Beauty

Chapter Eight

The light streaming in from the high window brought Bron out of her sleep. She sat straight up on the hard cot and tried to remember her dreams.

She could only remember one, but it had been a little wild. Shim and Lachlan. They had names after years and years of dreams. Odd. She’d never heard the name Shim before, and she wouldn’t have picked Lachlan. She’d always liked Padric and James.

She stretched and saw a wooden tray. A guard must have brought it in this morning while she slept. A wooden mug of water and a dry crust of bread. Her last meal.

She shuffled over and sipped the water, her throat a parched mess. She couldn’t even look at the bread, her stomach churning at the thought. She put down the mug. Even the water tasted bad here.

She shook her head, trying to gather her thoughts. What was happening to her? Her mind flew back to so many years before. She’d been just a child, listening in on her parents talking. Her father had worried that Bron was touched in the head. Her mother tried to say that imaginary friends were normal for a six-year-old. Her mother had touched her father’s face and asked him to spend more time with Bron and Cian. She vaguely remembered her father saying something about them not needing his steadying hand the way Beck did. Then her father had been gone and her mother wept.

Bron had stopped talking about her Dark Ones that day. Even at six she’d known something was wrong, despite what her mother had said. Six-year-olds might have imaginary friends, but the Dark Ones didn’t seem imaginary.

And now Bron was twenty-seven.

She could still feel Shim’s hold on his cock. He’d gripped it with the confidence of long use. She could practically see him winking at her flirtatiously.

We’re coming, Bron.

That voice in her head was accompanied by the candle at her bedside flaring to life. But she’d blown it out.

Mad. It was the only explanation.

She forced herself to take another drink and then tried the bread. If she had any chance at running, she would need some strength. After taking another small sip and chewing through some of the bread, she turned to the window.

She could hear activity and stood on her small cot, straining to see out the window above her. Grasping the bars that covered the window, she went up on her tiptoes and could barely see the courtyard outside. Guards worked, hauling logs into the clearing. They were directed by the sheriff to place them in a circle surrounding a giant pole.

The maypole. Bastards. Yesterday it had been decorated with colorful ribbons, the center of the children’s joy. Today it would be the center of the bonfire that would take her life. They would lash her to the pole, and the executioner would tie her down and they would set her on fire.

She stared out, recognizing a few of the guards. They had laughed and danced with her at the festivals and now they would be the ones who lit her body on fire, the final payment for defying the pretender.

There was the sound of footsteps coming down the hall. Loud and lumbering. Not Niall. Bron slipped back down to the bed. She’d been so afraid the night before, for Ove, for herself. Now there was a horrible nothingness as the window in the door opened, and the mayor’s puffy face showed through the opening.

“Traitor bitch.”

Yes, she would likely hear a whole lot of that. “Tell me something I don’t know.”

His face twisted, contorting into a mask of fury. “I’ll tell you something you don’t know. I’ve placed wards around the village. No magic is going to save you.”

She hadn’t expected it to. It was standard procedure to ward the jail against all magics. The sheriff certainly didn’t want prisoners to be able to escape death by way of magic. Bron wouldn’t be surprised if Micha had the whole damn village warded after yesterday. “I didn’t expect it to. I don’t really know what happened yesterday, Micha. I know you won’t believe it, but I don’t care. I didn’t mean to torch your guard.”

“He died, you know.”

Bron was surprised to not feel a thing. It had been the guard or Ove, and Ove hadn’t done anything wrong. In that moment, she would have killed anyone who was going to try to hurt the innocent youngling. She would do it again. She would never be able to sit by and watch. If she hadn’t felt that power surge, she would have attempted to stop the guard in some other way. She would never be able to sit idly by and watch as someone was killed for no reason.

But that’s what you’ve been doing for thirteen years, Princess Bronwyn.

“You don’t even care. I never knew you at all. Know this, I’ll find that little brownie and I’ll throw her on a fire, too.” Micha huffed as though he’d expected something more. Some groveling perhaps or offers of her body in exchange for a bit of mercy.

That wasn’t going to happen. She wasn’t stupid. After what had happened yesterday, there would be no mercy for her. She was just happy someone had thought to take Ove away. “What do you want, Micha?”

“You should call me by my rightful name, you ungrateful bitch.”

Why wouldn’t he go away? Shouldn’t the hours before her inevitably horrific death be quiet and peaceful? She could try to go to sleep and see Shim and Lach again. Maybe, if there was a place beyond this one, maybe they would be real.

Selfish. So selfish. You want to die so you don’t have to fight.

The voice inside her head was getting obnoxious. Well, the voice that seemed steeped in guilt. She apparently had a whole bunch of voices inside her head. “If you aren’t going to tell me what you want, then feel free to go away.”

“I want you to tell me where your bitch sister went to.”

That had Bron sitting up and fast. She was definitely still capable of feeling something. Gillian had slipped her a note. Goddess, the last thing she wanted was to get Gillian killed. “She doesn’t have anything to do with this.”

His eyes narrowed to little slits, making his whole iris look like endless dark. “I doubt that. She’s already managed to kill three of my best guards.”

Gillian? “I don’t believe it.”

“It was her or her little friends. Tell me where she is and I’ll make your death painless. I can have the healer brew a tea to ease the way. You won’t feel the fire. You won’t feel anything. All you have to do is tell me where Gillian is. Isolde, you don’t want more deaths, do you?”

She didn’t want them, but they would come. They would come whether she stood up or not. They would come if she escaped. They would come if she burned. She’d spent thirteen years believing that staying alive was all that was important. But weren’t some things worth dying over?

She thought about the note Gillian had sent through Niall. She knew exactly what Gillian would do. She would run. Bron wasn’t sure how she’d convinced the guard to help them, but Gillian would sacrifice anyone she had to in order to ensure Bron’s continued existence. Gillian would save her and move on to the next far-off province, hiding and concealing their identities.

And waiting for what? For her brothers to return? For Bron to grow up? She was twenty-seven. She wouldn’t get any more ready to become the focus of a revolution.

“I’m not telling you where she is. I won’t say a word. Not about my sister.”

A plan was ruminating, forming in her brain. A really bad plan, probably, but a plan. She’d waited long enough. It was time she gave to the cause. Gillian seemed to think that Bronwyn was the cause, but Bron knew differently.

Ove was the cause. Everyone who had been hurt by the pretender was the cause. Bronwyn was merely a pawn, and it was time to make her move. The pawn could take the king if it was played correctly.

“You’re stupid, Isolde.”

“I’m not Isolde.” She finally got up and walked to the door. Her feet felt a bit unsteady, but she caught her balance.

“What are you trying to say?”

She gave him a feral little grin. “Figure it out, Micha. Think for a minute, and it’ll come to you.”

He stared at her, his face a blank. “Isolde, just tell me where your sister is. The fire will make you scream.”

Would it? She was fire. It leapt from her fingertips. It sat in her womb. “I’ll take that chance.”

“Isolde…”

“Don’t call me that.” She couldn’t stand it. It wasn’t her damn name. It wasn’t her place. “Call me by my name. Call me Bronwyn.”

He took a quick step back, a gasp on his lips. “You’re lying.”

“I’m not.” She wouldn’t go down quietly. Whether Niall saved her or she died in the fire, it didn’t matter. She needed to have her name. There was power in her name. “Call me by name. Call me Bronwyn.”

His head shook. “You’ll burn then, dumb bitch. If you think for a second I’ll tell anyone what you’ve said, you’re wrong. I wouldn’t let anyone know I planned to marry someone who is utterly insane. You’re just a stupid girl. You’re not a princess. And if you think that this ploy will buy you time, you’re wrong. I stood up in front of a crowd and said I wanted to marry you. Too many people know. I won’t go down with you. No. You’ll burn before you can even open your mouth and spout such vicious lies.”

She walked to the door, staring at Micha through the window, its bars mocking her. She was in a cage, but then she’d been there for thirteen years.

What could she do? She’d been quiet for so long. She’d hidden her existence. It had kept her alive, but now she saw a distinct problem with it. No one would believe her. She’d been a child when she’d gone on the run. She was a woman now, and no one with the exception of Gillian had watched her grow. She looked like her father. Gillian said it, but did anyone remember? The knife. It had the Finn crest on it. Did it prove a damn thing? There were only two weapons made with that crest—the sun and the moon. Beck had the sword. She was sure of it. He wouldn’t have left without their father’s sword.

And the knife had been used on her. She’d pulled it from her body. Torin had to have taken it from her father’s body. He’d given it to his assassin to kill her. Her own father’s knife. It was her only proof beyond her face. It was still in its hiding place in the tower. “I am Bronwyn Finn. I was born in the White Palace and I died there. I was given a second life. I am my father’s daughter.”

A huffy laugh came through the window. “Those can be your last words, though no one will believe it. Good luck, Isolde. When you’re nothing but ashes, your sister will run. You’re nothing. Nothing at all.”

The window slammed shut. She was so much more. She was the revolution, but perhaps she’d waited too long. Leaning against the door, she felt her head swimming. Not enough sleep. Not enough food. Not enough life.

She’d spent too long in her dreams. She’d wanted to be somewhere else for so long she’d neglected the here and now. Shim and Lachlan were dreams. They were a way out of her destiny, and now that she was finally ready to face it, she would probably get her ass fried in a fire.

Her brothers wouldn’t know. They would always think she’d died. They wouldn’t know she’d been burned at the maypole—the stake. Half an hour passed, the minutes running by like molasses dripping off a spoon toward a well-cooked piece of bread. She drank more water. Ate the last of the bread. Slow. So slow. She was able to go over most of her life. She was shocked to realize how much of it she’d spent in dreams. When she looked back on her life, she saw the times Cian had played with her and her mother had rocked her, stroking her hair during thunderstorms. She remembered holding her da’s hand as they walked through the streets of the village. But mostly she saw Shim and Lach. She saw them as children, laughing and playing through fields of golden wheat and swimming on a pebbled beach, the ocean water foaming around them. There were mermaids in the waters, but they didn’t need to worry about it because mermaids only called to the unfaithful and the unwary. They played and played, telling secrets and stories. Stories she’d heard but could barely remember the next day. When she’d begun to gain her womanhood, the dreams had changed. Her Dark Ones had started to touch her. Little glancing strokes at first and then a kiss here and there. Her cheeks and her forehead and sweetly enough, her nose. Finally they had pressed a mouth to hers. A tongue had caressed and then…

Death.

So long was the darkness. The aloneness. It was worse, she thought, because for so long she’d been with them. And then the connection had been cut as though it hadn’t existed.

Years had passed. She’d run and run. So many provinces. So many new faces.

She’d been scared, reaching out every night for that connection she’d counted on all her life. Nothing, until one night, a little tendril had reached back, like a light in the darkness. She reached for it and finally she’d seen them. They hadn’t been solid at first, but she’d felt a touch, a caress that made her skin light up.

She’d been twenty. Six years had passed in loneliness and then another three in a frustrating reaching. She would grasp and then the dream would be gone, like a ghost that had never really existed. Every morning she’d awakened aware that she hadn’t gotten what she wanted and then…

That kiss.

Her whole life, the happy part, played out in a long dream.

She’d given up everything for a damn dream.

There was a scratch at her door.

“They’re coming.”

Niall’s voice.

“What should I do?” She kneeled before the door. It was time to make her play, but she felt so tired. Her hands shook slightly. The world was a little fuzzy. Was she starting to panic?

“I don’t know.” The words were hesitant. “They’re coming early. It was supposed to happen at noon. It’s only ten.”

Micha was running early. He probably thought that if he could get rid of her, Gillian would stop her assault. He would burn her before the township was up and able to protest that she hadn’t had a fair trial. She hadn’t even seen the town magistrate.

She’d made a terrible mistake. Micha had upped the timeline because now he didn’t want her talking. Goddess, she was terrible at this. Horrible. She didn’t know what to do except to try. She wouldn’t be walked to her execution calmly. Dignity wasn’t going to help her. Besides, no one had gathered. No one would bear witness. And no one would help her.

They had all turned their backs.

She would fight until the flames took her.

“They’re coming, Your Highness. Please don’t call attention. I have a plan. Someone has run to tell Gillian.” Niall’s voice was thin through the cracks of the door, and then the only sound she heard was the hard thud of boots against the floor.

The door slammed open, and she was faced with two of the largest guards in the village. They were each a foot taller and had a hundred pounds on her, but they were armed to the teeth as though she was the most dangerous criminal on the plane. They each held a sword and had knives at their belts.

She knew how to use a knife. She could certainly get one of them, but could she get both?

Niall had begged her not to draw attention. There was some plan in place.

Your Highness. Goddess, Niall had called her “Your Highness.”

“Isolde, are you going to come quietly or should we cut out that pretty tongue of yours right here?” Arik, the older of the two guards, asked.

“I think we should have a bit of fun with her before she goes out. Seems a shame to leave this life without ever knowing the touch of a man.” Theo leered at her.

Arik held out a hand. “Don’t touch that one. You weren’t here yesterday. It’s best that one just goes out in the flames. Come on, wench. Time to go.”

Bron took a deep breath and made her decision. She would give Niall some time. He knew something. Gillian had brought him in on the secret, and that meant Gillian trusted him. She nodded to her captors and smoothed out her dress before stepping forward to follow them.

The hallway was utterly silent as they moved toward the stairs that would lead them up and into the main hall. She followed Arik, who lumbered in front of her. All the long walk, she could feel Theo’s eyes on her. She began to feel an ache low in her gut. Fear? It was a horrible rolling sensation.

“Got a hot fire going for you, witch.” Arik’s voice echoed off the stone walls.

“But not so hot it won’t take a little time to work. Wouldn’t want you going out too soon, now would we?” Theo said with a hollow laugh.

“Wouldn’t want to disappoint the crowd.” Bron frowned, her feet shuffling in front of her. One foot in front of the other. She had to get through each moment. She tried to focus. Her skin felt hot. Was it starting again?

Arik stopped at the bottom step. “Ain’t no crowd. Heard they was too afraid of you. The mayor is trying to calm them, tell them he has you under control. I’m sure by the time the magistrate passes sentence, they’ll come out in droves and see you ain’t nothing to be afraid of.”

But Theo was frowning. “I heard they wouldn’t come because they love her. She gave a lot of people in this village food. That sister of hers healed a lot of Fae.”

Arik’s eyes went hard. “That’s the way witches work. They bring you in. Who knows how many she really hurt? My neighbor lost two cows last week. I bet it was her.”

Theo seemed to pull his energy back around him. He nodded. “You’re right. Me ma’s wrong. She’ll see when the witch dies and things get better around here. Move it, Isolde. Don’t think just because a few of us are too stupid to see that you’re evil, that they’re going to help you. More’s like those who don’t come will get punished.”

She found a comfort in the fact that they were rebelling, even if it was in a quiet way. The people of this village seemed so deeply content with the status quo, but perhaps that was because Torin hadn’t really touched them yet. Things were changing. Bronwyn just had to find a way to live long enough to see it happen.

She tried to focus on the heat that threatened to take over her body. It needed to be in her hands, not low in her gut.

Arik turned back around and had a foot on the first step of the stairs. Bron began to follow. There was nothing else to do. The corridor was narrow and didn’t lend itself to fighting. But if she could start a fire, maybe she could run.

Bron heard Theo shuffling behind her. He gave a soft grunt, and then there was a hand on her elbow. She turned and looked into Niall’s brown eyes. He held a finger to his lips, an obvious request for silence. Theo was on the floor, his body in a crumpled mass. Bron checked her gasp.

Niall held a blade in his hand, the knife slick with blood. Theo’s blood.

The enormity of it grasped her. Niall was killing to protect her. Did she want that responsibility? Did she have a choice? The choices she would make if she pursued this path hit her squarely in the gut as Arik moved up the stairs and Niall stalked him.

Bron clung to the side of the wall, her eyes moving between Theo’s body and Niall’s arm as he reared back. The burning sensation hadn’t gone away. What in all the planes was happening to her? She had to think.

She made the decision. There would be no going back. There would be blood and death, and she could not shrink from it. She would eat the guilt because that’s what it meant to be a leader.

Niall slit his throat, the knife moving in utter silence. He held Arik against his body, his arm around Arik’s shoulders in an odd approximation of intimacy. Niall brought the larger man to the ground. He never had a chance to shout or say a word.

Her protector eased him to the floor and held the blade at his side. “Your Highness, I need you to trust me.”

“Gillian told you. Gillian trusts you.”

His face contorted in confusion. “Gillian? No. Gillian knows who sent me. I talked to her yesterday. I knew she wasn’t your sister so I figured she had to be the Unseelie princess who went missing.”

Bron stared at him for a minute. “Who sent you? Who told you my name?”

Niall’s eyes were on the stairs above. “You have to play your part, Your Highness. We don’t have another way out. Just take a deep breath and follow my lead.”

He took her elbow and started to lead her up the stone steps. But she had a few questions. If she was going to be the center of this revolution, she was going to start playing the part.

“If Gillian didn’t send you, who did?” Bron could feel the sweat on her brow, the ache in her gut. But it wasn’t her gut. Not really. It was lower, deeper—an ache with only one cure.

Niall stopped on the second stair. They were still so close to the bodies, but it didn’t seem to bother Niall. He simply stared at her for a moment as though trying to decide how much she could handle. “You don’t remember me. Niall Younger. My father was the stableman. He took care of the horses for the White Palace. I worked with him. I took care of your pony.”

Her mind raced, and she saw a young man, only three or four years older than she. Brown hair and bark-colored eyes, and a soft hand with the horses. His father had taught her to ride.

“I remember you. You had a brother named Liam.”

His face turned down. “Liam and me dad died long ago. I was left alone in the palace, but I found a friend. A shade. A sluagh. He taught me how to live, gave me information on where to find food and who would protect me. He sent me to the cook who raised me. I was only fifteen. The cook gave me a place to stay, and the sluagh gave me a purpose. He taught me how to fight, how to be a guard. He whispered to me who to get in good with so I would have my choice of assignments. And he gave me my reason to live. To find Bronwyn Finn. To locate his daughter.”

Bron felt locked in place, the whole world spinning. Her father? “My father can’t be a sluagh. He would never.”

It was beyond comprehension.

“He had no other choice. When the light came, he didn’t walk into it. He couldn’t because he had work to do. His children still needed him. He stayed for you. He molded me into his emissary. As far as I know, only Torin and myself have ever seen him. He’s not haunting anyone but his brother. He had a different use for me.”

“My father turned sluagh, and he knows I’m alive?” It didn’t add up in her head.

“He saw the Unseelie princess make her way out of the palace with you. He would have followed, but he was weak at the time. He was tied to the place of his death. He still is for some reason. When the other sluagh left the plane, he wasn’t able to move past the caves. He’s bound to Torin now. He can only go where Torin goes. So he trained me to find you. I’ve been moving up in the guard, and I’ve served ten different noblemen, all the while looking for you. I knew I had finally found you a couple of days back, but I wasn’t sure how to get you out of here. Now I don’t have a choice. Gillian is talking to the villagers. She’s trying to find a way to get you off the plane.” He stared at her for a moment. “That is not what your father wants.”

“What does my father want?” Her father had ignored her with the exception of pats on the head and telling her she was pretty and a little insane. What could her father want for her to do?

Niall took her by the arm. “Lead them. Take your crown back. Your brothers are gone, and it seems they will not be coming back. You’re his blood. That crown is yours. I am going to take you north to Sir Giles’s province and then on to Aoibhneas.”

The mountain province. She hadn’t been to Aoibhneas. It was difficult to get to and rumored to be an odd place. The Fae who lived there had always been outspoken and considered a bit difficult. They were strong fighters and used the land to their advantage. Aoibhneas. She could make her stand there. The rebellion could start there.

She could gather Fae along the way. Yes, it could work, or even if it didn’t, at least she would have tried. At least she could say she had finally stood up. If she could only get her legs to work.

“We must tell Gillian. And I have to take the brownies with me.”

Niall’s voice lowered to a deep growl. “Not possible, Your Highness. I am taking you to Sir Giles where he will make arrangements to see us safely to Aoibhneas. This must be done with the greatest of secrecy. Time is of the essence. And under no circumstances are we to tell Princess Gillian of our plans.”

Not tell Gilly? Bron tried to pull away. “I can’t leave without my sister.”

“She is not your sister, and as far as your father and I can tell, she has a completely different agenda than our own.”

“She’s saved me time and time again. She raised me. She trained me.”

“Because she always intended to take you to the Unseelie plane. This is not her fight. You’re a bargaining chip for Gillian McIver. I would have completely left Gillian out of the planning if I could have. As it stands, she only knows I’m trying to help. We’re going to keep it that way. You cannot leave the plane. There must be a Finn in Tir na nÓg or all is lost.”

There was a shuffling upstairs, and she heard a male voice call out. “Guards? Where is the witch?”

Niall’s jaw firmed, and he took her elbow. “Just follow my lead, Your Highness. I will protect and defend you with my life. This I vow. I will see you on your rightful throne and not that of the Unseelie.”

He began up the stairs, stepping around the bodies of the guards he’d killed. Bron’s mind was racing. What was going on? What did he mean about Gillian? Gillian had been trying for years to take Bron to the Unseelie plane, but that made sense. It was her home plane. Where else would Gillian go?

She followed Niall into the main hall, her eyes on her potential ally. Niall was a handsome young man roughly her age. She tried to remember him. His father had been kind enough, but all she could remember of the boy was a shy lad who brushed her pony’s coat and gave her carrots to feed it. Could she believe him? Did she have a choice?

“Hurry along now.” Micha stood frowning. There was a circular disc around his neck, tied with rough twine. It didn’t fit with Micha’s normal elegant dress. The mayor pressed a second one into Niall’s hand. “Wear this. It’s a ward to protect you from the bitch’s magic. And hopefully the potion has started to work.”

“Potion?” Niall asked. His eyes took in the room. Three guards stood at attention, Micha’s closest men. The door to the grounds stood open, and the sounds of workers shuffling as they built the great bonfire wafted in. Already Bron could smell the scent of the oil they doused the wood in.

Micha shrugged. “I had one of my house women concoct a dampening potion. It should keep her calm and compliant. I slipped it into her water this morning. She should be a mess by now. It’s actually an aphrodisiac, but it has the added benefit of making the user very submissive. Did you think I’d give you your last words? Not a chance. I have too much at stake. But you shouldn’t be able to talk at this point.”

Micha grabbed a vial off his desk. “Hold her.”

Niall stopped, obviously not sure what to do. Poor Niall. None of this had gone how he’d planned. She was sure he’d hoped to slip her out of the province with no one the wiser. Now he had to get her away from the guard and deal with a drugged princess. He was forced to watch as one of Micha’s personal guards held her and forced her head back.

The substance was vile, and she recognized the bitter taste. There had only been a hint of it in the water. This was undiluted. It raked through her system, burning as it made its way down her gut. The effect was almost instantaneous. A horrible ache, so much worse than before, grabbed her.

She needed. She needed them.

“Shim. Lach.” She could feel her head lolling back.

“That’s better.” Micha’s muddy eyes looked down at her. “See, my dear, now you’re compliant, more like the lady you should have been.”

“Hurts.” She seemed to only be able to speak single words now. “Shim. Lach.”

He shook his head. “Are they your lovers, dear? I should have known you would be a whore, too. I should have taken you and left it at that. You ungrateful wretch. You don’t deserve to be my wife. Go and see if the fire is hot yet and bring the magistrate. Our witch has confessed.”

She felt her body falling and the cold stone floor against her skin. Her head ached, a sharp pain, but it was nothing compared to the fires that licked at her body. Fire. Fire should be sweet, but now it was only pain. Shim. Shim was fire. Like a shimmer. Lach was cool like a lake. Yes, that was where she’d gotten their names. One mystery solved. Would she see them soon?

“Your Highness, I am outnumbered.” Niall lifted her off the floor where they had simply tossed her like she was a piece of garbage. Niall’s words were whispered against her ear, so small she could barely make them out.

She wanted to kiss him. She wanted his lips on hers, his cock sliding deep. That would quench the fire. Her eyes would close, and she could pretend he was Lach or Shim.

Goddess, it was cruel to die like this. To know this ache and know what it meant. She would die a virgin, fire torching her from the inside and the outside.

“Your Highness, you must tell me where the knife is.”

His voice was so urgent. He was so close, his skin hidden under layers of clothes. Shim. She’d seen him without his clothes. And Lach. So beautiful. She needed flesh against hers. It was all she wanted now. Shim was close. She could see him. He was holding her.

“Shim. Kiss me.”

“Damn it, Bronwyn.” There was a shuffling as he looked down at her. His eyes shifted to dark blue. There he was. But his words made little sense. “I need to know where the knife is. It’s the only proof. I can’t save you, but I have a job to do. If I can’t save you, I have to find someone else. That knife is proof. Please. You owe the kingdom.”

Kingdom? What kingdom? Why did he care about the kingdom? She hurt. She ached. She couldn’t even breathe. “Kiss me.” Why wouldn’t he kiss her? Lach liked to play vampire games, but Shim was always so quick with kisses. She needed both. Where was Lachlan?

Her body shook. Niall wouldn’t leave her be. “The knife. Where is the knife?”

He kept talking about the knife. He urged her. Told her they were coming. The words didn’t make sense.

“The tower. In the tower.” That was where she’d hidden the knife. The knife had been her father’s. The knife had killed her, blood tumbling from her body until nothingness had swallowed her up and then fire had brought her back. A phoenix. She’d been a phoenix, born anew.

They had given her wings.

“Where in the tower?” Niall growled. “I’m out of time. They’re coming back. I’ll have to find it myself. I am sorry for this, Your Highness. I wish you good luck in your journey.”

And she was back on the floor. Alone. Abandoned. A cramp hit her. She needed to touch herself, but she couldn’t make her damn arms work. A journey. She was taking a journey.

Into death.

Rough hands pulled her up, dragging her when her feet wouldn’t work. Tears streamed now. The world was a chaotic mess, and she couldn’t feel them. They were always there, somewhere in the back of her mind. She no longer cared that they were an expression of what was wrong with her. They had been the best part of her pathetic life, and she couldn’t feel them. Real or not, she wanted them here.

“Lachlan.” Someone was screaming his name. “Shim.”

She could smell the fire. So close now. Her head snapped back. Someone had slapped her. Blood. She tasted it even as another seizure hit. The agony was unimaginable, a body that cried out for solace and would get not an ounce.

Rope bit into her wrists, the only thing holding her up.

The guards laughed. Called her trash. Better off ashes. That was all she was to these men. Nothing. She meant nothing. Her dreams and madness meant less than nothing. They would lash her to a pole and burn her then sweep up her ashes. It would be as though she hadn’t lived.

Bronwyn Finn had died so long ago, and now this girl, this woman she’d become, would be gone, too. Ashes burned in the fire, sent to the wind. The ache in her gut…pussy. It was in her pussy. There was no way to deny it now. The ache in her pussy superseded all other pain. What a horrible way to die—all her sweetness dissolved and she was left with only a raw ache as the sum of all her years.

Lachlan. Shim. She called to them. She didn’t know if she cried out loud or if it was only in her head.

She felt the heat of the fire and prayed she would see them soon.