him better than I do?”
“Yes,” I rasp. “I do.”
“I think this is a sore subject for you,” she says, after a small pause. “Where are your family? I’m doing all of this, creating this world, for mine. For my son. Where are yours? Are your parents still too wrapped up in their own lives, in their careers, to notice you’re missing? Is your grandmother as cold as ever?”
I sniff, shutting off my feelings like an old, rusty tap. I won’t let her have my anger. I’ve cast it out at people for so long when I should have been letting it wither and die. It seems sad. I have finally understood the need to control myself, to preserve my peace instead of rising to other people, and the person who impressed the importance of that upon me is not here to see it.
“Where’s your Aunt Opal?”
I force myself to stay unaffected as she asks the question. That pain is private and this Siren cannot make me talk, the way she forces others to.
“Come on, Ramya,” she says, something
unstable entering her voice. “You’re not playing the game properly.”
I meet her gaze. “I don’t want to play with you anymore. Do what you want to do. If people want to let you control them, fine.”
“Ramya,” Alona breathes, sounding fragile and afraid.
“Don’t speak to me,” I reply.
“Oh, girls, don’t fall out,” Portia laughs. “You see, Ramya? Your little friends, that’s what made you feel so superior to everyone. But guess what? Everyone has a price. Hidden Folk, humans, family members. Best friends. Everyone.”
She gets to her feet, slapping her knees in the process. She walks to the back of the cell, where a heavy door is tucked into the corner.
“Well, everyone except this one.”
I frown, looking over at her. Even though I’m exhausted and using what little strength I do have to conceal my feelings, I’m unable to mask my horror. Huddled in the final darkened corner, looking almost dead, is a Vampire. One who is far thinner and paler than normal.
“Murrey?” I whisper.
“He’s been increasingly stubborn,” Portia says plainly. “And I don’t fully know what’s keeping him alive. But here he is. Anyway. There is only one way out of this cell and it’s up the stairs that are in the antechamber, which leads to the throne room. We’re all waiting for you there, when you decide you want to be sensible and make some compromises. I would hurry. He won’t be able to hold his thirst for much longer.”
