Page 41 of The Bound Mage
“It’s not.” Thorne laughed, taking the bucket from her and walking off toward the cistern as she gaped after him.
By the end of the week he’d had her drag all the old tapestries outside and beat years of dust from them until her throat burned, sweeping out hearths that hadn’t seen a flame in years until her entire body was blackened and exhausted—he’d even tasked her with cleaning out some of the unused rooms, like someone might come back and need them.
There was no rhyme or reason to it that she could see. But every night, Araya collapsed into bed aching and exhausted, falling quickly into a dreamless sleep free of nightmares and shadows and lost fae princes.
“I think it makes the most sense to start by clearing out the deadfall,” Thorne said the next day, frowning at the ruined garden. “After that I imagine we’ll have to clear out all the moss and mushrooms—we’ll have to see.”
“Is this another one of your pointless tasks?” Araya demanded. “This garden is dead—nothing is ever going to grow here again. There’s no light.”
“Maybe not.” Thorne shrugged, crouching to pry a root loose from between the paving stones. “But I thought it might make Loren happy to see it cleaned up. Did you know this was his mother’s garden? She loved it here.”
The comment lodged like a thorn in her chest, that ache she’d managed to bury under sore muscles and exhaustion springing to life like a flame from the ashes.
He claimed you against your will, she reminded herself. Drugged you and stole you across the Shadowed Sea. Then he made you hold a knife to your throat and abandoned you here. Alone.
“Is that who you’ve been writing to?” she asked. “Loren?”
“No—” for the first time, Thorne hesitated. “Those letters are from Finn, back in the New Dominion.”
“You getmailfrom the New Dominion?” Araya straightened, the armful of branches she’d just gathered crashing to the ground. “What’s happening there?”
“Nothing good.” Thorne turned away to dump his own load of debris on the growing pile, but not quite fast enough to hide his fading smile. “I’m sure you can imagine how they reacted to losing their prize prisoner.”
She could. All too well.
“What about Serafina?” Araya pressed. “Have they heard from her? Is she safe?”
“Our internal assets aren’t supposed to contact us directly.” Thorne still didn’t look at her. “I’m sure?—”
“You’re lying,” Araya stared at him. “I saw Serafina with Finn at the Crust & Kettle. They looked very cozy.”
“Araya—”
“Is she dead?” Araya demanded. If Jaxon even thought she was involved?—
“She’s missing.” Thorne watched her carefully, his expression pinched. “Eloria has her spymaster looking into it—Loren insisted.”
“The male he almost killed?” A hysterical laugh bubbled up in her throat. “Somehow I doubt he’s making it a priority. If she’s missing she’s dead, Thorne. Or worse.”
Thorne closed his mouth, his lips firming into a thin line. “I won’t insult you by saying that’s not probably the case,” he said quietly. “But I truly hope it’s not. She’s saved a lot of people. We all like her, and Finn…” he shook his head. “If she can be found, he’ll find her, Araya.”
Araya jerked her chin in a stiff nod, her eyes stinging. “I think I’m done for today,” she said, her voice thick.
“Araya—” Thorne took a step forward, reaching for her.
But she spun away before he could touch her, branches snapping beneath her boots as she fled.
Araya stormed blindlythrough the castle, taking turns at random down halls she barely recognized. She didn’t care where she was going, only that it was away—away from the courtyard and Thorne and his letters and his kind lies. But she couldn’t outrun the pounding certainty that it was all her fault. Whatever was happening to Serafina right now—it was because of her.
She skidded to a stop, sucking in fast, shallow breaths. The narrow halls that surrounded her were unfamiliar, no doubtmeant to allow servants to move quickly throughout the castle without being seen. Thorne must have skipped them in his tour, assuming she’d have no reason to venture into them—with any luck, that meant he wouldn’t come looking for her here, either.
She followed them down, letting her hand trail along the cool stone wall as the silence pressed in. The air shifted, turning warmer and and filling her nose with the rich, yeasty smell of the dense brown bread that appeared with every meal here. Her stomach twisted in response, reminding her that lunch had been hours ago, before she’d spent the afternoon doing manual labor.
The scent led her around another bend, where a wide wooden door stood propped open to let the heat of the kitchen spill into the corridor like a beckoning hand. Inside, the older fae female from that disastrous dinner stood with her back half-turned, humming as she draped a fresh cloth over the steaming loaves of bread.
Araya froze on the threshold, the warmth brushing against her skin like an invitation she didn’t trust. This was the same female she’d spent the past week refusing to help—the one who had embraced Loren like a son. What would she think of her prince’s disappointing mate?
“Goodness.” Veria turned before Araya could make her retreat, startling. “Do you need something?”
