“She was a captive who escaped death.”
I pull away from Jasce, creating distance. “So, you just take innocent women and bind them to strange men?”
“It wasn’t like that. She was far from innocent. She was a warrior leading Hakan’s army. It was either death or binding their magic. She chose the binding.”
“Why The Widow Maker? Why not someone else?”
Jasce folds his arms. “Because he’s the strongest of my warriors. Nobody else could keep up with her.”
For a while, I lie next to Jasce, allowing his words to percolate. Why did I not know about magic binding? House of Silver doesn’t do that.
Maybe because we can’t.
As I drift to sleep, I think about Jasce’s questions, but mostly, I think about the way he looked in the bath next to me.
ChapterThirty
Leavesscatter through the air and settle against the cobbled pathway as I wander the courtyard, trying—unsuccessfully—to distract myself from thinking about Jasce. If only I had found that healer. If only I had done a lot of things, like never sharing a bed with Jasce.
Hanah approaches me and curtsies. “Come with me, My Lady. Jerrod wishes to speak to you.”
The urge to deny her burns my tongue. To say no, to turn away, to not visit the Hematite chieftain.
I swallow that urge, knowing my Fate here is precarious. With one word about my identity, Jasce could end my life. So, I follow Hanah back to the palace, down a long corridor, and to the Great Hall. A guard pushes open the door, and I step into the room full of men, but there’s only one man that makes my blood run cold. Jerrod.
He stands at my entrance. “There you are, Lyra.”
The hem of my elaborate cotehardie skims the marble as I curtsy. “You asked to see me, My Lord?”
“I heard you are a great dancer,” he says with a smirk.
I swallow down the fear in my throat. “I’m not.”
He glances at Aleksander, sitting next to him. “Aleksander told me you danced for Jasce and his friends. I want you to dance for us.”
“Y-you…”Stop stammering.I start over. “You wish for me to dance for you?”
“Yes.” He looks at his men, all staring, watching, waiting to see me make a fool out of myself. “We want to see you.”
Mortification sprouts inside me as I obey his wishes, swaying my hips and swirling in circles. The men lean forward, eagerly watching as I continue this humiliation.
I finish my last spin and come to a stop, facing the chieftain.
Lust sparks in his obsidian eyes as he barks out. “More.”
“My Lord,” I begin, my voice wobbly.Be strong. You can do this.I lift my chin and continue. “I’m no dancer.”
“Dance, Lyra,” he says, his tone harsh, commanding. “Entertain your chieftain.”
Entertain him? I would rather shove him off his chair.
Bile rises in my throat as I dance again, moving to the beat of my own fear, my humiliation. Tears prick the back of my eyes, but I keep going, giving the chieftain what he wants.
The door rips open, and footsteps approach, pounding in my ears as I continue. I come to an abrupt stop when a hand grabs me.
Jasce.
“What is this?” he thunders.
