Chapter 53.
The first thing Rhiannon felt was the cold- not the clean, bracing frost of the Nightshade mountains, but a damp, oily chill that smelled of stagnant water and old stone. The second thing she felt was the void. Her magic, once a humming neon-green current that lived in her marrow, felt like a dying ember doused in lead. Her head throbbed with a rhythmic, sickening ache, the result of the blow she’d taken and whatever numbing drug was currently sluggishly moving through her veins. Rhiannon opened her eyes, but the world was a blur of flickering candlelight and peeling wallpaper. She was bound to a heavy wooden chair, her wrists and ankles cinched with cold iron- a metal that didn't just hold her body, but acted as a cage for her fairy spirit. "Awake at last," a voice purred. It was
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