It was probably the food. Or the guards. They were pretty sweaty after lifting up the mattress and digging through my locker.
She approached me, gaze on my collar before flicking to my eyes and back again. “I’m fae, like you. And I know what magic smells like.”
Breathing in, I searched for any remnant of lavender or earth, but there was nothing. Whatever she smelled was imperceptible to me.
So, I shrugged.
“Hold her,” the doctor said, and a moment later, the guards were gripping my arms. She reached out, touched my collar, and it fell away.
The doctor caught it before it could crash on the floor. “Let’s have a little talk, banshee. How does that sound?”
I swallowed. Just because I saw the collar in her hands didn’t mean something wouldn’t happen if I tried to speak. Eyeing her, I shook my head.
“Go on,” she prompted. “Make just a little sound. You can even say my name. Dr. Brina. Go on.”
I touched my tongue behind my teeth in preparation for the word.
She waved her hand to encourage me, but now that I could speak, the words were caught in my throat.
Rolling her eyes, she nodded at the guard. A quick jolt of electricity hit my side, and I cried out.
But that was it. Energy had sparked, but then it died, leaving no lingering effects. Okay, then. “What do you want to talk about?” It was strange to hear my voice after so long. I placed my hand on my throat, just because I could, and swallowed.
“So you can still speak,” she said, almost to herself. “You’re controlling your voice to avoid pain. I’m quite pleased with my experiment. What do you think?”
That wasn’t a question that deserved a serious answer, so I ignored it. One of the guards squeezed my arm in warning. “It’s not my favorite,” I answered, and she laughed.
“No, I suppose not. You don’t smell the magic?”
“I don’t,” I replied, grateful that was the truth. In general, I was a bad liar. My face flushed from my cheeks to my neck and even along my collarbones, giving away when I was overwhelmed or uncomfortable. So, I was glad that I could answer honestly. In this instant, no, I couldn’t smell the change of magic.
“Hmm.” She didn’t seem satisfied with my answer. “I was surprised the princes asked to see you. They had assured us they wanted nothing to do with you and didn’t care what happened to you here.” Winking, she dropped her voice to a whisper. “Except the guardian. Ronan. He wanted you dead.”
Of course, he did.
“Anyway,” she continued, “I just wanted to stop in to make sure you’ve suffered no ill-effects of the collar. No trouble eating or breathing?”
Was she serious?
Her gaze flicked to the guard, so I answered quickly, “No.” I’d avoid as much pain as possible.
“Wonderful.” She swirled her hand in the air, and the collar suddenly clicked around my throat. It was lightweight, but after having that brief reprieve, it had become a thousand pounds.
“The only reason we should need to take it off,” she continued, stepping back toward the open door, “is if I come up with something better. In the meantime, I think this still does the trick, don’t you?” She winked at me. “Don’t answer that.”
The guards released me and followed her out, slamming the metal door shut behind them and leaving me alone. Again.
Imogen
The night dragged on endlessly as I drifted from slumber to wakefulness and back again, the scent of morning dew lingering in the air once more. Usually, sleep in Nightmare Penitentiary was easy. Other than an occasional commotion caused by a fellow prisoner, it was quiet and so dark.
My body seemed to understand that I was better off asleep than wasting away in the monotony.
Not tonight.
My mind kept replaying what Killian and Ronan had told me. Though I’d clung to the belief that I’d had no hand in the king’s death, now I was almost certain of it.
Even if I’d lamented his death without meaning to or remembering, there had always been more to the story. He’d already been growing weaker without any rhyme or reason.
At my joke of a trial, the princes, the king’s advisors, and other court wannabes had insisted that it had been me all along. That I’d slowly been driving the king mad with my depraved songs.
It had seemed impossible, but a small part of me always wondered. It wasn’t like I had a way to track who died in the kingdom. In fact, ever since growing into my powers, I’d done my best to avoid such knowledge. It was too painful.
But, now? It sounded like Killian was experiencing the same symptoms as the king in the weeks before his death. And it couldn’t be my fault this time. I hadn’t produced a single lament since being incarcerated. I still wasn’t sure why that was—maybe it was a proximity thing? Before being carted here, I’d never stepped outside of Tuatha Dé Danann. Or, maybe, Brina’s collar did more than she let on.
Regardless, my new knowledge was oddly liberating. I may never be free of this cell, but at least I could be confident of my innocence. If only the princes would share my certainty.
I muttered internally. Yeah, right. They were the most stubborn creatures I’d ever met. It would take stronger magic than I could ever wield to change their minds about me. Especially since the king had killed himself with my dagger. I still had no idea how it had ended up in his hand since I’d hidden it away for safekeeping years before.
I would have to be content to continue this meaningless existence with nothing but my righteous indignation and an occasional book to keep me company. Though I’d heard rumors of a prison mouse, even he couldn’t visit me—not with my solid, soundproof door instead of bars.
With that depressing thought, I shifted for at least the tenth time tonight, though I wasn’t sure why I bothered. No amount of readjusting would bring comfort.
Now facing the wall, I lifted a finger to trace more letters. I wish someone would believe me. It was something I’d started doing after my notebook was confiscated. A way to put the words I couldn’t speak out into the world.
I loved you, you know.
That sentence brought tears to my eyes. My feelings for Killian, Ronan, and Flynn were complicated. They’d been friends and confidantes. And, then, as time passed, I’d begun seeing each of them in a different light.
Which was ridiculous, since they were princes and I was nothing but a feared banshee. But they hadn’t treated me differently, and maybe that was why I couldn’t help but love them. They’d never been afraid of me or what I could do.
Now, I didn’t know what I felt for them. Anger for their lack of faith in me was still strong, but I was finding that particular emotion overshadowed by worry.
Killian was in trouble, which meant Ronan and Flynn were as well, whether they were currently being attacked or not.
I want to help. I just don’t know how.
It was the truth. If I had any information about what was happening to Killian, or how, I would hand it over in a heartbeat. But I didn’t understand it any better than they did.
I dropped my hand and tucked it under my chin. There was little point in obsessing over the matter. The princes were gone—at my insistence, in fact—and I highly doubted they’d bother returning yet again.