Her Rise From The Ashes

CH6

ARIA'S POV.

I don't know how much time had passed. Dante hasn't sent for me yet, and he hasn't showed up here himself either. And a huge part of me was filled with relief at that. Because to be honest, I would much rather he stays away. I had neither the streangth nor the energy to answer any questions right now. I just wanted to be left alone so I could think.

I sat on the edge of the bed, staring down at the chains wrapped around my wrists. The iron cuffs pressed into my skin, and I could see red marks already forming where they rubbed too tightly.

“Lia,” I whispered. “What am I supposed to do with these?”

My wolf’s voice came immediately. “You can’t stay bound like this, Aria. You need to free yourself. You can't keep walking around in chains like a prisoner.”

I let out a scoff. “And how do you suggest I do that? It’s not like I can just snap them in half, Lia. These are metal. My hands aren't strong enough to break them off."

“No,” Lia said thoughtfully. “But maybe something sharp could help. A knife, perhaps.”

Her idea sent my eyes wandering around the room. A knife could work. Or maybe a screwdriver.

I stood and walked slowly, checking the dresser drawers, the nightstand, even the fireplace tools. Nothing useful. The luxury of the room mocked me—it was all velvet and gold, not a single blade in sight.

“A knife…” I murmured. The thought grew louder in my head. Where would I even find one? Should I ask someone for it? The guard who just left here did say I was free to ask if I needed anything...

My gaze fell on the door, and I bit my lip. The hallways had to lead somewhere. If I could just find the kitchen…

I crossed the room and laid my hand on the door handle. My heart thudded in my chest as I turned it slowly. The door creaked open.

The hallway outside was silent. Not a sound, not a step. Everyone must have gone to bed by now. I took off my shoes so as not to make too much noise.

I hesitated before carefully stepping out. My bare feet sank into the carpet, and I pulled the chains with me, the faint clink of iron the only noise breaking the silence of the hall.

“Do you even know where you’re going?” Lia asked.

“No,” I admitted under my breath. “But kitchens are usually near the back. Or maybe the lower floor.”

Lia sighed, and I could picture her shaking her head. “You’re walking blind, Aria. I’m not sure that’s a good idea.”

I sighed. “Do you have a better idea, Lia?”

“Not yet,” she admitted. “But if you keep walking, maybe we’ll catch the scent of food. Kitchens always smell like something delicious.”

That gave me hope. I padded softly down the hall, trying different turns, passing closed doors and tall windows that looked out onto moonlit gardens. The silence was so uncomfortable I almost turned back twice.

But then, after a few more steps, I caught it. A smell. It smelled like cinnamon and flour, like something freshly baked had just been taken out of the oven not too long ago.

“This way,” I whispered, following it. Lia hummed in agreement.

It didn’t take long before I found a wide archway opening into a kitchen. Relief flooded me.

The space was enormous, bigger than any kitchen I’d ever seen. Long counters, large cabinets, shelves. At the center stood a large island.

Thirst hit me suddenly at the sight of the tap. My throat was dry from all the running and fear. I spotted glasses neatly arranged on a side shelf. Moving quickly, I grabbed one, filled it at the sink, and drank until I felt alive again.

The cool water eased me, so I poured another glass and drank it slower this time, setting the empty glass on the island and wiping my mouth with the back of my hand when I was done.

Then my eyes searched the counters for knives. It wasn’t long before I saw them. There was a whole row of them in a wooden block.

“There,” Lia urged. “One of those should do it. Think it's sharp enough?"

"Let's find out," I nodded and pulled the largest one free. Too heavy. I set it back and chose another—long enough, sharp enough, but easier to handle.

With the knife in hand, I stood at the island and lifted one wrist. My pulse quickened as I slipped the blade carefully into the tiny gap between skin and iron. The metal resisted at first, but I pushed, twisted, and continued to force it.

The chain gave way with a sudden snap. The cuff fell loose around my wrist, clattering to the counter.

I gasped, my chest heaving, as I let out a shaky breath of relief. My hand was free. Oh, goddess. Thank the moon and stars.

“One down,” I whispered, going straight for the second one on my right wrist.

But this cuff was harder. Being someone who was right handed, the angle was wrong. The knife kept sliping from my hand and the iron pinched tighter the more I twisted the blade. Sweat beaded on my forehead as I struggled, biting my lip to stop myself from groaning in frustration.

Then a voice suddenly cut through the silence.

“What are you doing?”

I froze.

Slowly, I lifted my head.

A woman stood in the doorway of the kitchen, her arms crossed, her expression cold as ice. Her eyes flicked from the knife in my hand to the broken cuff on the counter, then back to me.

I swallowed, avoiding her glaring eyes. The chains around my wrist suddenly felt heavier than they had before.