Page 48 of Ember and Eclipse
Rel expected dread to surface, but all she felt was that terrifyingly cool numbness. And instead of fighting against that feeling, she sank into it. It welcomed her. She knew it well and had only recently shed it, just to put it back on like forgotten armor.
The scarred Lunae grabbed her arm and roughly shoved her forward. “Walk or we’ll drag you in ourselves.”
Tilting her chin up and straightening her back the best she could in her current state, she stepped forward.
Each step she took was a thread the Weaver was untangling and unraveling. Before long, it would be nothing but a single string representing everything she had lost.
The thick columns seemed larger, the structure more expansive. And yet, she understood why that was. When she had been trapped inside as a prisoner, it didn’t matter how spacious the place was—it was still a suffocating prison. Now that she had experienced freedom, she saw things as they were. But that would all change once she was locked within its walls again.
She expected to be led to wherever Imperator Asear was or be tossed in a cell to wait, but instead, she was led up the stairs and down one of the long hallways. They stopped in front of a nondescript door in an apartment area that was lacking even in guards and maids. Shoving her inside, they locked the door behind her again.
The chamber was eerily empty besides a bed and an adjoining bathing suite. Why had they put her here?
She scoured the room, looking for anything that she could use to undo the witchsilver around her wrists, but there was nothing. Eventually, she sat on the floor, resigned.
She fell in and out of fitful sleep until the door was slammed open to allow two masked men to enter. Rel sprang to her feet as quickly as she could with her hands tied behind her back and in her weakened state, but behind the two masked brutes were three serving girls, one of whom she recognized. They carried towels and oils, and one held something wrapped in plain paper, large and light.
“You can make this simple by letting them undress and bathe you without a fight. Or”—the guard cracked his knuckles and took a menacing step toward her—“we will aid in undressing you.”
The maids all looked down except Calliope, who stared at her, a warning in her eyes. Rel nodded at the maids, and Calliope put herself between her and the guards. The men followed close behind, though. She supposed that even if they didn’t rip her clothes off, they’d be there to ensure she didn’t do anything to the maids or talk them into letting her go.
The women worked to get her tunic off, which they cut away from her eventually because the men refused to undo her binds.
“You’ll have to undo them to get the dress on her,” Calliope grumbled, but they didn’t move.
Now naked, the maids attempted to make a barrier between her and their guards, but it didn’t matter. Rel was too numb, too compliant. They could have ripped her to shreds, and she would have let them. That was the downside of being numb—nothing felt real, nothingmattered.
They scrubbed her, the frothy and bubbled water turning dingy with filth. They shampooed her hair, their fingers rubbing against her scalp in a manner that set her teeth on edge. But it was the cleanest she had been since leaving her home.
Home.The word conjured a heartache she couldn’t even begin to bear, so she placed it beneath the ocean of apathy.
They scrubbed every inch of her, mumbling apologies as they did, while trying to let her keep as much dignity as possible. She thanked them as they pulled her to her feet and dried her off—soft words for soft women who were probably traumatized that they had to play a part in this at all. When they wrapped her in a puffy towel with another drying her hair, Calliope told the guards to undo the binding around her wrists so they could dress her.
They bound witchsilver to her ankle first. Being harsher than necessary, they pulled the wire-like cuffs deep into her wrists before they cut them. Calliope made quick work of helping her get her undergarments on and the slip of the dress. She hurriedly placed the emerald necklace into the collar of Rel’s top with only an arched brow as a reaction. Sitting her down on a hard wooden chair, they began combing out her hair. They, thankfully, left her locs in place but pulled the vines from them.
The last remnants of her home. She took them out of the girl’s fingers, balling them up in her fist. It was silly to hold onto it, but she didn’t care. If she couldn’t be buried in the swamp, she could at least die with a piece of it on her. Stuffing the vines into her top, they sat between her breasts, a reminder of what she’d lost.
She let them do whatever to her, dabbing perfumed oil behind her ears, placing bangles of gold on her arms, sweeping her hair up in a bun. And then they pulled her up and dressed her. Though there was no mirror, she knew the dress was tight, accentuating her figure. It was a deep red, like the color of blood.
Shehatedit.
After several minutes of fussing, in which Rel was certain they were done, but Calliope was trying to give her as much time as possible, one of the guards said, “Enough, time to go. The Imperator awaits.”
The prince turned leader of the most powerful nation in this realm, the one she thought she had killed. The man she burned and who had sent the only hunter who could find her hundreds of miles to get her and bring her back.
The guards grabbed her, each holding an arm.
Chapter XXVIII
Thistime,theyledher down a side entrance to the first floor. Whatever game Asear was playing, she wanted no part of it. But she didn’t have a choice.
They hauled her down the stairs and avoided the central parts of the palace. Rel became lost, not quite sure where they were. Eventually, they passed through an arched doorway leading into a small courtyard, the stone worn and cracked, the plants dead or dying, and back through another archway. She had never been here before, not that she could recall. Unlike the courtyard, the hall showed signs of life and luxury, lanterns flickering to illuminate a clean and fragrant corridor. The scarlet carpet was pristine.
They turned suddenly, leading her into an already opened doorway. She got a quick view of a short table, perhaps able to seat eight people, with a large candelabra in the center and an arrangement of flowers—their petals too red. It looked like they had been dipped in blood, too.
She hated that the color was everywhere.
The guards pushed her into a seat and then stepped away. The minutes trickled by. She heard his footsteps and then smelled him before he rounded the corner and swept into the room. He had a scent of his own, some expensive oil he’d worn since boyhood. It was a thick smell that always lingered in her nose long after. The two guards shadowing him blocked him from her view as he took his seat at the other end of the table.
