Free Awakened by Inger Iversen Page B

you,” her father said
     softly.
    Agnes frowned but listened as her father sang her a new song. Her voice lifted, soft
     and sweet, as she tried singing with him, repeating after him.
    Agnes’s father frowned as she sang back to him. The haunting feeling of the previous
     song hadn’t left his mind; he wondered who had taught his only daughter the song of
     death, the one sung for dead daughters.
    ***
    I woke with a start. The room was cool; the fire was nothing but dying embers that
     cast a faint orange throughout the room.
    I sat up slowly as my eyes adjusted to the darkness. I pushed the memory of the girl
     and her father away, allowing my mind to wander to Kale for the first time since I’d
     been here. I didn’t care what it meant, and I wasn’t going to let the memories come
     back and take the little bit of sanity that I had managed to hold since being abducted.
    I threw my feet over the side of the bed and paused, waiting for Ana to rush the room
     and try to brush my hair again or force me to eat. After a few minutes passed and
     I was sure that she wasn’t coming—or that she was busy somewhere else for the moment—I
     scooted off of the bed.
    As soon as my feet made contact with the floor, a voice sounded from the shadows,
     startling me so much that I barely suppressed a scream.
    “Exactly where do you think you are going?” Darke’s husky voice floated around me,
     messing with my senses. Where was he?
    I focused on the tall dark spot leaning in the corner. I wondered how I hadn’t noticed
     the towering shadow of a man when I’d first looked around—but then again, he was wearing
     all black in the darkness. I stared at the figure for a while, forcing my eyes to
     make out the slight slant to his eyes, the thin lips that always seemed to be downturned
     in an eternal frown, and his long hair that he wore loose, letting it cascade down
     his arms and chest.
    “Will you not answer?” he asked.
    My legs locked beneath me, and a shiver ran down my spine.
    Though Darke’s voice wasn’t the grating bark it had been before, it still didn’t sound
     friendly or inviting. At least Ana was cordial, even if it was probably an act. I
     had seen the small flare of her anger when I’d refused to eat, and I didn’t want to
     see it again.
    Even though Darke seemed to dislike me, he didn’t act as if though he would hurt me.
     I was important to Laurent, and if either Ana or Darke were to get too unfriendly
     with me, there would probably be hell to pay. I needed to use that to my advantage
     for as long as I could, because I was sure it wouldn’t last long.
    Darke stared at me appraisingly with those black eyes that unnerved me, his head slightly
     cocked to the side. “What’s going on in that pretty little head of yours.”
    He said more like a statement than a question. Either way he meant it, I’d ask a question
     of my own. “Will you turn on a light?” It sounded more like a demand, so I added,
     “Please.” I couldn’t stay in the dark with this man who was oddly named after the
     very thing I wanted to escape.
    When he didn’t move, I figured that he had ignored my request, and I looked around
     for a light switch myself. When I couldn’t find one, I looked back to Darke’s corner
     to find it empty. I rolled my eyes, only to be blinded by bright light as the lamp
     above me flickered on.
    “Better?” Darke purred, his voice low and dark, as if daring me to ask him for anything
     else. I had taken being abducted better than the average person, and I was surrounded
     by what I assumed were evil Chorý, since they were allied with Laurent and not the
     Council. I still knew better than to push my luck with Darke.
    “Thank you.” I nervously looked around, trying to distract myself from him. I marveled
     at everything—from the Persian rug on the floor, to the intricate detailing of the
     artwork above the fireplace—all while feeling Darke’s gaze on me. I couldn’t help
     but