I spun, trying to find the location of that voice. Static filled the air, my curls lifting skyward as dread pooled in my gut.
A bolt of green lightning shot across the sky, cracking into the stone walls and spraying debris across us.
“Sawyn.” I breathed as the ground dropped out from under me. My stomach lurched into my throat as I fell, bracing for a landing that never came.
Thirty-Eight
The crushing pain in my skull made me grimace as I peeked through slitted eyes. My shoulders ached as I tried to pull them forward, only to find cold steel biting into my wrists. Chains rattled as I dropped my head forward. I sucked in a painful breath through my scratchy throat. I twisted my head, lightning shooting from my neck down into my shoulder blades. How long had I been left in this position?
My tailbone ached as I adjusted my seat on the cold, wet stones. A gaping pit in the corner reeked of foul odors, drips of water from the ceiling falling far down into the rotten drain. A lone torch flickered through the rusting iron door. The attack in the market came flooding back to me—Sawyn. I was in her dungeon.
I was in my dungeon.
I scanned frantically for Grae, but I was alone in my cell.
Or maybe not. A smooth voice floated from beyond the shadows. “Who are you?”
She stepped forward, walking straight through the iron door as if it were a cloud of smoke. With pale skin and sharp green eyes, she looked just as menacing as that night in Damrienn.
Sawyn.
Her red hair was pulled back in a tight braid, and she wore a flowing black dress that pooled at her feet and was cinched at the waist by a gold belt holding a thin sword. A high cuff around her neck and a golden crown atop her head made her hold her chin high even as she stared down at me.
She pursed her red-stained lips. “You’re the servant girl from Damrienn, the one I couldn’t kill.” Her eyes dipped to the low neckline of my too-large tunic and she flashed her white teeth. “You should’ve kept that protection stone.”
I spat at her feet, eliciting from her a mirthless laugh that grated against my skin.
“But you’re not a human at all, are you?” She took another step forward and crouched in front of me. Her movements were flowing and slow, her lilting words so at odds with her sharp features. “I should’ve seen it before. Those dark curls and bowed lips. You look so much like your mother.”
I sucked in a sharp breath, pulling against my restraints.
“I had wondered why this victory felt hollow,” Sawyn said, looking at the palms of her hands as if divining the future. “And now I know. There was one more Gold Wolf untamed. A twin.” Her lip curled. “I should have guessed.”
“Release Maez and Grae.” I panted. “They have nothing to do with this.”
“You give orders like your father, too.” Sawyn’s eyes slid to mine, the same shade of green. “I don’t know who this Maez is, though . . . oh, you mean that Silver Wolf? I could care less about her. I only kept her to draw out the last of the Wolves who dared to challenge me and make Nero think twice about mining my gold. Instead, I caught another princess.” She flashed a toothy, too-white smile. “Do you think Nero will lift a hand to rescue his son now that he’s declared him a traitor? His bounty for his niece is all for show. Your sister wouldn’t be the first time two females were mates, though royalty has never honored such a bond. Not even the most powerful of magics can supersede the will of arrogant kings consumed with hoarding their power and protecting royal bloodlines. I think Nero would rather sire a few more heirs with some poor young female from his pack in the comfort of his castle than cross into my borders now.” She picked a cobweb off her sleeve with a vicious grin. “Not even my gold can tempt him anymore.”
“So what? This is all just to aggravate Nero?”
“Hardly.”
“Then why? Why did you do all of this?” I shook my head. “I never understood. In all the stories, it never made sense. Why Olmdere? Did you only want a crown?”
“I wanted my crown.” Sawyn stood, dusting her hand down her skirts. “I know you were raised in a foreign kingdom with a foreign tongue, judging by your accent, but do you know what Sawyn means?”
My brow furrowed. I hadn’t considered her name before. “It’s Olmderian. Sa Wyn.” Why hadn’t I pronounced it that way before? “It means above kings.”
“A more fitting name than the one I was given,” she said. “I chose it for myself.”
My heart thundered in my chest. “What was your name before?”