Nevermore (The Never Sky #2)

Chapter 6

6

T he guard’s touch was harsh and brutal, like the bite of frozen steel against raw skin. His fingers tightened around my arms with a crushing grip. I resisted, but my little act of defiance seemed to amuse him as he yanked me up with an effortless tug.

The low, mocking chortles of the Cimmerian’s laughter slipped into my ears, crawled deeper down, and squeezed my core. I sucked in a shallow breath and squared my shoulders. I would not give them the satisfaction of seeing me wilt. Though it pained me, I reached forward, brushing my fingers over the keys on his belt as I fought. He gasped and pinned me with a glare before he kicked me in the stomach. I fought no more.

They dragged me down the dimly lit corridor, shoving past the other empty cells. Try as I might, I couldn’t see a figure beyond the bleak darkness, no proof of anyone with a voice of pure honey. But I wasn’t able to dwell on that, entering a room bathed in horror. The scent of old copper invaded my nostrils, a potent stench of rust and blood. The room was dominated by a table in the center and its wooden surface was stained with the things I didn’t want to know about. Wisps of chilled air licked at my face as the masked guards threw me onto it. And I was too damn afraid to fight back.

Leather creaked and metal clanged as they bound my wrists and feet. One of them towered over me. “Confess to your crime, murderer.”

And though he peered over the side of my face with an eye still swollen shut, I could see the hatred beyond the mask. The fury in his eyes at what we both knew I’d done. “Do you think you’re better off waiting for the prince? He will come. And he will take.”

I bit the inside of my cheek to keep from answering. Not that I knew shit about the prince, but the urge to spit at the guard was overwhelming, if only my mouth weren’t so dry. I stared at him and said nothing, a hateful sneer my only response. The prince could come and take what he wished, but he would never own my spirit. With that thought alone, I allowed a small grin to curl at the corners of my mouth, my gaze never wavering.

The Cimmerian’s breath hitched, and his hold tightened. Then, with a growl of pure loathing, he spun around, gripping a knob attached to a wheel. The anticipation alone made me nauseous, but I squashed it down. If I vomited, I’d choke on it and that was the least of my worries.

The guard slowly turned the wheel. The ropes around my wrists and ankles tightened. The first cracks echoed throughout the room in a horrifying promise of torment. Pain spread through me like wildfire, consuming everything in its path with a vengeance that could rival an inferno. Each crack was a symphony of agony, a cacophony that threatened to pull me under its cruel rhythm. It didn’t take long for the tears to start, torrid trails sweeping down my face.

“Confess,” he snarled again, the word dripping from his lips like venom. The satisfaction in his eyes made my stomach roll.

Yet, amid the blinding pain and guilt, I found an ember of resolve. It was tiny. As frail as the old man’s voice, but it was there, my only hope. If he could endure this torture, then so could I. For him and for all the others who may have lost their lives on this godsdamn table.

The Cimmerian let out a low growl. Creepy fucker. His focus shifted from inflicting pain to decoding my insolence when I made no sound. His hands stilled on the wheel as he leaned over me, his mask only inches from my face. “This is nothing compared to what awaits you.”

I could hear the smirk in his voice, taste the satisfaction he took from every second he held me on the brink of death. But he had no idea that Death was my friend, and I would be greeted with joy when I left this wretched world behind.

“I can stop,” he whispered, spittle hitting my ear. “I can stop as soon as you speak the words. Did you hunt my brother down before you killed him? Did he leave that pretty mark on your face?”

I closed my eyes and pictured Quill’s lovely smile as the groan of the wheel began again and the ropes pulled tighter around my wrists and ankles. Fire blazed beneath my skin, searing and lancing up along the bones of my arms and legs as my body was stretched on the rack. I bit down hard on my tongue. Blood filled my mouth, but I refused to give them the satisfaction of a scream. It happened in my mind though. Ripping me apart on the inside long before the contraption did on the outside.

With every pull of the wheel, I felt a part of me losing hold, slipping away into a deep abyss where the pain was but a dull echo. Yet, there was a fierce stubbornness in me that refused to let go completely. I clung onto the image of Quill’s smile; each strand of laughter tinkling in my ears, each sparkle in her eyes forming an anchor to reality. It was pathetic and I knew it, but it was all I had.

The closest Cimmerian growled in frustration, slamming a hand against the table. “I will break you.”

The one that’d been silently watching by the door lunged to grab the wheel as the other did the unthinkable. He threw his entire body weight into the spin. The only thing that saved me as the lights went out was one merciful Cimmerian’s opposing grip on the wheel that was bound to rip me in half.

I woke back in my cell, the song once more coating me, though I no longer found comfort in the tune of a stranger. My waning awareness was a pendulum, swinging precariously between consciousness and oblivion. In the half-light, shadows danced on the cold stone, taunting me with their freedom.

“Are you awake?” I whispered, staring at the hunched figure across the way. He’d groaned occasionally. Moved a little, though every time I woke to check on him, it seemed to be less and less. I’d dragged my broken body across the floor one inch at a time to be near the old man. I couldn’t help him. I couldn’t even help myself. But at least I wasn’t alone. And for that, for the whispered song and the ragged breathing, I was grateful.

“I am sorry, child,” he finally said. “In the end, I wasn’t as strong as I hoped.”

I swallowed the lump in my throat. “Don’t say that. You were strong. So strong.” I could feel the tickle in my nose as I clamped my teeth together to hold back the tears. “Please don’t leave me. I don’t want to be alone.”

His response was no more than a shallow breath.

“I don’t even know your name.”

Again, nothing.

“I’ll tell you a secret. Stay with me and I’ll tell you. When I was young, I read to escape the reality of poverty. I read every story about heroes I could. They slayed their enemies with weapons on battlefields. They were warriors that ran to war, determined and screaming. And I’ve only just realized that’s not what a hero is, is it?” I swiped away a tear, talking, if only to drown out the ache in my heart as the song from down the hall began to fade. “There’s no such thing as heroes, not really. Only fools. Fools and kind old men.”

I stared for hours and hours with no response, waiting in that awkward pause before the end of a performance and the first clap. Waiting until my ears rang in the silence. Waiting until I was sure his was the last voice I’d ever hear. When the doors down the hall opened, I closed my eyes, ready to accept my defeat and end this misery. But harsh voices echoed through the space. Not the guards, but someone else.

Two figures emerged from the gloom, their whispering voices feverishly bouncing off the stone walls. They bickered as they approached, becoming louder and clearer as they neared my cell.

“Are you sure it’s this one?” a feminine voice said in a voice like honey that echoed through the stone chamber.

The other answered, his tone low and quick. “Thorne is never wrong.”

I peered at them through one eye, unable to make out many features beyond their matching blonde hair as they quickly slipped by.

“I can’t see anything in the dark,” the woman said, “But what in the world is that awful smell?”

“Trust me, you don’t want to know. Just breathe through your mouth and keep looking. He’s got to be around here.”

“Oh, gods. I can taste it.”

The man chuckled before walking back toward me.

My mind was at war with my broken spirit. Should I call out to them, hoping they were here to rescue someone? Or was this a trap? Did I care, really? I was ready. Done with my time in this wretched world.

“Here,” I managed. “Please.”

The man stopped, kneeling before my cell. “Hey there,” he said, as if speaking to a wild animal before calling over his shoulder. “Harlow? We’ve got a problem. Toss me the keys.”

I blinked up at the handsome man. “You have to be quiet. They’ll hear you.”

He snatched the keys from the air and shoved them into the lock with a snort. “Trust me, they won’t be hearing anything for a long time. It’s the next round we have to watch out for. Can you move?”

I tried to pull myself up, praying to any god that would listen to give me strength and let these people be saviors. I thought maybe the machine used to stretch me had broken my back, but I’d been able to move my legs and arms, even if only a little.

With a groan, defeat poured over me. If I admitted how bad off I was, they would probably leave me here. There was no rescuing a burden. But try as I might, I could not pull myself to my feet.

“I can do it,” I promised. “Don’t leave me here.”

“Don’t worry. We’re not leaving you behind.”

The woman grumbled, rummaging through her leather satchel. “We didn’t plan for this. She needs some extra help, Archer.”

He whipped his head to look up at the woman. “Don’t.”

“You have to. Look at her.”

The pity filling his eyes as he studied my broken form sent a flush of embarrassment through me. I’d never let myself be vulnerable. Not once. And here I was, at the mercy of strangers.

Archer, the man, nodded grimly. “Fine.” He leaned in, whispering to me. “I have to use magic. Don’t be frightened.”

“And be quick about it,” another man’s voice barked from down the stone path between cells. “They find us here, we’re not walking away.”

Archer nodded, laying his hands on me.

I shook my head. “Wait. There’s another. A man. He needs you more than I do.”

Harlow rushed closer, voice raising in pitch. “Where? Where is he?”

I flicked my eyes to the old man’s cell. “In there.”

“Oh, gods. Oh, gods,” she said moments later, gripping the iron bars and rattling. “The keys. Give me the keys.”

Archer tossed them, and with an easy catch, she spun, shoving them one by one into the lock. “They aren’t working. Why aren’t they working?”

A hulking figure stepped into the faint light, his build unlike anything I’d seen before. Broad and tall, he filled the space entirely. He looked at me first, but looked away just as quickly. “Get it done, Archer,” the man commanded. “Do it now.”

Archer pressed his hand to mine gently. “I’m only able to speed the healing process. But brace yourself. It’s going to hurt like hell.”

“Can’t be worse than when it happened,” I whispered, closing the only eye that would open as I pressed my lips together.

“Hold on to me then,” Archer said.

A deep breath reverberated from within him. A sensation like molten honey began to seep into my hand, warm and soothing until it festered, heating beyond anything I’d ever known. As if ignited by an unseen flame, the heat consumed me. Invaded every inch of my body with a punishing fervor unmatched by any torture I endured. My breath hitched in my throat, and I clung to Archer’s arm, the cool feel of his touch offering a cruel contrast to the agony racing through my veins.

The stone floor pulsed in rhythm with the cataclysmic pain. Each shockwave rattled my bones and shook my sense of reality. Sweat beaded on my forehead, trickling down into the corners of my eyes, blending with the tears that were now flowing freely.

When the pain faded, though my tears were still fresh, I opened my eyes—both of them—to see Archer smiling down at me. “Would you look at that,” he said, brushing away a blood-stained lock of hair. “Your eyes. They’re two different colors.”

“I know,” I groaned, rolling over to get to my feet, realizing I was covered with a cloak that wasn’t mine. “I’ve seen my face before.”

“Oh, pretty and funny.” He moved to his feet as he held a hand out. “A rarity. Now we’ve got to get going, prisoner. The next round of Cimmerians are coming.”

My head snapped to the old man’s cell. “Where are the others?”

“The keys weren’t working. They saw what they needed to see. We have to go.”

“No. We can’t. He needs help.” I grabbed the bars, rattling them, ignoring the pain that echoed through my body. “You can save him.”

“I can’t?—”

“Yes you can. I know where the keys are. I saw them. Wait here.”

“No. We have to go. The other guards?—”

“I can’t leave him,” I shouted, already halfway down the hallway, dragging my sluggish magic forward. I didn’t bother searching the other cells. I knew what I would find there. Absolutely no one. Because there hadn’t been another prisoner. There hadn’t been a person humming. The magic that’d comforted me, the song that’d felt familiar belonged to the old man. And if I could save him, if we could get to him soon, perhaps he would sing again.

I flung the door to the torture room open, slamming to a halt at the scene before me. The guards… they’d been brutalized. Beaten beyond recognition. Killed. Blood coated the floor, turning my stomach. I wasted no time, though. I couldn’t give any thought to what that giant man had done in here. Instead, I swiped the second set of keys I knew to be hidden in a jar, and darted out of the room before Archer could catch up. I’d process that nightmare one day. I’d sit with the vision of my torturers and find peace with their end. But not today.

Today I had to save a life.

Racing down the hallway, the keys cold and slick in my sweaty palms, I ignored Archer’s shouts as I shoved them home and twisted, the lock giving way.

“We have minutes. We have to go. It’s too late for him.”

“Please,” I begged. “Come help. It’s not too late, I promise. It’s not. I’ll carry him.”

I couldn’t abandon the old man. Not when his voice was the only music that could drown out the cacophony of terror that resonated through this prison. I fell to my knees before the old man’s frail body, now close enough to see him. His face, etched with years of hardship and wisdom, was as still as the grave. Eyes that must have once sparkled with grand tales were now dim and unresponsive. The wrinkles that framed his eyes had hardened into permanent grooves, carved by the tears he shed this final day.

I was too late.

I couldn’t save him.

My heart broke into a million pieces as I remembered why. He’d taken my place. He hadn’t even known me.

I threw myself over his still body. “You are a hero. I lied. There are heroes.”

A warm hand fell heavily on my shoulder.

“I didn’t even know his name,” I whispered.

“His name was Atticus, and the world is far worse off without him.”