The Crown of Gilded Bones (Blood and..

might have a better chance. Drawing in a breath that felt…
oddly heavy, I inched my hand toward the spear and
stopped suddenly. It wasn’t the bindings. They hadn’t
tightened.
I swallowed, and my heart skipped a beat. A strange,
sweetness coated the back of my throat and my…my lips
tingled. I pressed the tips of my fingers to them and didn’t
think I felt the pressure. I tried to swallow again, but it felt
weird—as if the mechanics of my throat had slowed.
The food. The gritty taste of the water.
Oh, gods.
That sweet taste. The sleeping drafts the Healers made
in Masadonia had a sugary-sweet aftertaste. There was a
reason I’d refused the drafts, no matter how little sleep I
got. They were powerful and rendered you completely
unconscious for hours and hours—leaving you entirely
helpless.
They’d drugged me.
This was how Alastir planned to move me. How he
planned to deliver me to the Ascended. He’d be able to
remove the bindings safely when I was unconscious. And
when I came to…
There was a good chance I’d be in the Ascended’s hands
once again.
And Alastir’s plan would likely come to fruition because I
would never allow the Ascended to use me for anything.
Anger at them—and myself—exploded within me and
then quickly gave way to panic as I staggered to the wall. I
barely felt the pain of the bindings tightening. Desperate, I
reached for the spear. If I could get that blade, I wouldn’t be
weaponless, even with the damn bone and root bindings. I
tried to seize it, but my arm wouldn’t lift. It didn’t feel as if it
were a part of me any longer. My legs became heavy, numb.
“No, no,” I whispered, fighting the insidious warmth
seeping into my muscles, my skin.
But it was no use.