This, Anna thought, had to be some sort of cosmic joke.
She eyed the guards warily. Six of them in total. They looked young, but strong; in most circumstances, she could take them. Then again, Anna thought, in most circumstances she wasn't tied to a bed post with no weapons and a one-armed pyromaniac to look after.
Damn.
She shifted, listening to the clink-clink of her handcuffs. The Tower of the Sun King was small but decorated; a four-poster bed was shoved against the wall, suffocating under mounds of tasseled golden pillows. There was a desk — claw-foot, encrusted with red jewels — and a dusty window that was the length and width of her forearm. Anna's mouth felt dry.
She couldn't be trapped in another tower for months.
She couldn't.
"I must admit," Eris said, "I'm disappointed that Ryne can't join us. It would been amusing to watch him try to save you."
The young lord lounged in a chair, his feet kicked up on the table. His dark hair was messy, and his white shirt gaped open, revealing a birthmark just over his heart. She glanced at Tristan; he was shackled to the other bedpost, and the guards had ripped apart his shirt and trousers in their search for explosives. They had unearthed three.
Anna hoped there was a fourth.
"What do you want?" she asked.
"Oh, come on, Annalise." Eris picked up an explosive, juggling it in a way that made her stomach flip over. "You're a smart girl. Haven't you worked it out yet?"
Anna stared. Was he holding her for ransom? Revenge? It didn't take a genius to figure out that Eris was certifiably bonkers — he was the type of person to kick puppies for fun — but he wasn't a complete idiot. He knew what he was risking by bringing her here. He had to have a reason. A purpose.
Then it struck her.
Oh, gods.
"You're working with Lucia," she said.
Tristan looked at her sharply. But Anna's mind was whirring, the puzzle pieces slotting into place: how none of those strange golden hounds had attacked Eris; how Eris had disappeared right after the attack; the burning villages; the sudden disappearance of Lucia's portrait from the Portrait Room.
Eris was working with her. He'd been working with her for weeks, if not months.
Anna closed her eyes.
She should have known. She would have known if she hadn't been locked in a godsdamn tower for four months. A sour taste rose in her mouth. She was going to kill Ryne Delafort. Absolutely kill him.
Eris set down the explosive, clapping slowly. "Points for effort. A bit late on the uptake, unfortunately, but a valiant attempt."
Anna stretched out her hands, testing her manacles. They were easy to slip. Good. "Does the sword even exist?"
"Oh, God-Slayer exists," Eris said. "But it's not in this Tower." He slid his boots off the desk. "And it'll never be found. Not while Lucia's involved."
"What did she promise you?" Anna asked.
Because it must have been something. Land. Jewels. A fleet of ships. Eris didn't play well with others, but he responded well to bribery; if an omnipotent goddess offered him a boon, he wasn't the sort to ask questions.
Eris unsheathed his sword. "I grow tired of this."
"Wynterlynn," Anna guessed.
Something flickered in his gaze. Anna laughed.
"She'll never give it to you." Gods, he was an idiot. "She'll take it for herself."
His mouth tightened. "We'll rule jointly."
"No," Anna said, leaning against the bedpost. "She'll wait until the battle's won, and then she'll slit your throat while you're sleeping." Or eviscerate him. Or drive him mad, until Eris pitched himself off a tower. However goddesses liked to kill people these days.
Eris's gaze narrowed. "You don't know what you're talking about."
"And you're a fool," Anna said.
"We'll be tied together." His voice was tight. "Physically. Legally. In every way that matters."
"You think she's going to marry you?" Hysterical amusement rose in her chest. "Come off it, Eris. Even you're not that stupid."
He let out a snarling noise, advancing forward. A knife was thrust under her chin. Something about the situation was so strange — so ridiculous — that Anna laughed. "Go on, then." She raised her chin. "Kill me."
It would be preferable, Anna thought, to withering away in this tower. Eris's green eyes were polished glass, so bright that they looked almost manic. "You have no idea." He crouched down, his breath hot on her face. "No idea what I'm about to do. What we're about to do. It'll change the whole course of history."
"Hold hands?" Anna's voice was mocking. "Braid each other's hair?"
The knife shook in his hand. "I'm going to marry her, damn it! She's going to possess Camille, and then I'm going to marry her." His smile was too big, oddly stretched on his face. "And then we'll take Lucerna, too."
There was a horrible silence.
Anna's mind whirled. She had considered... no, she had suspected that Camille might be the Lost Princess of Lucerna, but to actually hear it...
She swallowed.
Swallowed again.
"Ryne's going to marry her." Her voice came out scratchy. "Ryne is marrying her in just a few days from now."
"Ryne," Eris said, "is currently dying in the infirmary." His smile was triumphant. "Anyway, it doesn't matter. Even if he wakes up, Lyra will take care of him."
Something cold curled in her chest. "Kill him, you mean?"
"Oh, no." Eris leaned close, the knife whispering over her skin. "Even better. Think about it, Annalise: what is Lyra's greatest talent?"
To transform, Anna thought. Everyone knew that. But how would that distract Ryne? Who could the Scythe possibly transform into that would prevent Ryne from attending his own wedding? She couldn't think of—
"Cidarius," Tristan said.
Anna looked at him. His golden eyes reflected the midday sun, and there was pity in them. Pity, she thought, and maybe sadness, too.
"She's going to transform into you," he said softly.
The words hit her like a slap.
Her head snapped up. Eris was smiling down at her, his expression smug. A terrible, fathomless pit opened in her chest, and Anna looked at her bound feet. She hadn't realized that she'd been hoping Ryne would realize they were missing. That he would come for them. But that was the thing about hope, Anna thought; you never knew how much you had until it was taken away from you.
Nobody was coming for them.
They would die here.
Unless...
Anna flexed her hands. She could slip the manacles, but then what? An explosive? No; too risky. That could blow them all to smithereens. She could fight her way past the guards, but she'd have to leave Tristan. And even now, Anna couldn't bring herself to do that.
Which left one option.
She sized up Eris. Could she lunge across the room? Grab his arm? The guards might let them go if their master was dying of nightmare magic. She flexed her hands, trying to wriggle out of her gloves—
"Don't bother." Eris's voice was silk. "This entire Tower is resistant to any form of nightweaving magic; it's why I chose it." He crouched down, resting on his haunches. "Honestly, you make it so easy."
She stilled. "You're lying."
"Try it."
Anna studied him. A trap? No, she realized, a challenge. She reached out, but the tower glowed with light; she might as well have been trying to summon darkness in the heart of a flame. Panic flooded her veins.
Please, gods, no.
"You see?" Eris reached out to cup her face. "We'll be spending a lot of time together, Annalise. Unless, of course, you give me what I want." His thumb ran over her bottom lip. "Tell me where your guardian is."
White noise filled her head. "I don't know."
"Yes," Eris said. "You do." His thumb pressed into her mouth, hard enough to bruise. "Or you can guess, at the very least. Sophie Holloway is a planner; she would have told you the names of safe houses. Rendez-vous points."
Anna remained silent. Eris pushed his finger into her mouth, thrusting it all the way down her throat, until she was choking on it. His smile grew. He removed his finger, sucking on it. Nausea rolled in her stomach.
"Tell me where the Nightweavers are," Eris said.
Fury burned in her chest. "Go to hell."
"Fine." Eris shrugged. "The real question, then, is how we should begin." His thumb stroked her jaw. "Knives? Whipping? Which would you prefer?"
She jerked back. "Get off me."
His lip curled. "Tell me where your whore of a guardian is."
She looked away. There was a beat of silence and then Eris rose, brushing invisible dirt from his trousers.
"Fine," he said. "A beating then, I think. Guards?"
Two men lurched forward. Anna was aware of Tristan's protests, aware of them strapping her to the table, but it all felt faraway; she was retreating inside of herself, burrowing down to a dark little corner where Eris couldn't reach her.
Anna thought of the very first time that Sophie had wounded her with a sword, the agony of the blade slicing through her skin. Henry had shouted bloody murder at Sophie, rushing outside with bandages, but Sophie made her fight on.
Push it away, Sophie had told her. Make yourself numb to it. Pain is controlled by your mind; you are the master of it.
Eris stripped off his gloves. He reached in his pocket, pulling out two pieces of shimmering golden metal. Brass knuckles.
"A shame," he murmured. "You have such a lovely face."
Eris's fist flew. Blinding pain ripped through her skull, and something wet trickled from her nose. Blood? A ringing noise started in her ears, and Eris's voice sounded funny, as if he was speaking from a great distance.
"Where is she?"
Anna laughed. "I hope you die slowly, Other Delafort."
Eris snarled. His fist came back again, and Anna retreated into that hole once more, surrendering to the darkness. I am Annalise Cidarius, she thought, Queen of Wynterlynn and Heir of Nyxos. And I will not yield.
Pain.
I will not yield.
A sickening crack.
I will not yield.
***
She'll come for me.
As Anna lolled against the chair, her entire body aching, she repeated the words to herself, singing them like a lullaby. Sophie will come for me. When I don't write again, she'll come for me. She'll know something's wrong.
She told herself that, over and over.
Time passed in starbursts. The crack of a whip. Eris, wiping silver blood off with a lace handkerchief. Tristan, thrashing against his restraints. A muffled scream. Her own? Every part of her body ached, every bone dissolving into white dust. She was tired. So godsdamn tired.
Sometimes, Eris spoke. He wove horrible tales of burning villages, of watching Nightweavers go up in flames. He told her about forcing a weeping man to watch as guards slaughtered his children.
"Two boys," Eris said. "Damien and Richy." His silver knife sparked in the light. "Damien tried to offer us his toy rabbit in exchange for his younger brother's life. Adorable, really. You have to admire sibling loyalty."
Eris crouched down, and the knife kissed her neck. "Tell me where she is, Annalise." His voice was soft. "Tell me, and I'll spare you."
She shook her head.
He sighed. "Hold her arm."
Footsteps shuffled forward. There was the grinding of metal-on-metal. Fresh agony ripped through her. Anna closed her eyes against the burning, retreating into the blackness. Becoming nothing once more.
When Eris left, Anna could see a sliver of night through the window, a corner of old star-eaten blanket. She tried to remember Henry's lessons, although she could remember only a few of the constellations, now. Mawa's Broadcleaver. The Serpent's Tail. Little Sparrow.
"Anna?" Tristan whispered. "Anna, please." His golden eyes were agonized. "Say something to me. Anything."
But she couldn't; her mouth wouldn't work. She heard the shift of chains, the murmur of Tristan's voice, but it was distant as a summer dream.
So Anna retreated back inside of herself, falling into the darkness.
I am Annalise Cidarius, and I will not yield.
I will not yield.