Ghrashbreg’s smile grew, like a genial uncle’s. Alarm bells were ringing in my head. ‘Well then,’ he said, ‘have some.’
If I protested too much, this could go on all night. Salivating despite the situation, I took the cup from him and sipped. Damn. That was good.
‘Have some more.’
I took another sip, resisting the urge to down the whole thing. Ghrashbreg, however, reached up and gently tipped the base of the cup, causing the rest of the hot coffee to slide down my throat. I swallowed, finishing it all, although my tongue and throat were burning. The same expression remained on the goblin’s face the entire time. ‘You enjoyed that, didn’t you, my dear?’
‘Yes.’ I only just managed not to choke.
He took the cup from me and laid it carefully on its saucer before patting my hand. Then he lashed out like a snake, his squat fingers curving round my wrist and his fingernails digging into my skin. He yanked me forward until I stumbled. With his other hand, he grabbed the back of my head and slammed it down against the table. There was a crash of breaking crockery and a few tuts from the other goblins.
‘Watch the china! That’s expensive stuff and there’s not much of it left.’
Ghrashbreg stood up, all the better to press down hard onto my skull. I sent a wistful thought towards my shadow, trapped somewhere upstairs, and let my body relax. There was no point fighting the inevitable; the odds against me were astronomical. I couldn’t even reach Marrock’s dagger – and even if I could it would do me little good against all of these goblins. One flash of steel and Ghrashbreg would make this even worse for me than it already was.
‘Who are you really?’ Ghrashbreg hissed at me.
‘Saiya Buchanan.’ That’s what I meant to say but it didn’t sound like that when I tried to force the words out of my mouth.
The goblin took hold of my left hand and stroked my little finger. ‘Who are you?’
‘Saiya,’ I expelled in a hiss of air.
With one swift movement, he yanked my finger upwards. I could hear the snapping of the bone even as I screamed. ‘Who are you?’
I gasped, tears streaming down my cheeks and pooling onto the once-pristine tablecloth. ‘Saiya.’
He reached for my other hand and began stroking the little finger. ‘You’re not going to tell anyone about what you heard here, are you?’
‘I heard nothing.’ My words were little more than ragged sobs.
‘I don’t want to break more fingers, Saiya. Fingers tend to be rather crucial for cooks and I do enjoy my food.’ He pulled again, breaking the bone. Pain and nausea exploded through me; it felt as if my own screams were being echoed back at me, reverberating around the room. ‘I can do much worse than break fingers,’ he cooed into my ear.
‘I … won’t…’ it hurt ‘…tell. I didn’t hear anything.’
All at once he released me and moved his hands away. ‘Stand up,’ he ordered.
I staggered up, dizzy. My vision swam but I could just make out the other goblins. Most of them were holding their coffee cups and sipping as they watched.
‘Thank you, Saiya,’ Ghrashbreg murmured. ‘It was lovely to meet you. You are free to go.’
I didn’t need telling twice. I turned, almost tripping in my haste to get away. Tears of agony flared up again as I tried desperately to open the door with my broken, sweat-slicked hands. For a moment, I didn’t think I’d manage it then I got the purchase I needed and stumbled into the corridor.
‘Was that really necessary, Lord Ghrashbreg?’ a gravelly voice drawled. ‘The girl was clearly terrified and no danger to any of us. None of what we said would have made any sense to her.’
‘It doesn’t hurt to keep them in their place,’ I heard Ghrashbreg answer as the door closed behind me.
Dangerously close to fainting, I dragged myself away to relative safety. I was still alive. It was a damned miracle.
Chapter Eight
I stumbled blindly along the corridor. Right now the only thing in my head was to get as far away from Ghrashbreg and his cronies as possible. I was used to detaching myself to survive, both physically and emotionally, but the combination of pain and fear had fired my adrenaline. The almost ethereal calm, which came over me when I believed that Ghrashbreg was going to kill me, had vanished. I didn’t want to die.
Staggering forward, I came to some worn stone steps winding upwards. I had to get to the fourth floor – that was where my shadow was, though I was in no fit state to retrieve it at the moment. I needed a dark hole where I could curl up for an hour or two and lick my wounds.
Ignoring my desperate need to be reunited with my other self, I headed down to where I could be sure of finding an unoccupied room or cupboard. I needed to retrieve my bag with its precious paracetemol. Unfortunately, I was so focused on the agonising pain in my hands and the fear thrumming through my veins that I didn’t realise someone was coming towards me until it was too late.
‘Good eve… My goodness. Are you alright, miss?’
I blinked at the oddly familiar face then recognition flashed through me. I gasped, stepped backwards and lost my footing. De Florinville’s human companion leapt forward and grabbed by arm but the ground still rushed towards me. I landed on my knees with a pained ‘oomph’ before he pulled me upright again. As he did so, his fingers grazed against mine and I let out an involuntary moan of pain. He glanced down, his eyes widening in horror as he caught sight of my swollen, broken fingers. ‘What’s happened? Who did this to you?’
I shook my head in alarm, desperate to get away. ‘Please,’ I whispered.
His warm brown eyes scanned my face, worry lighting them. ‘Don’t worry,’ he said briskly. ‘I’ll help you. My name is Rymark. You’ll be safe with me.’
Taking care to avoid touching my hands again, he took hold of elbow and gently spun me round before propelling me upwards. No. Stop touching me. Let me go. I didn’t want to go up and I couldn’t bear his hand pressing against my flesh. Not to mention that Rymark’s master might believe the wraith’s shadow he had imprisoned was male but he was still a Dark Elf; if he clapped eyes on me in person, he’d surely discern the truth. If I let Rymark take me upstairs and I met de Florinville, I’d have left the lion’s den only to land in the dragon’s den.
I shivered and tried desperately to pull back but Rymark was having none of it. ‘Stop struggling,’ he soothed. ‘I won’t hurt you. I want to help.’
‘No. I have … to … go.’ It was an effort to get the words out.
‘This won’t take long. I promise.’
I ignored his entreaties and pulled away, breathing out at the freedom before spinning round once more for the stairs leading down. I’d misjudged my own current capabilities, however, and the sudden movement caused a rush of dizziness. I moaned again. This time, Rymark gave me no choice; he scooped me up in his arms and began to ascend.
Sudden nausea coursed through me while a little voice inside my head cursed loudly. How could something as simple as two broken little fingers incapacitate me so much? I writhed, trying to get away, but it was a weak effort. Some shadow warrior I was.
I mumbled something about feeling better already but Rymark didn’t seem to register what I was saying. He strode up to the fourth floor and marched straight into a suite of rooms off the staircase. The second the door closed behind us and my vision cleared so that I could look around, I knew exactly where I was.
When Gabriel de Florinville got out of his chair and loomed over us, my stomach dropped even further. I caught the briefest glimpse of my own shadow, imprisoned within the salt and candle circle, before my view was obstructed. A tiny squeak of horror escaped my lips.
‘What on earth is going on, Rymark?’ The Dark Elf’s gaze swooped over me. ‘Get her into the bedroom.’
Rymark was clearly beginning to tire but he carried me through a door and into de Florinville’s guest bedroom. He laid me gently down on the bed. The relief I felt at no longer being next to his body was extra
ordinary.
‘I found her on the stairs. Someone’s attacked her.’ Rymark’s mouth flattened into a grim line. ‘I think we can guess who. She’s human. The goblins have no place treating her like this – we can’t let them get away with it.’
Any second now I wasn’t going to get away with it. I gazed up from my supine position, waiting for the inevitable elven explosion.
Gabriel de Florinville, whose expression had been nothing but steely when he’d looked at my shadow self, offered me a brief, almost tender smile. ‘What’s your name?’ he asked.
I might have been able to answer the same question from Ghrashbreg when he’d been torturing me but now my tongue was cleaving to the roof of my mouth and I could only stare back dumbly. De Florinville’s expression didn’t change. Instead he leant over and started unfastening the buttons on my dirty chef’s coat.
‘She’s so thin,’ Rymark murmured. ‘There’s nothing to her.’
A tiny muscle throbbed in de Florinville’s cheek but his voice remained even. ‘She’s malnourished. Contact the kitchen. Get them to send up some hot water and some hot food immediately.’
Rymark bowed and darted away. My eyes tracked his departure. Now it was just me and the Dark Elf. I closed my eyes.
‘Can you talk?’ he asked.
I pressed my lips together and managed a shake of my head.
‘That’s alright,’ he said. ‘You don’t have to. Now don’t be alarmed but I’m going to get some scissors and cut off this dress. I need to see if there’s any other damage to your body. I’m only going to help you. I swear it.’
Hope stirred within me. There was something here that I could use. My eyes flew open and I stared at him urgently.
‘I’ve never seen such green eyes,’ he commented. He spoke so softly I could barely hear him.
I licked my lips. ‘Promise me,’ I croaked. ‘Give me your word that you won’t hurt me. You’ll help me.’
His expression softened further. ‘You have it.’
I needed more than that. ‘Say it.’
His own eyes held mine. ‘I promise that I won’t hurt you. I give you my word that I will help you as far as I am able.’
I breathed out. Of course, I couldn’t hold him to his promise. There were no witnesses and he didn’t know who I was. But he’d given every indication thus far that he was the sort of person who took promises very seriously. There was a sliver of a chance that it would let me get out of here with my head and neck still intact.
‘What’s your name?’ he asked me again, registering my acquiescence for what he was about to do.
‘Saiya,’ I whispered. ‘My name is Saiya.’
He smiled at me, his dark eyes crinkling at the edges. ‘I’m Gabriel.’ He reached down to brush his fingers reassuringly against my arm. No. Please don’t. Please don’t touch me. Panic flooded through me. Another’s touch was bad enough at the best of times but it would be awful while I was vulnerable like this. I had barely withstood Rymark’s skin against mine; I wouldn’t cope with de Florinville’s.
The Dark Elf didn’t seem to notice my fear; he simply continued as his hand moved down. ‘I’m very pleased to make your acquaint…’ The second his skin touched mine I felt an odd jolt, like a shot of electricity. It zipped through my veins and I jerked. Instead of an unpleasant sensation, however, it was more like a shiver of pure delight. What the hell?
I wasn’t the only one affected; De Florinville sprang backwards and stared at me, shock all over his face. ‘I don’t believe it,’ he exclaimed.
So he could tell that I was a wraith purely by touch. My heart sank; I’d hoped for a little more time before he realised what I was. More time might have allowed me to conjure up more sympathy from him. Anything that would encourage him to keep his word and not kill me would have been useful. I’d have to pray that his rash promise held.
‘You’re a human,’ he said, wonder etched into his words.
Not exactly. I frowned. What exactly was going on? Why wasn’t he going crazy with rage?
‘Saiya.’ He said it as if he were trying it out, rolling the word around his mouth. A long, slow smile spread across his mouth until it wreathed his whole face. For a moment, I forgot the throbbing, acute pain in my hands – and my fear – and stared at him.
He reached down again. Half-expecting his hands to wrap around my throat, I was stunned when his fingers brushed my cheek. ‘I always thought I preferred long hair,’ he mused. ‘But now I see how wrong I was.’
A flare of irritation ripped through me despite the renewed warmth I felt at his second touch. Now I could see what his game was – he was playing with me. Except I wasn’t a toy. ‘If you’re going to break your promise,’ I said, in a half whisper, half snarl, ‘then do it now. Don’t draw this out.’
Gabriel de Florinville blinked. ‘My promise?’ He’d already forgotten it. That hadn’t taken long. I sighed but then he shook himself, although his eyes were still intent on my face. ‘I won’t hurt you. I will never hurt you.’ His tone was so fervent that for a moment I almost believed him.
He ran a hand through his hair and turned away to open a drawer. When he turned back, the sharp scissors gleamed in his hands. I flinched and he looked pained. ‘I’ll be careful,’ he said.
He started at the lower hem of my dress, cutting upwards through the fabric. With his head lowered and his dark hair falling across his forehead, this was probably the best chance I was going to get to attack him. I raised my head. My hands hurt too much. Maybe I could kick him – if I kneed his face right now, I might get a few precious seconds, enough time to escape.
Then Rymark appeared in the doorway. ‘They’re sending the water and food up now,’ he said. ‘Apparently the kitchen is short-staffed and most of the servants have gone home for the night but they’ve found someone to do it. She was wearing a chef’s jacket so she must work in the kitchen too. Perhaps whoever comes up can tell us more about who she is and what happened.’
‘Get out.’ There was a dangerous growl in de Florinville’s voice that startled me.
Rymark looked astonished. ‘But…’
‘Wait outside.’ The Dark Elf’s tone brooked no argument. He gave Rymark a hard glare. Only when the man had disappeared into the outer reception room where my shadow was located did de Florinville return to cutting off my dress. He sucked in a sharp breath when he reached my stomach, pausing to stare down. Well, I knew I didn’t have a pot belly; these days it was virtually concave.
Becoming more and more confused about what was going on, I frowned at him. This time his anger was palpable.
‘These bruises are recent but not immediately fresh. Someone else did this.’ Fury vibrated through his voice. ‘Was it the same person who broke your fingers?’
My jaw dropped open. Was he for real? He had caused those bruises when he’d slammed his fist into my shadow. Genuinely surprised, I could do little more than gape. De Florinville registered this and smoothed his expression, although it seemed to take some effort. ‘Never mind,’ he muttered. ‘You can tell me later.’
There was going to be a later? Well, that was good. Having my skin exposed to him made me feel vulnerable and that, coupled with the pain, fatigue and continued dizziness, made it difficult to think straight. I didn’t know why his touch felt different to anyone else’s but at least I didn’t have to recoil every time he drew near.
As far as I could work out, he didn’t know I was the wraith whose shadow was in the next room. I couldn’t decide what he thought I was but it definitely wasn’t his enemy. My bafflement had almost entirely replaced my fear.
De Florinville gently cut upwards, the cold steel of the scissors pressing against my skin from time to time. He was being very, very careful – until he reached above my ribcage. Alarmed, I realised what the problem was and jerked away.
‘What’s this for?’ he asked softly, his fingers brushing against Marrock’s dagger which lay against my side.
I swallowed. I could te
ll him that it was my last defence and that I’d planned to slide it in between his ribs if he tried to hurt me but somehow I didn’t think that would go down very well. Frankly, I was thankful that Ghrashbreg hadn’t noticed it. He’d have broken much more than my little fingers if he had. ‘It’s for protection,’ I whispered, speaking the truth.
‘You didn’t use it against the person who hurt you?’
No, I’d be dead if I’d tried. I shook my head mutely and wondered what de Florinville would do. While I remained rigid with tension, he unsnagged the blade and lifted the weapon before examining it. His jaw clenched then he laid it to one side and continued to peel away the rest of my dress. Although there was a strange, flaring heat in both his expression and his touch, I sensed that he was doing his best to be clinically professional. His manner didn’t really help much. I shivered, feeling like a meal being served up to him on a platter, even though I still had my grubby underwear on and I longed to feel his skin against mine again.
‘This won’t take long, buttercup,’ he murmured. ‘Relax.’
Relax? Buttercup? I opened my mouth to speak but his eyes closed and he began to mutter. I felt his fingertips graze my bruises and an even deeper warmth spread across my tender skin. With feather-light touches, he took hold of my right hand and breathed some more words. Again, I felt the same heat although this time it was coupled with a sudden easing of the pain.
It was difficult to keep my head raised while I was on my back but I still stared. Some swelling remained but, compared to only moments ago, my finger looked completely different. It was almost back to normal and I could flex it again. While de Florinville moved to my other hand, I realised he was healing me. I held up my hand in wonder and gazed at the Elf as he finished his ministrations. His expression was one of intense concentration but also pleasure.
When he was done, he stepped back. I felt a sense of hollow loss that he was no longer touching me. ‘How do you feel?’ he asked.
‘Better,’ I admitted in a croaky whisper. Tired but definitely better.