Chapter 6
6
M ourningvale always seemed to her a distant monster.
Not close enough for Aven to check under her bed for its presence, but somehow looming just out of sight, ready to snap its jaws around her neck. The territory and the people inhabiting it were more like tales told around campfires.
Although the battles she’d seen made the people real enough. They weren’t usually easy to kill, and yet she’d downed enough fae to lose track of the body count. Until now .
There were no portraits of the lands themselves. No documented maps of the landscape, cities, or villages. Outside of several carefully planned attacks—none of which she’d been allowed to take part in—the fae had mostly gone on the offensive in Grimrose.
Aven had an idea about how far the border was from their own territory. A few days of travel, nothing more. Trying to remember it now felt impossible. Why had she thought they’d be victorious today? Everything led them to their demise.
Why had she never thought about attacking the fae on their lands?
Her mind spun in useless circles and always, always , returned to the image of her siblings.
The Fae King dumped her in the back of a wagon with a piece of canvas stretched over the top as a makeshift roof. It shielded her from the worst of the rain, but the smell—there were several bodies stuffed around her, some of them alive and some of them… not.
The wounded soldier at her back twitched occasionally, each movement followed by a low, helpless moan. The dying, the dead, and her. A misplaced human whose only worth lay in breeding heirs, being a bargaining chip—a body to trade for peace, nothing more. And King Donal had gotten exactly what he wanted.
She shuddered to think what he’d do to her now.
She was destined for the dungeons.
Time lost its meaning as the cart wheels rattled and bumped over uneven terrain. Day blurred into night, the storm rolling on as the wheels turned tirelessly. They did not stop, did not speak, did not even look at her.
By the third day, her body’s demands won. Her throat was parched, her limbs stiff, and an urgent shame burned through her. They refused to halt, but she couldn’t hold it any longer. When the cart lurched to one side, she finally gave in, hot shame spilling over her as she wet herself onto the bodies beneath. The sour, stinging warmth seeped through her clothes, mixing with the cloying stench of blood, sweat, and decay that clung to her skin. She clenched her teeth, willing herself to ignore the damp filth cooling against her legs, disgust prickling over her skin.
She closed her eyes, half-hoping she’d never wake, but the nightmare clung to her as night turned to dawn, then dusk again.
They entered the fae kingdom too soon for her peace of mind after an eternity of travel.
Her arms, wrenched behind her by the magic keeping her contained, had gone numb somewhere along the way. She no longer felt her fingers, and the crick in her neck from her fetal position wouldn’t go away anytime soon. She could not move, could hardly draw a breath, yet somehow felt the change in the air as the cart rolled over the border.
A thickening pressure made every fine hair on her body stand on end. The pressure increased to the point where she worried how she’d ever be able to stand it before it released her with a suddenness that made her ears pop.
After a few hours, someone called out to the horses pulling the carriage and to the other soldiers and their steeds in the caravan. Aven barely heard the call outside of her own misery, although the voice inside her head begged her to pay attention. Her limbs refused to obey the command, the one carved out of years of experience on the field. If nothing else, she should have been tracking the landscape to see exactly where she entered the fae lands.
Something. Anything .
Instead, she’d done nothing but wallow.
Her half-thought dissipated under a stream of shame, and although her toes twitched in her boots, her body did not move again. Minutes blurred together until the cart rolled to a stop. Hooves clattered on stone, and the fabric flap rustled.
A strange fae popped his head into the cart and grabbed her by the ankle. With no effort, he tugged Aven from the rest of the bodies and slung her like a sack of potatoes over his shoulder. She grunted at the impact.
“Where does he want her?” the man carrying her asked.
“The orders came down from His Majesty himself. Bring her down to the cells. And for gods’ sake, clean her up,” a second man called back.
She had to wake up. To claw her way back from the heavy grip of unconsciousness. The effort was exhausting, but Aven forced her eyes open, desperate to take in her surroundings. The world greeted her as an agonized blur, an indistinct mess of smeared colors.
The sharpness of the green, the trees and grass, took her by surprise. It wasn’t raining here. The storm seemed to stop at the border, and the sun seared her retinas. She blinked against the sting and struggled to clear the haze. The guard took no care in how he carried her, and every step jostled her further, the bony points of his armor digging painfully into her stomach.
Her next deep breath brought with it the scent of flowers and baking bread.
It wasn’t like her not to fight back. She’d always been the type of person to stand her ground, even against impossible odds. Her body trembled, and the shaking set in within seconds. The soldier’s grip on her tightened as if he somehow had to make sure she stayed in place.
The cool interior of whatever building they brought her to was a distinct contrast to the heat of the sun on her back, and then they went down. One set of steps, and then another, the stone echoing every footstep.
Keep it together.
Stay awake.
Had anyone guessed at the fae’s plan? Had any of them even remotely considered that their enemy might have planned out their moves so far into the future it wasn’t even possible for the humans to follow?
Aven had let her dreams of success distract her. Then, she let her conversation with her father rattle her to the point where she’d missed the signs. That’s what she told herself.
Once they reached the dungeon, they tossed her into a cell. A guard hauled in a bucket, sloshing cold, filthy water over her without warning, the icy shock hitting her like a slap. She gasped, choking on the taste of grit and metal as the water dripped from her face and soaked into her clothes. They didn’t wait for her to recover; the guards tossed the empty bucket aside, snapped the gate shut, and left her shivering on the cold stone floor.
“No need for magic to keep this one inside. She’s weak. A mortal.”
She caught the guard’s sneer as he spoke to one of his cronies. The darkness of this space ensured she never got a good look at them, the details too murky to make out. A world of hurt was about to come crashing down on her, much more potent than her failure.
“Should we use the manacles?” the second soldier asked.
“The bars will be enough to keep her contained.”
One of them barked out a laugh, and her heart constricted. Without another word, the two of them took off back to the world of light and fresh air and left her alone to rot.
The spell binding her limbs released her the moment they disappeared, and she sagged down to her chest. The cold stone floor pressed to her cheek.
Aven forced her fingers to move and gasped when blood rushed back to the area along with pain. Pins and needles prodded at her, and eventually she rolled onto her back, the wetness of the floor cooling her. There were no windows here, the dungeons set too far underneath wherever they were to have access to the outside world. The air had gone stale, probably centuries of rot and decay and forgotten souls moldering down here.
At least they didn’t rape her.
The thought soured her stomach, and Aven scrambled onto her hands and knees, her hands too twitchy to hold her, and she ended up going face-first into the floor. The sharp bite of the scrape against her cheek didn’t matter as she rushed to the corner and the bucket there, grabbing hold of the edges.
Her stomach revolted, and she puked all over the floor and partially in the bucket. There was no one there for her this time, as her sisters had been before, to wrap their arms around her or pull her hair back.
Her internal organs constricted. She puked until there was nothing left in her except her sobbing. The shaking resumed, hard enough to snap her bones, and once her stomach was satisfied it had emptied everything, she slumped back.
She was in a prison cell with no sunlight. The tears in her eyes burned, and she swiped them away with the back of her hand, her mind slowly returning to her.
She ran her tongue along her teeth, but the acrid taste of vomit wasn’t going anywhere soon. Drawing her legs up to her chest, she wrapped her arms around them, staring at the cells of the door.
The worst possible outcome had come to pass.
Everything she’d always feared—not only defeat but a crushing one, and her own enslavement. Try as hard as she might, her wits refused to return in any way that might help her get out of this. Aven took another deep, burning breath and surveyed the small room.
A few minutes passed as she explored the space, a small wooden slab meant to be used as a cot against one wall and the bucket … a toilet.
She ground her teeth together and held her legs tightly to keep from falling apart.
“Hello?”
There had to be others down here with her, maybe someone who had been kept in the dungeon long enough to know the comings and goings of the guards. If she had a better idea of their movements or the time of day?—
Rather than an answer, someone screamed. The howl of despair was followed by another, and another, until she slapped her hands against her ears to try and block out the sounds of pain. Bile rose in her again, and she swallowed to force it down.
Wait. They didn’t check for weapons.
Gasping, Aven scrambled for her thigh holster, landing on the familiar length of her wand. Holy hell , she had her wand.
She had no chance to test its magic against the bars before a silken, smooth voice spoke to her from the other side.
“You’ve been left alone for ten minutes, Princess, and you have already made a mess of yourself and the cell.” He clucked his tongue in disappointment. A male, she recognized immediately, and Aven straightened her spine.
She sniffed and wiped at her eyes again. “If you want to taunt me, then come closer where I can see you rather than hiding in the shadows.” If the guards were back, then what did she have to lose? They were going to do what they would do to her and use their magic to keep her constrained. “I want to know who I’m dealing with.”
She used the wall to haul herself to her feet. She’d much rather be standing for any sort of interrogation. Or worse.
“Is that what you really want? To see my pretty face? That will make me an enemy to actually confront rather than a faceless one from your nightmares. Would you hate for it to be my face you see when you start screaming at night?” the man tossed back at her.
“It depends on how ugly you are.”
A moment of pause, and then the speaker stepped up to the cells, smirking at her.
Her chest tightened at the sight of him. The fae male wore no armor and didn’t appear to need any as his gaze scoured her from head to toe. The disdain clearly written on his handsome features said his assessment found her wanting.
He sniffed, and his nose wrinkled. “Most people manage at least a day before they hurl their guts up. Fear, you know, is a powerful motivator. Especially the fear of the unknown.”
Under different circumstances, she might have liked speaking to the man, who looked around her age. The low syllables and the deep cadence made for easy listening. Until she met his gaze and realized a beast lurked inside of him.
Fear? This man wanted to know about fear? What about the terror of knowing your family needed you and getting back only to find you were too late? She wanted to ask him, and the words caught in her throat. Panic lifted in her and would not stop.
Her eyes were heavy, and yet she forced them to open wider and hold his stare. Her chin jutted out.
“Do you see something you like?” she asked, heat blooming on her cheeks. “You keep staring at me like you’ve never seen a woman before.” She puffed out her chest in a clear challenge.
“Oh, trust me, sweetheart, I’ve seen a woman before, and bedded more of them than you’ve ever had in your acquaintance. Look at you.” The man sniffed. “You’re not exactly the type of Princess who has friends, do you? Allow me to guess. You probably counted your grunts as your friends even though they had no choice but to obey your every spoiled order.”
His silvery hair was the color of moonlight, and peeking out through the strands were the pointed tips of his ears. Eyes of a glowing sapphire met hers in challenge. Not a hair out of place, Aven saw, and every stitch on his waistcoat was tiny and perfect. A jewel rested at the base of his neck and drew the sides of his high collar together.
The designs on the lapels of his waistcoat were stitched in strands of real silver, it looked to her.
Like most of the fae, this one was breathtakingly handsome, with the chilling cold of something deadly and untouchable.
“Clean yourself up. You’re disgusting.” This man clearly wasn’t one of the grunts ordered to bring her down to this place. He dressed too sharply to be one of them. A nobleman, perhaps? He tossed a rag through the bars at her.
Aven let it drop. “I know the best place for you to stick the towel, but I’ll give you two options.” Like the Fae King had given her. “Down your throat or up your backside. Take your pick.”
“And you are no longer royalty here.” The sneer shifted into a scowl, forming lines between his eyebrows. “You’ll watch the way you speak to me, or you’ll realize soon enough nothing good comes from being spoiled.”
“This is the second time you’ve called me spoiled. If you knew anything about me, then you’d realize it’s no insult. You can go straight to hell.” Aven snapped out the words and immediately regretted them.
The man’s smile returned, and he stalked closer to the bars with a predatory elegance. “A few hours in solitude will teach you some manners.” He turned on his heel and disappeared, leaving her gaping after him.
No meal came for her that night. Nothing but a pitcher of water flung through the bars with little care. The jostle spilled most of the water from the pitcher, but Aven lunged for it, uncaring if they’d drugged it or not. Every gulp of water soothed the ache in her throat. She downed it all, gasping for breath, water sloshing down her chin.
She wiped her face with the excess and let it air-dry.
Sleep remained a million miles away, and why wouldn’t it? Every time she closed her eyes, the image of her siblings returned, real enough to curdle her stomach.
Exhaustion pressed down heavily on Aven, although she somehow wasn’t surprised when the fae nobleman returned the following morning, this time with two of his little buddies in tow. Those bright blue eyes glowed in the light of the lantern they carried with them.
He sniffed once, his expression darkening and his gaze going inevitably to the bucket in the corner. “Did no one think to clean up after you?” He cocked his head to the side. “Ah yes, that’s right. There are no servants here to cater to your every whim. Poor little Princess.”
Aven forced her legs over the side of the wooden plank and met his gaze with one of her own. “You really want to start off with the spoiled royal thing? This is only the second time I’ve seen you, and it’s getting old already. I’m sure you’re a huge bore.”
“What did I tell you?” The man’s pale skin seemed to glow as he elbowed one of his friends in the side. “She’s got quite a mouth on her.”
Aven blinked away a haze of rage at the way the three of them stared at her.
“There are things you could do to that mouth to teach her a lesson, Roran,” the man on the left murmured.
The handsome male, Roran , lifted an eyebrow at Aven. “She might like that. Would you, little princess? Would you like to have me teach you the lessons of life? I’d be the best teacher you’d ever have. You’d remember me for the rest of your pathetically short life.”
“I’d rather kiss a mule,” she replied sweetly. She locked her knees when the room around her began to spin. Her empty stomach clenched. “Although your attempts at flirting are charming. I’m sure you’re drowning in marriage prospects.”
“There are benefits to having my favor, you know. It seems to me you’re not very smart if you think an insult will draw me to your side.” A vicious smile twisted his sensuous lips high.
She hated him. Hated this stranger with every fiber of her being, even as something drew her toward him. A distraction, maybe, from her pain.
Sparring with him gave her an edge. A bite she desperately needed.
“I have a feeling nothing I say will make any bit of difference. Unless you’d like to let me out of this cell and have a discussion face-to-face. Or do you not trust me without the benefit of the bars? And your friends?” She glanced at each of the other men in turn and forced her voice to go solid, strong. “The fae male and the poor human girl. I have a reputation for gutting fae like you from navel to neck.”
His attention dropped to her breasts. Aven noticed the movement, confused by it. “There is nothing wrong with wanting a little bit of company on my rounds through the dungeon. Usually the sight of these two keeps your prison mates in line.” He gestured toward the grunts behind him and chuckled. “Today they wanted a good look at you.”
“I didn’t realize I needed to be kept in line.” Aven clapped slowly. “I guess you have heard of me.”
“Then a few more days down here will certainly do wonders for your mental health.” Roran bobbed his head in farewell before he and his cronies disappeared.
The one on the left, however, with a cruel scar cutting across his chin, lingered a moment behind the others. He flashed his teeth at her in an entirely unpleasant leer, full of the promise of heat and violence, before following his master.
She wanted to call out after them to obey like the good dogs they were and bit her tongue.
How much longer were they going to keep her without food? The water only went so far.
Judging from her interactions with Roran, no one cared about her. She was their enemy and a fine conquest, and the king might have gotten what he wanted out of her father, but what they wanted from her remained to be seen.