Page 3 of The Bound Mage
“How many casualties?” Garrick croaked.
“Twenty-three dead. Fifty-seven wounded—most from the pulse of power when the grove collapsed. You were the only one inside. If you hadn’t managed to crawl to the edge they wouldn’t have been able to pull you out.” Hale paused. “You’re lucky to be alive.”
Garrick wasn’t sure he agreed. He turned his hand, flexing his fingers despite the pain. Deep lines of charred flesh crawled up his forearm, and the skin where the amplifier ring had sat was nothing but a blackened ruin. Treating a wound like this would have been impossible for a human Healer before, but with fae magic at their disposal he might use his hand again.
“The queen?”
Hale didn’t even blink. “Dead.”
Dead. Garrick closed his eyes. He should have been relieved. Or angry. But he just felt…empty.
“Did they retrieve her remains?” He’d craft his next amplifier fromherbones.
“No.” Hale sighed, closing his folio with a snap. “You lost the Eldergreen, Garrick. Our forces were driven from the palace–from the forest entirely. Anyone who tries to enter now…” He shrugged. “It will have to be retaken in pieces, at great cost.”
Garrick stared at the ceiling. “I failed.”
“Yes,” Hale said pleasantly. “And they voted you High Magister anyway.”
Garrick’s head turned sharply. “What?”
“The Arcanum convened while you were unconscious. Unanimous decision.” Hale shrugged. “You’re a hero now. The man who walked into the Eldergreen and lived. They’re saying the grove spat you back out because it feared you.”
Garrick’s throat worked, but his tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth. How would they have voted if they’d known the truth?
“Oh, and I’ve been appointed High Inquisitor.” Hale rose, smoothing his coat. “Which means I’ll be the one cleaning up your mess. Try to pull your weight, Garrick.” He paused, his shadow falling across the bed. “After all, you didn’t crawl out of that grove just to quit now, did you?”
Chapter
One
Araya screamed into the gag,her desperate cries for mercy garbled by the filthy wad of fabric. Rough hands shoved her down. Someone else forced her sleeve up, exposing her forearm. Araya thrashed, kicking wildly until a knee slammed into her ribs, driving the breath from her lungs.
“I heard she had everything.” The thickset runesmith loomed over her, his ink and blood-stained fingers pawing at thely’ithrarune inked at the base of her thumb. “Bonded to Jaxon Shaw—she even worked with him, didn’t she?”
“And she still ran.” The woman holding her down scoffed, digging her knee into Araya’s ribs until black spots danced across her vision. “Ungrateful little halfblood.”
Araya cried out against the gag, desperate to make them understand. She hadn’t run—she’d beentaken.
“It’s in their nature,” the other woman sneered. “I just can’t believe he wants her back?—”
Araya bucked, frantic, but they crushed her into the table. The gag choked her, thick with the stale taste of sweat and dirt. Her magic flared, desperately trying to protect her—but her power was nothing more than a flicker under her skin. She had nothing left.
Jaxon—he would fix this. He always did. If she could just get to him—if she could just explain…he would believe her. He had to. He knew she couldn’t lie.
“Bloody hells,” the runesmith snarled. He caught her wrist, twisting viciously. “Strap her down properly before she knocks over my tray. Get her legs, too. Don’t need her kicking me in the gods damned teeth.”
Leather bit into her skin as they bound her to the table, pinning her arms and legs. Araya sobbed into her gag, tears cutting through the dirt and sweat crusted to her skin.
“That’s better,” the runesmith said. He rolled his shoulders, his sour breath licking over her skin as he leaned forward. “Now, be a good girl and hold still. We wouldn’t want to slip, would we?”
The first needle plunged into her arm.
Fire. Pure, blinding agony. It seared through her veins, scorching muscle, bone, and marrow. Her back arched, the rough leather biting deep into her skin. But there was no escape.
“Pathetic, Starling.” Jaxon’s voice coiled in her ear, slithering into her mind the same way it had when he whispered those soft promises—all those lies. Before he reminded her that she was nothing but a possession—histo use as he saw fit.
“I warned you,” he whispered. “Your place is on the floor at my feet.”
