Treachery Queen (The Callistra Chronicles #1)

TWENTY-EIGHT

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Pasiphae woke like she had never been awake before, crawling back into the world after being pitched into a crevasse of eternal slumber.

She took air in through the gaps between her teeth, her prone form still dead to the world. Her limbs were numb as she tried to take inventory, barely able to open her eyes.

Still groggy, she gave her shoulder a furious yank, only to be met with stronger resistance that gave no leeway.

She had been tied up.

A hot, chafing pain began burning at her wrists and ankles.

The room was dark, with the only light source coming from the slit below the door, shining in as four parallel lines that slashed across Pasiphae's body.

A buzzing sensation ran from her nuchal muscles down to her back, returning to life too as Pasiphae wriggled, trying to loosen the rope that secured her arms above her head. The rope wound and twisted around her, pinning her to a thin pole an inch from the floor, so gravity did its work in rubbing the skin on her wrists raw. A thicker strap of rope was tightened around her waist, and then more bindings held her ankles to the bottom of the pole.

Pasiphae struggled with a new fervour. Now, she recognised this place, despite the current emptiness. She had seen a set-up like this before—another girl held up like this in another time—and she didn't want to stick around for what was waiting for her.

The thought was premature; the doors swung open loudly.

Light flooded into the room, white hues from the corridor and golden tones from above as the chandeliers flickered on.

Queen Morgana swept into the room, followed by ten guards, five on each side that trailed after her. She had changed into a black dress: high at the front but low-slung in the back, allowing her immense wingspan to spread.

Pasiphae had always worn black to the prisons in Ruqyah. It made the bloodstains less obvious. Maybe this was the universe repaying its debts.

"Terribly sorry about stringing you up," the queen said, removing her gloves as she approached. "It just makes it easier for me. Bring him in!"

The last part wasn't directed at her, but at the guards. One at the end of each row broke formation and ventured outside.

They returned with Seth.

No.


Pasiphae lunged against her restraints, but she couldn't budge against the rope around her waist.

No. No. Nononono—

Seth lifted his head, and she realised she had spoken aloud. A dark bruise decorated his face from his temple to his jaw. Pasiphae had to hold in a cry as their eyes met, his filled with agony and hers startling troubled at the situation they had both found themselves in.

Something was different about him. The initial shock had affected Pasiphae so intensely that it took her a prolonged moment to realise that his wings were trailing vividly after him: brilliant and gold and bright as a sunbeam.

"Found him trying to take down my entire army," Morgana remarked casually. She jabbed a thumb at Seth, who was trying to shake off the guards to no avail. They held him down to a chair, securing him with chains thicker than ivory tusks.

Pasiphae bit down on her tongue.

The queen seemed to notice the gesture. She tapped her own painted-white lips.

"Were you aware of his identity? I can't imagine you would be too happy to find out."

All the blistering anger had already left Pasiphae's body. The queen was prodding at her with an iron poker, trying to stoke the flame and destroy the hearth, unaware that the coals had already died.