She woke hours later. Glancing at her arm, she found it clean and bandaged. She’d also been dressed in loose pajama trousers and shirt, her hair in a neat braid on one side of her shoulder.

Her mouth tasted like the inside of a dead, stuffed raccoon. So the first order of business was to take care of basic hygiene in the attached bathroom. Dress. And check her body for any other injuries she might have missed. A least Dawnthorne hadn’t lied about the drug being non-fatal, but then why would he? If he wanted her dead, he’d just try to kill her.

And she supposed she should eat something before she went to Amnan’s holding place again. What choice did she have? She could try and escape and seek help, but they might kill him without her there. He was being kept for leverage. If she escaped, it might be prudent to just get rid of the evidence, so to speak, to avoid an interspecies mishap. After all, it was her word—the word of a young woman working in a glorified brothel who’d run away from home—against Dawnthorne’s. Anissa was trying her best to be helpful, but she was no ally of Serephone’s.

Serephone made her way to the small dining room, hoping there was still food laid out. It was late, but not too late. The staff might not have cleared the sideboard yet. When she entered the dining room, a servant was removing a child sized plate with the remnants of a demolished meal. The man glanced at Serephone and nodded, gesturing towards a seat with a clean setting.

“Am I messing with your schedule?” she asked quietly.

“No, Lady. Lord Dawnthorne instructed us to leave food for when you desired it.”

He took the head of the family line stuff seriously enough, despite the sometimes murderous glares and casually menacing actions. She filled her plate with enough that she wouldn’t need seconds, so they could start to clear down anyway, and took a seat, eating as fast as she could without looking savage.

Anissa entered when Serephone was finishing. She glanced up, wondering if her elder sister’s only job now was to keep tabs on her.

“You’ve eaten? Lord Dawnthorne requests your presence.”

Serephone stood. “A little late.”

“Iona is in bed.”

The response was short, nearly curt, and Serephone knew Anissa was aware of her daughter’s role in the rescue excursion. She began to apologize, then stopped. Apologies were useless at best, insincere at worst. If she had to do it all over, she would still have needed Iona’s help. But she would think twice next time. There was no need to drag a child into this mess.

“Why did you come to Seattle?” Anissa asked. “You’ve stayed away your entire life. Our father hid your existence successfully. Why come here, and straight into Dawnthorne’s arms?”

“I’ll tell him if he asks.” The whole present situation had derailed her initial quest, but not entirely. If there was one thing Serephone was good at, it was patience. And cold revenge suited her nature, even if she had to wait a month, a year, to exact…justice.

She followed Anissa out of the dining room towards the airy white and blue study. She stepped inside, Anissa shutting the door behind, Serephone’s eyes going to the open patio doors. The sheer curtains billowed in a strong breeze, the scent of rain on in the air. No mean feat, since they were under a Dome. Whatever weather control magic existed mimicked the pre-War environment perfectly. Seattle had once been renowned for its rain. No more.

Beyond the doors, the deep of night plunged the grounds into darkness. There were tall, fragile-looking lampposts lining the driveway, flickering with whatever oil or magic powered them, but their pools of light were contained to within a few feet.

Turning her attention to Dawnthorne, who stood behind his desk, one hand resting on the surface as if he had all century to wait for her to acknowledge him, she said, “Haven’t changed my mind. Not your minion, and I have a family. A mother.”

“She and your sisters will be summoned soon.”

The tone of his voice had her stuffing an acerbic response back into her throat. Persia was hot-headed, not her. Her twin didn’t care if anyone knew if she was sad, mad, homicidal, happy, or anything. Serephone preferred to present a blank slate to the world. Let her enemies work to determine what she was feeling.

“If it’s my cooperation you want,” Serephone said, “you’re going about it in a sucky way.”

Anissa sighed. Dawnthorne smiled. “I have not yet exerted myself to obtain your cooperation. This matter is an annoyance at worst, and I am occupied with issues of more import, than a spoiled child, who doesn’t understand her place. I am lenient with you because you are ignorant—but lenience can only go so far, cousin. If I do not bring you to heel, then others may, and if the matter goes beyond my hands, you will not like it. I am the better of the options available to you.”

“Please listen to him, sister,” Anissa said. “Unbound fae are forbidden to live. Our laws are very strict. If you do not complete the binding, then you will be executed. And our sisters, and your mother. And the rest of us may be punished for not doing it sooner rather than later.”

She would have to find out why the fae were so adamant about policing their people, but that was a conversation for later. The why didn’t matter as much, presently.

“I’ve arranged for an incentive to encourage your cooperation,” Dawnthorne said, “as you so aptly point out my attempts so far have been weak.”

Her eyes narrowed. Reverse incentive was likely more accurate and her suspicions proved true when moments later four guards emerged from the blackness of the lawn, Amnan walking calmly between them.

She knew the moment he saw her, a flicker of fire in his eyes, the pupils morphing from human round to dragon slits in an instant. No other emotion showed on his face, beyond a calm unconcern. He was as good at masking as she was. But she hadn’t expected the resurgence of their bond. He was there, a shadow of his deep-seated anger a mirror of her own. Beneath it worry, and a wash of relief. He met her eyes as he and the escort stepped into the study.

“Sere,” he greeted. “I see you haven’t gone over to the dark side yet.”

She frowned, the words niggling in the back of her head, then shrugged it away, giving him a quick, thorough look. No blood, and his clothes were his own. His eyes and voice were clear of pain, his face uninjured. So whatever had happened, they hadn't tortured him. Something flickered and she shifted her vision, using her magic to see. The translucent rainbow bubble that encased him morphed according to his movements. It didn’t appear to restrict his ability to touch. She reached out a hand, passing through the barrier easily, resting briefly on his chest when he came close.

“What is this thing you have around him?” she demanded, staring at Dawnthorne.

“It suppresses the use of magic,” he said. “It will not otherwise harm him.”

She was a little surprised he seemed so inclined to give her useful information, but then he technically wanted her on his side. It gave him the opportunity to appear forthcoming—Amnan could have answered the question as well.

His muscle flexed under her touch. She glanced up at him, met his eyes.  “They’re probably going to torture me,” he said. “Don’t let it affect your thinking.”

The words were a cold shock, and his apparent indifference to the fact of his upcoming pain.

“If you hadn’t followed me, you wouldn’t be in this,” she said.

“I will always follow you, Sere.” He bent his head, brushing his lips against hers, then turned away, her hand sliding away from his chest.

She froze. His action was revealing enough, no matter how one chose to interpret it. Her hand curled into a fist. He stood in front of her, a shield, and he was the one, who needed protecting. There was no resentment in him, she felt no anger toward her coming from their link. It was astounding.

“Torture is distasteful,” Dawnthorne said. “We hope to show you the consequences of stubbornness. And later, the rewards of cooperation.”

“This is all too much talking for me,” Amnan said. “I feel faint. Can we get on with it?”

Serephone said nothing, the tension in her jaw sending shooting pains in her head. Amnan’s fingers brushed her hand, a brief press on her skin. She didn’t know if he meant it to be soothing, or a warning.

“I’m guessing no blood?” he asked. “That would mean unnecessary work for your staff.”

She’d never heard quite this level of insolence from him before—he was normally neutral to the point of boring her to tears, when he wasn’t actively trying to be annoying. She wished he wouldn’t bait the fae.

Serephone pushed in front of him. “Strong arm tactics won’t work with me.”

Dawnthorne said nothing. “There is enough of the binding in your blood that I can, with the bracelet, control you in small ways. I’ve chosen not to. And your Amnan is immune to my influence because you have bound him to you already.”

“What?”

“Two fae cannot bind the same person,” Anissa said. “You both protected and endangered him. A mistake you would not have made were you properly educated.”

There was no insult in her sister’s tone, only fact. Anissa spoke softly, as usual, as if she didn’t want her words to call attention to her. Dawnthorne glanced at her, but only said, “Let this be her first lesson. It is a gentle one.”

He raised his hand and Amnan stiffened, shoving her behind him. A thin stream of black light flew from Dawnthorne’s fingers. Serephone stepped in front of Amnan, Anissa responding with immortal speed and pushing her out of the way. They tussled, her elder sister maneuvering Serephone into a hold with a strength she wouldn’t again underestimate.

“Please don’t,” Anissa said in her ear. “I don’t want to see you hurt. Let him endure this for you—if he loves you, he will prefer it this way.”

“Let me go.”

“I can’t.”

When this was over, if she didn’t kill Anissa, she’d ask her for lessons. Her combat skills were what they could be, considering she’d been trained by a woman who’d cobbled together her own fighting style mostly from trial and error and random teaching over the course of decades.

Her mother wouldn’t like hearing that particular opinion.

“There is no benefit to me in bringing you, or Amnan, pain,” Dawnthorne said. “Comply, and this will end.”

The black magic penetrated the bubble surrounding Amnan and struck him in the chest. Amnan paled, body jerking, jaw tight. Serephone didn’t know much about dragon anatomy—she just assumed his heart was in the same location as hers.

“Comply to what?” she snarled. “I have a life. I am not fae. I don’t care about your laws, and I don’t want to swear fealty to a family that isn’t mine.”

“You are fae enough that you instinctively bound another to you in the manner of our people,” he replied, expression cool as he observed her.

“Amnan started it!”

“Perhaps. But you ended it.”

“You have to accept the binding oath willingly,” Anissa said. “Coercive magic doesn’t work on fae very well. It makes things difficult sometimes.”

Serephone jerked, testing Anissa’s hold. Her shoulders screamed. Anissa held her fast with physical strength and a thread of magic.

“You can justify it all you want. This is wrong.”

“I know,” her sister said. “But it is.”

Serephone stilled, unwilling to give away any more of her distress. She didn’t want Amnan hurt. His pain brought a strange anxious rage to the surface. He turned his head and looked at her, a slight smile on his face and warmth flowed down the link of their bond. Why wasn’t he fighting? Why was he allowing this? She knew he was outnumbered, but she would help him.

“Have you ever played chess, sweet?” he asked.

She glared at him. This wasn’t the time for small talk. And then her brain kicked into gear. “I remember the game.”

“Sometimes the knight sacrifices himself, so a player can’t check the Queen.”

Dawnthorne’s black magic attacked again, and Amnan cried out, dropping to his knees as it crashed into him. His shoulders swelled, the cords of his neck standing out in relief. She scowled, rapidly sorting through his words to come up with a logical conclusion. A knight sacrificing himself for the Queen? Fuck that.

And then he surged to his feet.