Page 107 of Song of the Heart Scale
I surged again, but this time, I was dragged down hard with a knee in my back, hands wrenching my arms behind me.
We were caught.
The riot roared on around us, but for me, the world narrowed to the sight of blood on the cobblestones, the copper taste in my mouth, and Maeve’s tear-streaked face as she looked to me for hope.
I had none to give. Not yet.
But I would. One way or another, I would make Thorne pay for every bruise, every death, and every empty stomach.
Even if I had to tear his empire down with my bare hands.
The cold stonefloor of the dungeon pressed against my cheek, unforgiving and damp. The stench of mildew, rot, and blood lingered like a second skin, thick in my nose, clawing at my throat. Somewhere down the corridor, a scream rose high and sharp before suddenly cutting off.
Maeve trembled beside me with her knees pulled tightly to her chest. Her face was pale and blotchy, stained with tear tracks and fear. I shifted closer and wrapped an arm around her shoulders.
“They're not going to touch you,” I whispered. “You hear me? I won’t let that happen.”
She sniffled and nodded, though her body betrayed her agreement. She was shaking so hard her teeth chattered.
Another scream. This one hoarser. Wet.
I clenched my jaw and forced myself to breathe through my nose. The walls were thick, but sound carried. Iron shackles clinked in the next cell over. Someone moaned. It was hard to tell if they were alive or dying.
“How long do you think it’ll be until they come for us?” Maeve's voice was so small I barely heard it.
I didn’t answer.
Instead, I shifted to sit between her and the cell door, shielding her with my body to offer the only protection I could. My hands were still bound, my wrists rubbed raw by the manacles, but I wouldn’t let them take her. Not Maeve. Not the one person in this strange world who had been my ride-or-die since day one.
The metallic creak of a heavy door opening down the hall made Maeve flinch. Footsteps echoed—two sets. Then a third. They dragged something behind them.
A limp body.
I squinted in the torchlight. The guards' boots clanked louder with each step. Then I saw him.
The man from the riot. The one who shouted about the Immortals, about Thorne being cursed. His eyes stared blankly upward, his mouth open in a frozen scream. Blood soaked his tunic and streaked the stones as they dragged him past.
Maeve buried her face in my shoulder.
The guards said nothing. Just hauled the body like a sack of spoiled grain.
“It will beyounext,” one of them muttered as they passed our cell.
I tightened my jaw.
Moments later, they returned—this time stopping directly in front of our cell.
“Alright. Who's next?”
Maeve whimpered.
The guard’s cruel eyes scanned us, landing on her. He pointed. “The small one. Bring her.”
Maeve froze.
“No,” I said flatly, standing and stepping in front of her.
The guard chuckled. “You volunteering to scream first, girl?”
