Scattered Magic (The Sidhe (Urban Fantasy Series) Book 1) by S. Ravynheart, S.A. Archer Page B

bolder. For centuries the fey have kept them off the Emerald Isle.”
    “I don’t care about your politics.” She watched Bain draw back his hand, a fresh coating of her blood on his fingers. He licked at it once more, savoring the taste as if it were chocolate. “I’m not choosing sides. Just doing the job I’m hired to do.”
    “Mercenary.” His eyes moved to her bloody clothing. She could see the thoughts brewing there. Time to make herself scarce. “Slave now.”
    “I’m not a mercenary and I’m not a slave.” London backed out of the tower. Bain watched her, but declined to follow. For that she breathed a sigh of relief. A relief she worried would be short-lived.

Chapter Twenty-Three

    A Year Earlier

    With no way to track night and day, Malcolm couldn’t figure how long he’d been locked up. If they fed him once a day, like he guessed, it had been about four days. No one came into his cell in all that time. He’d managed to struggle out of the ropes. Now Malcolm used those coils as his pillow.
    The cell was nothing but a crag where the cave ceiling hung low and bars separated him from the large, main chamber. No furniture. No toilet. A bowl of kinda clean water in a metal dish and an armful of leftovers were pushed through the bars periodically. The food was picked over. Leftover meat on bones already gnawed on. Always meat. Never anything else.
    While his cell was cramped, the chamber beyond his wall of bars could have held a feast. Leastwise it was big enough for it. A big stone table sat right in the middle. Metal rings were screwed in it at random places along the perimeter. More rings were in the walls at various heights and from the ceiling. Not much else out there except a couple random piles of chains and ropes.
    After the first couple of days, Malcolm gave up shouting for help. No one heard him. No one who cared, anyway. No one who would help him. The goblins just laughed and jabbed sticks through the bars or threw rocks at him. So he shut up. Since then, they mostly ignored him.
    The silver shackles were the worst part. Couldn’t shimmy out of them like the ropes. They burned constantly. Blood seeped out from under the metal and dripped lazily from his fingertips. He could jam a few bits of cloth torn from his shirt under the tight bonds, but just on the soft insides of his wrists, not over the back or sides.
    So when the goblins escorted a young woman into the chamber after four days, Malcolm just stared at her. They didn’t restrain her. She’d come under her own power, not dragged there like he had been. Her arms crossed over her middle, as if the stench of the place made her sick. Probably a few years older than him, he guessed she was early twenties. Nothing fancy about the dress. Reddish hair falling out of a haphazard ponytail. Not unattractive, but worn out looking. Dark smudges under her eyes. Kinda gaunt in her cheeks. Hungry looking.
    She just watched as the goblins opened Malcolm’s cage. Though he remained outwardly still, Malcolm’s muscles tensed.
    The goblins scuttled along toward him. No rush. No worry. Malcolm didn’t resist as they lifted up the chain between his shackles. Didn’t even risk breathing as they unlocked first one and then the other.
    Like giant broken blisters the shriveled skin around his wrists had a shiny wetness to them. Malcolm shivered, but not from the pain or the chill of the exposed wounds. The urge to run shuddered through his impatient body. The second the shackles clanged to the stone floor all the pent up panic burst free. Malcolm vaulted over one of the shorter goblins and bolted for the exit.
    Outside the chamber dozens more goblins loitered about. Malcolm shoved through them, knocking them aside and trampling a couple. With a burst of excited shouts they tackled him. One on one he could kick a goblin’s ass, but not so much with a rugby pile of them. Too joyfully the little monsters dragged him back into the chamber.
    They tossed him onto