Imogen’s mournful song rang out before the room fell silent. He looked at me, his face ashen. “She passed out.”
Staring at her still form, I ignored the way my chest tightened at the sight. I felt helpless, and there was nothing I despised more. She was trapped inside that cell while we were stuck out here with no way in. At least, no incognito way in. The connection spell we’d placed on her assured that we could get to her anytime we were in the same realm. But that didn’t mean we should just pop inside the prison anytime we liked.
The cell door opened a few minutes later, and two guards strolled in. One of them moved forward and poked Imogen in the face a few times, as though to confirm she was unconscious. Then, without any care, one took her arms, the other took her legs, and they carried her out of the room.
“There’s something fishy going on,” Flynn said in the quiet that had fallen between us.
“No kidding.”
He turned on me, his hands balled into fists. “I’m serious, Ronan. After all this time, she laments now? That can’t be a coincidence.”
His point was valid. After Killian and I spoke to Imogen in her cell, we’d called the warden to verify her claims. He’d assured us that there was no way she’d sang since arriving at the prison. The doctor received a report every time the collar was activated, and the most she’d spoken was a word or two at a time. And none that were recent, until she’d seen us in the warden’s office.
“There’s no way she did that intentionally,” Flynn added. “No one is stupid enough to cause themselves that much pain. Certainly not Genny.”
“You’re right.”
He stared at me, slack-jawed. “I’m sorry?”
“I said, you’re right.”
“I heard you. I just don’t believe it.”
Ignoring him, I crossed the room to pour a drink. A shot of whiskey wouldn’t make this clusterfuck go away, but it might keep me from punching my brother.
I relished the burn of the alcohol as it slid down my throat, and I immediately poured and threw back a second shot. When my nerves had calmed, assuring me the whiskey was doing its job, I turned back around to face Flynn.
He was watching me, waiting. “What now?”
I wish I fucking knew.
Imogen
I walked along the shore of the loch, admiring how the sunlight reflected off the crystal water.
These days, my daily strolls were responsible for most, if not all, of my pleasure. Life as a banshee was lonely. It wasn’t as though I’d been a particularly social creature to begin with, but I’d had friends. I’d been admired for my lovely singing voice instead of shunned for it.
Now, all of that was gone. On the rare occasion I was invited to a party, people stared like they expected me to break out in song at any moment. And, in a way, they weren’t wrong. I never knew when the compulsion would strike, and I had no control over it. I’d been known to succumb to a lament mid-conversation.
Of course, I didn’t realize I was doing it at the time. But that didn’t matter. My former friends were more than happy to describe my odd behavior to anyone who would listen.
Taking a seat on a boulder, I hugged my knees to my chest and reminded myself to stop with the self-pity already. It wasn’t becoming, and I was better than that. There was nothing to be done about how others saw me, but I could choose to not let their opinions bother me.
As I soaked up the unseasonably warm day, I didn’t realize a rider approached until he was right upon me. I turned my head to find a young man with black hair and a rakish smile dismounting a royal steed.
“Flynn!” My mood lifted in an instant, and I ran to him, throwing my arms around his chest.
He chuckled. “If I didn’t know better, I’d think you were trying to squeeze me to death.”
“I’m sorry.” I dropped my arms and backed up a few paces as heat infused my cheeks. “It’s just been so long since I’ve seen you.”
His smile faltered. “No, I’m sorry.” He ran a hand through his thick hair. “Things aren’t going so well, and I didn’t want to burden you.”
My stomach tightened with dread. Flynn wasn’t the type to worry for no reason. In fact, I couldn’t remember ever seeing him this serious before. He was the youngest brother—the prankster. Something dire must