“I’ve never succeeded at anything,” I murmur bitterly. “Don’t know why I thought I could change that. Can’t walk in a straight line. Can’t throw or catch. Can barely write by hand. Why did I ever have the audacity to think I could make this situation any better?”
My chain is pulling on the back wall, I can’t get any closer to the door. I shuffle backwards and turn around, laying down and wrapping my arms around myself. I keep my back to Murrey, Alona and the door and I try to forget all of it. Portia’s war, her growing council, the city of obedient humans outside of this underground fortress.
My family. Whom I may never see again.
My friend who is dying, my friend who betrayed me.
I shiver and shake until sleep claims me.
Chapter Twenty-ONE
Valour
I’m woken by the sound and feel of my chain being unlocked. I’m elated at first, wondering if we’re being broken out, but it’s one of the Fae. Oddly, they do not look as gleeful as I expect them to. They merely unchain me, stand me up and start walking me out of the cell.
“Where are you taking her?” groans Murrey, trying to rise.
The Faerie uses his boot to force the Vampire back into a sitting position. “None of your business. Dryad, you come, too.”
Alona follows us dutifully and I scowl at her for doing so. I try to pull against the Faerie’s grip, but they give me a shake, silently advising me against it. They lead us up a narrow staircase and their speed is not what I would choose for myself. I trip and stumble and curse them under my breath.
“I’m not good with stairs,” I finally snipe. “Take
it easy.”
When we reach the top, we are led into a large underground court. A great hall with an endlessly high ceiling and an expansive floor.
All of this, buried beneath Arthur’s Seat. I wonder what Mr Ishmael would make of it all. Not that I will ever see him again. I also wonder how Portia’s spell has affected him.
Portia is sitting in a large chair on some sort of dais in the northern part of the hall. She has the Druid, another grey-looking man, and some Fae around her. They are discussing something. The Druid looks as though he wishes to speak but every time he opens his mouth to do so, someone else cuts across him.
Then I spot Freddy, sitting with his head on his knees on the edge of the little platform. I resist the urge to shout his name.
“Ah, you’re up and about,” Portia says, looking at me over the files she is reading. “Feeling peaky?”
“Feel like smashing your head in, actually,” I say conversationally. “Thanks.”
The Faerie shoves me, but Portia holds up a delicate hand. “That won’t be necessary. She likes to show off how spirited she can be. It’s one of her charming little toxic traits.”
“I’m not joining your council,” I say loudly. “So, like I said. You might as well kill me.”
“Ramya!” Freddy interjects, panic emanating
from him.
“It’s all right, darling,” Portia tells him. “I’m not giving her what she wants just yet. She’s not fulfilled her use to me.”
I frown. “I said, I’m not joining—”
“Why,” Portia says slowly, rising to her feet, “would I want an impulsive, green, untrained little witch on my council? What use could your bad temper and shaky hands offer me? Is that why you think I wanted to lure you here?”
I feel very small all of a sudden. “Then why?”
“You’re just the little worm on the hook, sweetheart. I’m trying to catch a much bigger fish. You’re not even a shadow of the witch I really want.”
I realise who she means and my eyes flash to the Druid. He looks confused, like I was, but I can spot the exact moment when understanding hits him. He goes pale and his eyes begin to dart around the vast space, as if looking for a way out.
And I start laughing. Then the laughter becomes a guffaw. I can feel their bewilderment, but the screeching sound I am making doesn’t stop.
“Madam,” the grey-looking man next to Portia looks from me to the high ceiling. “It is… raining. Inside.”
Little droplets of water start to fall and swirl around the room, creating an elusive indoor cyclone. I can’t stop. The water twitches and turns each time I take a breath between laughter.
“All right, I can take a joke,” Portia shouts. “What’s so funny?”
Freddy is suddenly at my side, holding my elbow. “You okay?”
“I’m fine,” I snort, still hysterical. “It’s just… no, I can’t.”
“Careful,” Freddy whispers to me. “That guy next to Mum? His name’s Malachi. He’s a warlock, and completely brutal.”
“Oh, Freddy,” I gasp, between laughs. “I don’t care anymore. They can do what they like.” I address the Druid, still snorting through my nose. “Do you want to tell them or should I?”
I have to admit that I enjoy the little dollop of power I get back upon seeing his frantic worry about this new information. He clearly was not in Portia’s inner circle, and wasn’t aware of Opal or her reputation when he…
Remembering what he did sobers me, and my laughter dies out.
“You’re hoping I’ll be bait to draw in my Aunt Opal,” I say to Portia.
