“Go away,” I croaked, my chapped lips cracking.
“Ah, here now, you’re not nearly as fun when you’re melancholy.” Rían nudged the guard’s boot. “Do you care to tell me why these eejits believe you’re a witch?”
I shoved my matted hair back from my face, wincing when the manacles slipped to a fresh patch of skin. “They don’t think a proper lady is capable of murdering a strong, powerful man.”
Fire ignited in his depthless eyes. Blue, not black. Was he in control of himself? Or was this another trick of the Queen’s, resurrecting my hope only to dash it all over again?
“And how do you explain this?” In his hand, he held his curved dagger.
I’d given up trying to explain any of it. “I can’t.” Hugging my knees to my chest, I stared toward the bucket in the corner I’d been forced to use to relieve myself. The final shreds of my dignity faded into the dirt.
Rían’s footsteps thumped as he stomped forward. “Let me see your wrists.”
With no will left to fight, I held my hands toward him.
“Feckin’ hell . . .” He dropped to one knee, reaching through the bars. His fingers connected with the iron, making an unearthly hissing sound the same way mine had. Cursing, he withdrew his hand and flicked his wrist. A pair of white leather gardening gloves appeared. “Take these.”
The only way to get them on was to shove the iron bracelets higher. I whimpered when the acid met fresh skin. By the time I managed to stuff my hands into the gloves, I could barely keep my eyes open. The moment I shoved the iron back to my covered wrists, the burning stopped.
A small mercy, but a mercy nonetheless. “Thank you for the gloves.”
He reached through the bars, lifting my chin so I met his cerulean gaze. “Anything else?”
“Thank you for telling them to chop off my head.”
His eyes began to glow, cutting through the murky haze. “Hanging is a dreadful way to die. Beheading is by far the quickest and most painless.”
Rían could take his pathetic excuse for mercy and choke on it. “Just get out.”
The bastard didn’t leave. He stood and began pacing, from the bars to the guard and back again. At one point, he paused to stick a finger into the bucket of water beside the guard’s chair and ended up cursing and scrubbing his hand against his breeches.
“It’s witch hazel,” I muttered.
He glared at me, his mouth pressed into a tight line. “How do you know?”
“The guard doused me with it.” The memory left me trembling. “Felt like they’d peeled the skin from my bones.”
“Who did?” He kicked the unconscious guard’s boot, eliciting a groan from the man. “This one?”
I nodded.
Rían resumed his pacing, his boots grinding against the gritty stones.
“Don’t you have anywhere else to be?”
“I’m waiting.”
“For what?”
“For you to stop feeling sorry for yourself and bargain with me.”
Bargain with me.
A spark lit in my hollow chest.
Bargain with me.
Rían. Please, please be Rían.