Page 110 of The Bound Mage
“Yes, Miss,” Belanis whispered. “You need to get up now. Master Shaw wants you washed and dressed.”
“Which one?” Araya laughed at her own joke, groaning as fresh pain speared through her ribs.
Belanis didn’t laugh. She glanced down the hall instead, her face pinched and wary. “You don’t want to keep him waiting.”
It wasn’t easy. Belanis had to help her stand, then support her as they walked. Tears poured down Araya’s face, every step accompanied by fresh pain. But she kept walking, letting herself be led one slow, dragging step at a time down a narrow hallway lined on both sides with empty cells. Up a staircase and througha door, emerging into a hall that would have been at home in any fine residence.
Araya stared, taking in the fine tapestries and the vase of flowers on the small, carved table. The air smelled of wood polish and perfume, without a hint of the stale air of her dungeon cell. It was all sonormal. But here she was, bruised and broken, covered in blood and vomit?—
“Miss, please,” Belanis hissed, and Araya realized she was laughing again, tears still streaming down her cheeks.
“I just didn’t realize Garrick had a dungeon under her house,” she said, shaking her head at the absurdity of it. “Does he keep a lot of personal prisoners?”
“I can’t say, Miss,” Belanis said stiffly.
Of course she couldn’t. Araya bit back her hysterical laughter, picking up her pace as the other female dragged her through the deserted halls. Who knew what the Shaws would do to her if they thought she’d told their prisoner anything of use?
They passed no one, finally entering what could have passed for a sparsely furnished guest room—but Araya caught the shimmer of runes etched into the doorframe. More marked the trim around the windows, subtle enough that the casual observer would pass right over them.
“I’m sorry.” Belanis didn’t linger in the main room, guiding Araya into the bathing chamber and gently lowering her onto a small stool. “Master Shaw didn’t order a Healer. This will probably hurt.”
Araya gasped, biting back a scream as the other female reached for the ties at the back of her tunic. She had to peel the fabric from Araya’s skin in places, the cloth stiff with dirt and blood. Every bit of flesh she bared revealed new bruises—her ribs a gruesome tapestry of black and blue and her shoulder grotesquely swollen. The ghost of Caylin’s handprint stood outin ugly purple relief on her upper arm—five deep bruises marking where her fingers had dug into Araya’s bicep.
She was sobbing again by the time Belanis finished. The other female turned away, her face pale as she bent over the tub, giving both of them a moment. Water poured from the tap, heated by stolen magic. The steady rush drowned out Araya’s quiet sobs, filling the air with steam and fogging the mirror until the reflection of that battered, broken female vanished.
Araya let Belanis help her into the tub, holding as still as she could. The other female scrubbed at her skin with a harsh yellow soap, carefully working around the manacles and collar so she didn’t burn herself on the iron. Unlike Loren’s manacles, these were lined with something soft, preventing the metal from blistering her skin.
That made sense. Jaxon wouldn’t want her marked—not permanently. He’d never been a fan of imperfections. Especially not when it came to her.
“Do you think he’d kill me if I scarred?” she asked.
“Not if it’s somewhere hidden,” Belanis said, wringing out the cloth into the dirty water before pulling the plug.
Neither one of them spoke again as the tub filled with fresh water. Belanis washed her a second time, tipping her head back and massaging a softer, sweeter soap into her hair. The cloying scent of vanilla filled the room, strangling Araya’s senses until all she could smell washim.
Araya closed her eyes, forcing herself to keep breathing deeply as Belanis dragged a comb through her hair, tugging at the snarls and tangles. It was only soap. She couldn’t lose herself to panic—not now, when her very survival would depend on how well she kept her wits about her.
She took the towel Belanis offered without a word, doing her best to pat herself dry. The other female helped her into a plain nightgown, the fabric soft against her scraped skin. Itfit perfectly, hanging loose over her ribs and shoulder, as if someone had thought about her injuries when they chose it for her.
Araya shivered, suddenly feeling far more exposed than she had in the bath.
“They’ll be in soon,” Belanis said, depositing her on the bed. She gathered Araya’s filthy clothes into a basket, avoiding her eyes. “Just do what they want. It will hurt less if you do.”
She hurried out before Araya could respond, the door closing behind her with a soft click. Araya stared after her, watching numbly as magic flared across the seam of the door, sealing her in.
They didn’t makeher wait long.
The sun had barely shifted across the wall before a key scraped in the lock, magic flaring. Belanis entered first, darting across the room and setting the silver tea service she carried down on the small table. Araya leaned back against the headboard, cradling her injured arm in her lap. She didn’t move as Garrick walked into the room, Jaxon on his heels. She wouldn’t give them the satisfaction of reacting.
“Thank you, Belanis,” Garrick said smoothly. “You may go. We’ll call if we need anything.”
The fae female fled in a swirl of dark skirts, leaving her alone with the monsters. Araya didn’t blame her, though. She’d have run too, if she could have.
“Well,” Jaxon said brightly, “you look much better now, don’t you?”
His fingers dug into her chin, lifting her face and turning it from side to side. He stared into her eyes, frowning when he didn’t see whatever it was he was searching for.
“You’ve gotten some of your color back, at least,” he said finally, releasing her. “How are your ribs?”
