The chamber of absolute darkness lay so deep beneath the palace that even the serpent in Anaya's soul could not see. There was no torchlight here, no moonlight, no glimmer from crystal or flame. The darkness was a physical presence, a velvet weight that pressed against her eyes and filled her ears and coated her tongue. She had been led down by Lord Vikram himself, his hand warm and steady on her arm, but now she was alone, suspended in the void.

Silken ropes, cool and smooth, wound around her wrists and ankles and lifted her from the cold stone floor. She hung in the darkness like a star suspended in the black between galaxies, her limbs spread wide, her body utterly helpless. She could not see, could not move, could not do anything but feel and wait. The vulnerability was absolute, and yet, beneath the fear, there was a profound and trembling trust. Lord Vikram would come for her. He would use her in this darkness, and she would surrender to it, and the child's soul would be forged from the void itself.