I struggled to ignore it. To focus on the task at hand and something Isbeth had said when she’d given me the blood. It had been a shock. Important. But it was on the fringes of my memories, existing just out of reach as I curled the chain around my forearm and pulled until my feet slid over the stone—
The sound of approaching steps stopped me. They were light. Quick. I heard them. Dropping the chain, I turned and then lowered myself to the floor, my back against the wall. I even heard blood pumping through veins before a shadow crossed the flickering candlelight. Hell. Whatever Poppy’s touch had managed to do was already fading.
The Handmaiden.
Chains rattled as I leaned forward, the thunder in my chest and in my blood returning and growing louder.
She stepped into the light of another half-burnt candle. The winged mask on her face painted in black made her eyes even lighter. More lifeless.
But she had life in her.
Blood.
I could hear it.
Hungry, starving muscles tensed. My jaw pulsed. “Where is Poppy?”
“She was with the Queen.” The Handmaiden knelt by the hip bath, her stare not drifting far as she gripped the rim. She knew better than to take her eyes off me.
I growled.
“You don’t like that, huh?” she asked, shoving the sleeves of her gown up.
I twisted my head to the side, fangs throbbing. Dread and anticipation collided with the fog of hunger. My skin tightened, pulling taut against the healed wounds. The shadowstone bands clamped down on my wrists and ankles. Get it together. Get it the fuck together.
It took everything in me, but the storm in my blood quieted as my chin dropped. “If…if she has been harmed, I will kill all of you.” The words scratched their way through my dry throat. “I will rip your fucking throats out.”
“The Queen won’t touch a hair on your precious Poppy.” She inched back, moving to the other side of the hip bath. “At least, not yet.”
The sound that came from me was the promise of violent death. “She’ll hurt others to hurt her.”
She stared for a moment, motionless. “You’re right.”
My head snapped toward the cell’s opening. I didn’t want that monster anywhere near Poppy, and Kieran was here, too. If either of them was harmed… The shackles weighed more than ever suddenly. Water splashed, jerking my attention back to the bath. The Handmaiden had dipped her hands into the water.
The fog of impending bloodlust waited at the edges of my being as I watched her grip the sides of the tub and bend over the water. “You going to bathe?”
She glanced up at me. “You got a problem with that?”
“I don’t give a fuck what you do.”
“Good.” She plucked up a matted curl. “I’ve got blood in my hair.”
The Handmaiden then tipped forward. She straight-up dunked her head into the tub. The once-clear water immediately turned an inky black.
What in the hell? I stared into the gloom as the Handmaiden scrubbed her fingers through her hair, washing away what seemed to be some sort of dye, revealing a shade of blond so pale it was nearly white—
Claws scraped over stone. I tensed as a Craven let out a low-pitched shriek. The Handmaiden tossed her hair back, sending a fine mist of water across the floor as she grabbed a blade from the shaft of her boot. Spinning on her knee, she threw the weapon, striking the creature in what was left of its face as it rushed into the cell. Knocked back, the Craven fell into the hall.
“The Craven are so annoying.” The Handmaiden cocked her head. Streaks of black dye ran down her cheeks, cutting through the painted mask and over her teeth as she smiled broadly. “I feel so pretty right now.”
“The fuck?” I muttered, beginning to think this was some sort of bloodlust-induced hallucination.
She giggled, turning back to the hip bath. “You know the Queen won’t send you food or water.”
“No shit.”
Shoving her hands into the tub, she splashed her face and commenced scrubbing as black dye slowly tracked down her arms. “I have something to tell you. Something very important.” Her hands muffled her words. “And it will hurt your little heart.”
I was barely paying attention to what she said because I was transfixed by what she was doing.
By what I saw transforming before me.
The sooty facial paint was almost all gone now, revealing her features—what she truly looked like. And I couldn’t believe what my eyes were telling me.
The hair wasn’t the right color, and the curls were tighter, but the face was the same oval shape. The mouth full and wide. She had the same strong brow. I saw freckles over the bridge of her nose and all over her cheeks—much more prominent and plentiful. The way she now looked back at me with a slight tilt of a stubborn jaw…