The walls of the Ironfang stronghold were hewn from black stone, silent and cold. They towered around Rayne like the ribs of a buried beast, ancient and oppressive. She had been placed in a cell—not quite dungeon, not quite prison. More like a trophy room. One window, too small to crawl through, let in a fractured sliver of light. The door was thick iron, guarded at all hours.
Her wrists ached from the shackles, though they were more symbolic than necessary. It was silver-lined metal, intended not to hold her, but to insult her. Humble her.
But Rayne Valen refused to be humbled.
She sat now on the edge of the low stone bench, blood still dried on her skin, clothes torn and crusted from the battle. Her hair hung around her shoulders in tangled waves, the defiant fire in her golden eyes d
