“Harpy!” I shouted, launching a fireball in her direction. Just to get her attention. “Stop!”
The mottled bird-woman cawed in alarm and twisted in the air to avoid the spurt of white flame. The shock caused her to tumble, and it was all I needed to gain on her.
I wanted to attack, but this wasn’t the same harpy who had been so snide during our interaction on the cliff. There was no way she’d be capable of flight again so soon, was there? Perhaps this was the other—the only one of the three who had descended willingly into the nest and gone to her side.
“Theon,” she greeted me, confirming my suspicions. Her large black eyes seemed to laugh at me. “I must say, I love what you’ve done with the place.” She laughed, and the sound was like breaking glass. I cringed. “It was always too warm for my sisters and me to visit before, except for business.”
“As if your kind knows of anything other than business,” I snapped. “Or sisterhood, for that matter.”
At this, she screeched and dove toward me. I swatted her with my tail.
“Who sent you here?” I demanded, prepared to really lash into her. “Was it the ice dragons?”
“No one sent me here.”
“Tell me the truth,” I commanded, cold as any ice dragon. “You must have been sent for someone. Is that not the only purpose a harpy serves? To wreak havoc on a life? What is your business, bird-woman?”
The harpy laughed, and my eyes narrowed.
“Oh, men,” she cooed. “I have no envy for your gender. So blind, you are. A harpy can have many purposes, sweet Theon.” I was disturbed at the familiarity with which she spoke to me. It was the way a superior would speak to an inferior. “We can take captives, certainly.” She swooped and dove in the air, enjoying herself. I wanted to shoot her down. I was in no mood to be played with, least of all by a likely consort of the ice dragons. If I had known the condition of my home country when I’d had my first interactions with her flock, I would have known immediately who had invested in their temporary loyalty. “But we can also ferry passengers between gates.” She sang a strangely lovely melody as she fluttered. “We can even raise young.”
“You cannot raise young. No harpy bears offspring. It’s hard enough to get you to die.”
“True enough that our captives fail to provide sufficient seed,” the harpy agreed. I shuddered to think of the poor men ensnared by such aims. “But we may raise young nevertheless. A harpy is nothing if not industrious. Open-minded to a fair trade, we are, we are. We can ferry passengers between gates. We can raise young. You see, a harpy can do many things.”
“You excel at talking in circles,” I told her. “Harpy, it is late. Tell me who brought you here or I—”
I froze, her words all running together to form an answer.
She had come from Beggar’s Hole, Maine.
We can ferry passengers between gates.
Oh, no.
Gods, no.
Who in Maine would have gone to this harpy and made a pact? To be ferried between the portals?
Only Nell.
We can even raise young.
Open-minded to a fair trade.
The heat built up in my throat and expelled itself from my mouth. I unleashed a torrent of fire in the harpy’s direction, sending her on an erratic flight path over the ocean, toward the ogres’ beach.
Nell
Again, as before, I slowly lost all concept of time. There were no windows in the dungeon. The best measurement of time that I had was my own physical pangs. I hadn’t peed on myself yet, but I had to go to the bathroom pretty badly. I hadn’t lost consciousness yet, but I was very tired. It must have been hours… and my eyelids were leaden. The floor spun beneath my feet, but I kept my grip. I didn’t know how much longer I could do it, and Altair had lapsed off to sleep after Lethe departed. Without anything to distract me, it was only a matter of time.
It felt like the early hours of the morning, though I could not be sure.
A shadow moved over the stone stairwell, lit by the yellow, fluctuating torchlight. I dared hope that it was Lethe, approaching to free me from the manacles. Maybe he had changed his mind after sleeping on it. But two more shadows came behind it. Guards taking shifts, perhaps? But one of the shadows was too small—
Michelle Ballinger swept around the corner, no longer sparkling in the strangely pointed gown she had worn to visit me the night before. She was now draped in layer upon layer of gossamer silk, all in cream and pearl and ivory. She was annoyingly gorgeous, as usual. Her makeup was soft, almost natural, and her hair fell in straight locks down her shoulders. I could only imagine that she must have awoken early to be tended by some poor group of maids and slaves.