Authors: Amanda Ashley
In the morning, shortly after the witch had come for Gryff, a dour-faced guard appeared outside Marri’s cell.
She couldn’t stop shaking as he led her out of the dungeon, up a narrow, stone staircase, then down another. She feared it led to another dungeon. Or, worse, a place of execution. Instead, it was a kitchen A dozen women clad in long gray dresses and white aprons looked up as the guard pushed her into the room.
“Bellina!”
“Aye?” A short, plump woman with white hair looked up from the pot she was stirring.
“She’s in your charge now,” he said, giving Marri a shove. “If she escapes, you die.” He didn’t wait for a reply, merely turned and strode away.
Bellina waddled over to stand in front of Marri. Taking Marri’s hands in hers, she touched the backs, studied the palms, and barked a snort of disdain. “Never done a day’s work in your life, have ye?”
Marri shook her head.
The woman gestured at a long table. “Get along over there with ye. Old Marna will put you to work making bread until we toughen you up some. Are ye deaf, girl? Get along with ye now!”
Head high, Marri threaded her way to the bread table where she spent the next four hours learning to make bread. As she formed loaf after loaf, she could only wonder how many people resided in the witch’s castle.
There was no rest for those who worked in the kitchens. Everywhere she looked, girls and women toiled - not only chopping meat and vegetables to fill the huge pots on the stove, but plucking chickens, washing mountains of pots and dishes, scrubbing the floors.
By the end of the day, Marri’s hands ached, her legs were weary, but, by Hathrinn’s horns, she knew how to make bread!
* * *
Gryff was bone-weary after a day of hunting with Serepta. Covered in dirt and grime, he staggered into his cell, grimacing as the guard secured his chain to the floor. Every day, the collar at his throat felt heavier. Every day, he felt himself sinking deeper into despair. Only Marri’s presence made his life bearable…
Marri! Suddenly aware of the silence from the other cell, he sank to his knees. He didn’t have to look to know she wasn’t there.
He stared at the empty cell, his heart turning cold. Had Serepta done the unthinkable? Guilt pierced his soul. If anything had happened to Marri…He shook his head. He deserved whatever happened to him, but Marri…he doubted if she had ever done a wicked thing in her whole life. All his fault. All his fault…
Steeped in despair, he paid little attention at the sound of footsteps, though, in a distant corner of his mind, he knew a moment of relief that it wasn’t Serepta.
“Gryff?”
“Marri!” Relief unlike anything he had ever known washed through him. She was alive.
“I’ve brought your dinner.”
Rising, he moved toward the front of his cell. The guards hadn’t shortened the chain, as usual, allowing him to move freely. His gaze moved over her. Her cheeks were flushed, her hair and clothing spattered with flour. But she was alive.
Smiling faintly, she slipped the tray through the opening beneath the bars. “I made the bread.”
He didn’t miss the note of pride in her voice. It was, he thought, probably the first time she had ever been inside a kitchen.
“I managed to sneak you a few extra slices of beef.”
“Thanks.”
“You should eat it while it’s hot.”
Hunkering down on his heels, he pulled the tray toward him. “So, she’s got you working in the kitchens?” He slapped a few pieces of meat on the bread and took a bite.
Marri nodded.
He took another bite, then looked up at her and smiled. “Best bread I ever ate.”
Her smile went straight to his heart. He wolfed down the rest of it, then stood, needing to be near her.
“I should go.”
“Yeah.”
But she made no move to leave, sucked in a breath when he reached through the bars, his hand reaching for hers.
Marri gasped as heat seemed to leap from his hand to hers, then spread through her like liquid fire. She stared up at him, eyes wide and scared, like a frightened doe.
His hand slid up her arm, cupped her nape, drew her slowly closer, closer. His gaze trapped hers and she leaned toward him, heart pounding like a wild thing as he lowered his head, his mouth covering hers.
Her eyelids fluttered down, shutting out the world and everything in it except Gryff and the sweet excitement of his lips moving over hers. His arm curled around her waist, making her wish there were no bars between them, that she could feel the length of his body pressed to hers.
She felt bereft when he let her go, bereft and empty and yearning for more.
With a shake of his head, he moved toward the far side of the cell, taking the tray with him. Dropping down on his haunches, he grabbed a handful of meat and stuffed it in his mouth.
Marri stared at him, confused by his abrupt withdrawal, until she heard the creak of the dungeon door.
A moment later, the witch swept into the corridor.
She glared at Marri. “What are you doing here?”
Marri bowed her head. “Bellina ordered me to deliver Gryff’s tray. I was just leaving.”
Eyes narrowed with suspicion, Serepta looked at Gryff, who was tearing a chunk of bread off the loaf on his tray. Pinching Marri’s arm, the witch gave her a push. “Go back to the kitchens where you belong.”
With a last, hasty glance at Gryff, Marri fled the dungeon.
“So,” he said, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, “you put her to work.”
“Do you object?”
“Hell, no,” he said, shrugging one shoulder. “Why should I?”
“Why, indeed?”
Her gaze burned into his. It took all Gryff’s control to meet it without flinching. “What do you want?”
“I’ve arranged a fight for tomorrow night between you and one of Jarrod’s hellhounds. Best get a good night’s sleep. Your opponent has never been beaten.”
Reaching for another slice of meat, he said, “Neither have I.”
“I have a lot riding on the outcome. If you lose, the girl dies. Sweet dreams, my pet.”
On that happy note, she snuffed the light and left him there, alone in the dark.
* * *
Gryff paced the floor. Jarrod was a local warlock who raised hellhounds. The creatures were fearless fighters. Serepta had threatened to pit him against one of them before, but this was no threat. It didn’t take much imagination to figure out why she was willing to let him fight one now.
She was punishing him.
Because of Marri.
* * *
The witch left him locked in his cell all the next day. No one brought him food or water.
Chained to the floor like a wild animal, there was nothing to do but pace the narrow confines of his prison.
Time dragged on. Just when he thought the day would never end, Serepta appeared at the cell door.
Clad in a gown of royal blue velvet, her hair coiled into a crown, she looked every inch a queen. A wave of her hand opened the door. Stepping into the cell, she unlocked the chain from the ring in the floor, scooped up the loose end, and led him out of his cell.
He followed like a dog on a leash, his body tensing, adrenaline flowing, as they made their way to the small arena adjacent to the gardens.
Perhaps a hundred screaming, foot-stomping people filled the stands.
Jarrod stood in the middle of the arena, his hellhound on a short leash beside him.
The beast, large and well-muscled, must have weighed close to three hundred pounds.
Serepta nodded at the warlock. “This is not a fight to the death,” she said, her voice carrying to the top tier of the arena. “A winner will be declared when one of the opponents concedes defeat.” Her gaze rested on Jarrod. “Is that clear?”
Eyes filled with disdain, the warlock grunted. “Afraid your beast will lose, are you?”
Her mouth tightened. “I’m afraid of nothing. I thought only to spare your pet.”
“We are undefeated. I have nothing to fear. Do you?”
Knowing what was coming, Gryff swore under his breath. And sure enough, she said the words he dreaded.
“Very well, to the death, then.”
The crowd roared its approval.
The hellhound grinned.
At a word from Serepta, the collar fell from his neck and into her hand.
Gryff glared at her as she tucked it into the pocket of her skirt.
“Remember, the girl’s life is in your hands. If the wolf runs away, she dies. If you lose, she dies.” Serepta lifted one brow. “Do you intend to fight the beast in human form?”
Gryff shook his head. Quietly cursing Serepta for agreeing to a fight to the death, he transformed — not into the black wolf, but into a hellhound the same size as his opponent. He hated to let Serepta know he could transform into something besides the wolf, but there was no way he could defeat Jarrod’s hound in wolf form.
A gasp rolled through the arena as he bared his teeth.
Startled, the witch stared at him in disbelief, then vanished from the arena. Serepta appeared in the front row moments later. Staff in hand, she stood behind a wide-eyed Marri, a reminder, no doubt, that if he lost, Marri’s life would be forfeit.
Teeth bared, Gryff faced his opponent.
Growling, hackles raised, teeth bared, the hellhound charged.
Gryff met him head-on. It was like hitting a brick wall.
They came together time and again, teeth and claws rending flesh. In minutes, both were bloodied. Gryff’s jaws closed on the hellhound’s ear, tore it off with a jerk of his head, and spit it out.
With a roar, the hellhound renewed its attack. When they came together again, Gryff’s paws slipped on the bloody ground. Before he recovered his footing, the beast’s jaws locked on his left foreleg.
The sound of cracking bone brought the crowd to its feet.
Knowing he had to end the fight soon or die, Gryff gained his feet, then stood, his left foreleg useless, his tail tucked between his legs in a gesture of defeat. When the hellhound charged again, he rolled onto his back, waiting for the just the right moment. When it came, he lunged upward, teeth closing on the hellhound’s neck. A vicious twist ripped out the hound’s throat. The beast stumbled backward, then fell and lay still.
Gryff staggered to his feet, stood there, breathing heavily, blood dripping from numerous wounds, while the crowd stomped and cheered.
* * *
A short time later, he was back in his cell, shivering and soaking wet after being hosed down by one of the guards. He had thought fleetingly of shifting into a hawk. With luck, he might have made it to safety before one of her knights shot him down, but he couldn’t leave Marri behind to face Serepta’s rage.
As though reading his mind, she had entered the arena, replaced his collar. Then, with a murmured incantation, she had healed his leg and handed the chain to one of the guards. Now, he stood passive as one of the guards secured the chain to the floor.
His head jerked up when he heard Serepta’s footsteps coming down the corridor.
A moment later, she stood outside his cell, her eyes gleaming with speculation. “Can you transform into any animal you wish?”
He nodded, his expression sullen.
“That’s how you escaped before, isn’t it? You transformed into a smaller creature? Very clever, my pet. I see that I will have to conjure a new collar, one that will grow larger or smaller as you do.”
Dammit!
Serepta laughed softly, inordinately pleased with her cleverness. “The girl will bring your dinner shortly.” Shoulders slumped in defeat, Gryff stared after her. Once Serepta fashioned a new collar, he would never get away from her.
Marri sat on the floor outside Gryff’s cell, watching him sleep. She had brought him a tray earlier. He had eaten, then stretched out on the cold stone floor, asleep as soon as he closed his eyes.
She couldn’t blame him for being exhausted. After what he’d been through, he was lucky to be alive. Never in all her life had she seen anything so brutal, or been so afraid for another’s survival.
Sighing, she rested her forehead against the bars and closed her eyes, her thoughts turning toward home. Was her father well? Was Artur still hunting for her? Had anyone heard from her mother? Was Annis still happy in the convent?
She glanced at her surroundings. Living here, in Serepta’s realm, was like stepping into the past. There was no technology here. No tele-screens or communications devices of any kind. Was that by Serepta’s choice? Now that she thought about it, she hadn’t noticed any Landskiffs or space ports since they left the bigger towns behind.
Suddenly homesick, she thought of Brynn Castle. Though it was ancient, it held all the modern conveniences she so missed - places of entertainment, luxurious bathtubs and showers with hot and cold running water, soft beds covered by thick quilts, kitchens with modern ovens and refrigeration.
A sound from inside the cell drew her attention. Looking up, she saw Gryff thrashing on the floor. “Gryff! Gryff, wake up! You’re having a nightmare.”
He woke with a start, his eyes wild as he jackknifed into a sitting position. He relaxed visibly when he saw her. Mumbling, “Sorry,” he stretched his arms and back, then stood.
Marri rose also. “I should go before Bellina sends someone looking for me.”
Gryff nodded.
Her gaze moved over him. Remarkably, his injuries had all healed, though the scars remained. “Are you all right?”
He grunted softly as he moved toward her. “I’m fine.” Reaching though the bars, he took her hands in his. In spite of the hours she worked in the kitchen, her skin was still smooth and soft. “How about you? Are you doing okay?”
She stared up at him, unable to speak. At his touch, warmth spread through her, settling deep within her.
“Marri.” He whispered her name as his hands slid around her waist, drawing her closer.
Leaning against the bars, she went up on her tiptoes, eager for his kiss. As had happened before, the dungeon, the bars, the ugliness that surrounded her, all fell away. There was only Gryff, his arm around her waist, his free hand stroking up and down her back while his mouth moved over hers, evoking thoughts and sensations she had never known before. Feeling suddenly bold, she slid her hand through a gap in the bars, let her fingertips explore the expanse of his naked chest, the muscles that bulged and flexed in his arm. She wished there were no bars between them, wished she could melt into his embrace and never leave.
She sighed with regret when he lifted his head.
“How brave are you?” he asked.
“Not very.” If she had any courage at all, she would have stayed home and confronted Artur instead of running away.
“You want to get out of here, don’t you?”
“More than anything. But how?”
“I haven’t figured that out yet, but you need make yourself scarce. She’s coming.”
Marri didn’t hesitate. Turning away from the cell, she ran down the corridor as fast as her legs would carry her. She ducked through the first doorway she saw, praying Serepta hadn’t seen her.
Gryff was hunkered down in a corner, eyes closed, when Serepta appeared. He didn’t have to see her to know she was there. He had heard her footsteps in his nightmares, smelled the faint scent of foxglove that clung to her.
Foot tapping impatiently, she said, “I know you’re awake.”
Heaving a sigh, Gryff opened his eyes. “What mischief are you planning now?”
“Mischief? Why, none at all. Because of your win today, I’ve come into possession of something I’ve always wanted.”
“Yeah? I thought you just conjured whatever you wanted.”
“In most instances, I do. But there are some things even I haven’t been able to conjure. A winged Pegasus is one of them.”
“Jarrod wagered a Pegasus? I didn’t think they really existed.”
Reaching into her pocket, she withdrew a collar. It was similar to the one he already wore, only wider. Probably heavier. “I was able to conjure this.”
A wave of her staff opened the cell door.
Gryff backed away from her as far as his chair would allow.
“If you resist, the girl will suffer for it.”
He bit back the curse that rose in his throat, stood acquiescent as she removed the old collar with a touch of her hand and put the new one in place, chanted a few words that fused the ends together.
“You will not be able to slip out of this one,” she said, smiling. “It will grow or shrink as you do. You can try it out tonight. No matter what you do, you will not be able to trick your way out of it, or dislodge it.”
Resisting the urge to touch the new restraint, he said, “You never told me what you wagered,” though he was pretty sure he already knew the answer.
“The girl, of course.”
The thought of Marri — young and innocent — being mauled by Jarrod made Gryff’s stomach clench.
“I don’t know who she is,” Serepta went on, “but she’s more than some mere peasant, of that I’m certain. Tonight, I intend to discover the truth.”
‘What if she won’t talk?”
Serepta’s laughter filled the air. “I saw your little love scene. I think, with the right persuasion, she’ll tell me everything I want to know.”
Fear knotted in Gryff’s gut. He knew just what kind of persuasion the witch had in mind.
* * *
Marri glanced at her surroundings. Save for the chair she occupied, there was no furniture in the room. No carpets on the floor, no tapestries on the walls. No windows, only a single door. A thick iron bar hung from the ceiling. Brown stains marred the stone floor beneath it.
She jumped when the door opened, felt her heart skip a beat when Gryff stepped into the room. Two burly guards followed close behind him. Wordlessly, they secured his hands to the iron bar, then left the room, closing the door behind them.
Marri stared at Gryff. “What’s going on?”
“Serepta’s going to ask you a few questions.”
“What kind of questions?”
“She wants to know who you are.”
Marri’s eyes widened.
“Exactly. Faster than you can say ransom, she’ll be in touch with your brother.”
Her face paled. “And he’ll kill me. But, what does that have to do with you?”
Knowing it was useless, he tugged against his bonds. “She thinks you care for me…”
“And that hurting you will make me tell her what she wants to know.”
“Exactly. No matter what she does, don’t tell her the truth.”
“But…”
“She won’t kill me. Whatever she dishes out, I can take it.” He glanced at the door. “She’s coming.”
Serepta entered the room, staff in hand. She smiled at Marri as she closed the door. “Well, well, here you are. I assume Gryff has told you why we’re here.”
Marri nodded.
“So, we can do this the easy way,” the witch purred, “or the hard way. The easy way is for you to tell me who you are. The hard way is for you to refuse, although not for you. He’ll be the one to suffer.”
Marri looked at Gryff.
He stared back at her, his face impassive.
“My name is Cay. I was at Bosquetown on my way to Fennton when your guards kidnapped us.”
Serepta sighed dramatically. Then, with a shake of her head, she murmured an incantation.
Marri gasped as Gryff writhed in his bonds, his face contorted in agony, every muscle taut.
“Are you sure you don’t want to change your answer?” Serepta asked.
From the corner of her eye, Marri saw Gryff shake his head, almost imperceptibly.
Voice trembling, she repeated her former answer.
A low groan rose from Gryff’s throat as tiny cuts opened across his chest, on his arms and legs. Bright red blood leaked from the wounds, dripping into the iron grate at his feet.
“Last chance,” Serepta said.
Marri bit down on her lip to keep from crying out as the cuts grew deeper, bled harder, faster, until his chest, arms and legs were covered with crimson. “I’m Marri of House Treymanne. My father is King Leonid of Brynn Tor.” She stared at Gryff. Breathing heavily, covered in blood and sweat, he sagged in his bonds, his dark eyes defiant.
“Daughter of a king,” Serepta murmured. Eyes narrowed, she poked Gryff with her staff. “How did you come by such a prize?”
“I met her at my place.” He drew a deep shuddering breath. “I didn’t know who she was.”
Serepta lifted a skeptical brow. “What were you doing in Bosquetown? Where were you taking her?”
Marri held her breath as she waited for his answer.
“A couple of thugs broke into my house looking to kill me. I figured you sent them, so I lit out.” He took a deep breath. “I couldn’t leave her behind so I brought her along. You know,” he said with a wicked leer. “For company.”
“And you,” Serepta said, focusing her gaze on Marri. “What were you doing in Bosquetown?”
“I was traveling to Fennton to…to visit a friend of the family who…who wasn’t feeling well.”
“Dressed like a peasant?”
“I often go out in disguise.”
“Without bodyguards?” Serepta scoffed. “Without any protection at all?”
“We were attacked on the road. My men were killed. I was lucky to get away with my life.”
“Well, I’m sure your father will be more than happy to learn you’re alive and well. And grateful enough to offer a nice reward, I should think. Mayhap even to the half of his kingdom.” Serepta didn’t miss the frantic look the girl sent in Gryff’s direction, or the way his hands tightened on the bar overhead. Whatever the reason, it was obvious the girl wasn’t eager to return home. And just as obvious that Gryff knew it. And now, Serepta thought, so did she. “I’ll send word to your father in the morning, princess. Until then, we can’t have you languishing in the dungeon, can we? Come along, my dear.”
With a last frantic glance at Gryff, Marri followed Serepta out of the room.
Alone, Gryff gave voice to the pain lancing through him in a long, low groan. His body ached, inside and out, from head to foot.
He lost track of how long he hung there, couldn’t stand on his own two feet when Serepta’s guards came to take him back to his cell. After dumping him inside, they locked the door. Swamped in pain and misery, he closed his eyes and let the darkness carry him away.
* * *
Marri hadn’t known what to expect when Serepta ushered her up the stairs and down a long, winding corridor lined with doors of different hues, all of which were closed.
The witch paused at the last room on the left. “Make yourself at home,” she said, opening the door. “I’ll send one of the maids up with towels and a change of clothes.”
With a nod, Marri stepped into the room. It was large and square, with a canopy bed, a white dresser, and a rocking chair. A large screen hid a bathtub that filled with hot water while she watched.
Minutes later, one of the kitchen maids entered the room carrying several towels, a robe, and a number of dresses. She smiled uncertainly, obviously wondering what Marri had done to be promoted from maid to pampered guest as she placed the towels on the table and laid the dresses out on the bed.
Marri nodded her thanks.
“Will there be anything else?” the maid asked.
“That will be all, thank you.”
Dropping a proper curtsey, the maid left the room, closing the door behind her.
After a moment’s indecision, Marri undressed and stepped into the tub. She couldn’t help feeling guilty as she sank down into the fragrant water. What right did she have to be surrounded by such luxury when Gryff was hurt, bleeding, all because of her?
But it had been so long since she bathed, and the water felt so good…she consoled herself with the thought that refusing to enjoy the bath wouldn’t do anything to ease Gryff’s pain. If the situation were reversed, she would want him to enjoy whatever comforts the witch offered while he could. Rationalizing didn’t ease her guilt and she washed quickly, then stepped out of the tub.
After drying her hair, she donned the robe. Too nervous to sit, she paced the floor. What would her father do when he learned his daughter was being held prisoner? Would he pay a ransom for her return? Was her father even alive, or, in his haste to secure the throne, had Artur killed their father as he had so callously killed their brothers?
What would her life expectancy be if she returned to Brynn Tor?
Worry as she might for her own life, she couldn’t stop thinking about Gryff. Had he been returned to his cell, or had Serepta left him in that dreadful room to bleed to death?
She didn’t know how long she’d been pacing when the door opened and the same kitchen maid came in carrying a covered tray. She placed it on the table, scooped up Marri’s discarded clothing and left the room.