The back of Sarah's head ached, and she couldn't move her hands or feet. That much she knew. But she couldn't see anything. The only taste in her mouth was burning, sharp, metallic fear. It coated the roof of her mouth and lips, no matter how much she tried to lick it off.
Whimpering, she rolled from her side onto her stomach and burrowed against whatever she was lying on. It was fluffy but knotted, cushioning her on all sides. Pillows? Was she on a bed? Sarah took a trembling breath, writhing against her restraints. Someone must've bound her wrists and ankles, and thrown her on a bed.
"I'm going to kill you Jareth," she murmured, wiggling some blood and feeling back into her fingertips. "I should've know better than to trust you."
"I'm sorry, Sarah, but Jareth would've bound you in silk. You're lucky that I didn't mummify you in nettles," a decidedly female voice answered back. "And don't even think about touching my son."
Uh-oh.
Uh-oh!
All of a sudden, her vision returned, something ripped away from her eyes. So she'd been wearing a blindfold. As her vision was flooded with light, Sarah blinked away the shock and pain. The warmth and glare had her seeing spots, but once they cleared up, she wished they would've stuck around for a little bit longer.
A fine mist of dust floated in the air, a layman's version of Jareth's glitter. It stunk of straw and animal filth. Sarah looked around, her green eyes darting back and forth like a bullet ricocheting off steel. She wasn't on a bed. She was laying on a mass of freshly shorn wool and cotton that hadn't been carded yet.
"You're as uninspiring as your foolish mother," the voice said, drawing Sarah's attention to it. The voice was a petite woman with long blonde hair that she kept pushing over her shoulder. She was hovering above Sarah the same way the doctors did after fixing her nose.
Sarah swallowed past the stone in her throat. Her arms felt heavy and her toes were cold. "You know my mother?" she whispered hesitantly, her voice rough and raw. It sounded so much worse than the first time she spoke after the surgery. The progress she'd made through months of therapy and speech lessons was suddenly gone.
The blonde chuckled, but it was a cruel sound, lacking joy or good spirit. She smiled, but it wasn't human. She was just showing off her strong, white canines. "I know your mother very well. She was my husband's lover for over two decades. They began their liaison years before you were born. It only ended once your parents divorced."
Holy shit, this woman was crazy, Sarah realized with dread as she pressed herself into itchy fabric beneath her. This woman was crazy, and she was going to die.
"My mother's dead?"
The blonde smiled that awful smile again. "And rotting in a morgue. By the time of her funeral, she'll be nothing but sludge. Don't worry. You won't be around to see it, as you'll be locked in your darkest memories until Mordred arrives. He's dying to see you again."
"Mordred?" Sarah breathed. "Like Morgana le Fay's son?"
Morgana as in Morgaine?
"He's not her son, you twit," the blonde hissed, rolling her eyes as if that bit of information was common knowledge. Sarah knew that it wasn't. "He is the bastard son of Morgause and Arthur, the product of rape and incest. Morgana was his foster mother. It's no wonder he was so willing to rape you. Morgana isn't known for her kindness."
So many things were running through Sarah's mind – her kidnap at the hand of Jareth's mother, her own mother's death, the identity of her rapist. But she could only focus on one thing.
"I could be Jareth's half-sister?"