Chapter 76 The Edge of Freedom
THE EDGE OF FREEDOM
LUELLA
Asyrupy calm pooled through Luella’s limbs when she opened her eyes.
Her thoughts were scattered, but she did not fear—not quite yet.
Was this what it felt like, to have rested well?
A thin sheet pooled to her waist as she sat up. Beneath, she wore a simple shift, rough cotton familiar against her skin.
She tipped her head back. The marbled grey and white stone of the ceiling made her traumatized mind reach into its pool of memory, finding images of when she’d first awoken in this place. The healers whom she could not name at that time, Caliban looming over her.
Luella had been such a fool to think the male who’d gone to such lengths to acquire her was a mere male. He was not Caliban. Why had she ever thought of him as such?
Flashes of memory crested over her—a fizzing liquid in her mouth, hands pinning her, trying to claim her. Blood. The sick crack of bone.
Luella could make no sense of the feelings in her body. As she mulled it over, a sudden clarity rocked against her, making her nearly topple from the stone table.
Ambrose had tried to rape her.
The thought in its simplicity was horrifying.
"I was almost raped." The words carved Luella open. The room was quiet—nothing had changed, but she had. There was only a time before the words were said and after, and she could never return to the before.
She didn’t know how long she sat there on the stone table, staring at nothing, but she was torn from the horrible realizations inside her, the whispers of memory, by the soft sound of liquid being poured.
She lifted her head to see Desara at one of the carts stacked with healing instruments. She ground a bundle of green leaves into a thick paste, using a mortar and pestle, her back to Luella.
Luella jumped. Had the healer been here this whole time?
"It is not good to stare," Desara said quietly, her scratchy voice drawing out the syllables.
"How… how long have I been here?" It was all Luella could think to say or ask.
"Seven days. Floris and I had to place you in stasis."
She felt panic at the thought of being unconscious for seven days, against her will.
Desara continued, "We tended to your wounds while you rested. Elixirs to replenish your body’s lost nutrients. You should be feeling very well, all things considered." Finally, she turned to stare at Luella.
Luella wasn’t sure what look was on her face, in her eyes, but whatever it was, it made Desara’s lips tighten.
The healer took a small step back, finishing with her elixir.
She poured a soft green liquid into a cup, then finally walked to Luella and held it out, waiting for her to take it.
She appreciated the illusion of free will.
She took the cup and drank, uncaring of what it was.
She wished it were poison, but knew it was not.
Desara took the empty cup from Luella. "You are not going to ask what I gave you?
" When she didn’t answer, it seemed to anger the healer.
"It will help loosen the effects of the stasis on you.
You might find you are still drowsy. This will help you awaken.
" She turned and placed the cup down; it rattled as it hit the small table.
"Perhaps then you will begin to fight instead of letting yourself play the victim. "
The words were low. Luella wondered at first if she had heard the healer correctly.
"What?"
"We are all victims here. Just because you are the Princess of Luna does not mean your suffering has more merit than ours. I have been a prisoner for centuries. You, only for weeks. And you mean to tell me you are already broken? You have every advantage right now—why aren’t you using it to flee? " Each word brought Desara closer.
"I cannot—" Luella started.
"You are afraid."
She realized the truth. It was standing before her, shining in Desara’s blue eyes. As evident as the pointed tips of her ears and the scowl etched into her mouth.
Luella was afraid. Deeply.
She was afraid to escape, lest she be hurt worse.
She was afraid to make a sound, lest it draw unwanted attention.
But she saw how useful that was—even quiet and obedient, she had been hurt.
Wouldn’t it be better to be loud and angry, then?
At least she could still be herself. She had a brief moment of self-directed anger for allowing herself to wallow in pity for so long.
Invigorated by whatever elixirs she’d been given, her mind was the clearest it had been in weeks. Even the spikes digging into her throat no longer bothered her so badly.
She squeezed her eyes shut, feeling a treacherous tear slip free. They’d be so angry with her if they knew how she’d allowed herself to curl up and wither away. She couldn’t even bear to think of their names.
Luella was not one for sacrilege, but she found, at this moment, her thoughts drifting angrily toward the Fates for writing a prophecy about her, who could not even save herself. How could she save anyone else, then?
And the gods? The gods of the fae had not been there for her when she needed them most. She had never seen any evidence of them in her nearly two decades of life.
But she had of the other gods—the Lux and the Tenebrae.
They both existed. She had seen evidence of them, right before her eyes.
In the Temples of Aedis, the Lux had welcomed her.
She could live a thousand years and never forget the peace and warmth from the stardust—and now she knew another piece of the story.
The Lux and the Tenebrae were siblings.
A small part of her mourned for the Lux, for having such a vile, dark counterpart. But light and darkness were cut from the same cloth. Should it not make sense for them to be of the same nature, broken only by the evidence of their upbringing: siblings.
Luella met Desara’s eyes and said, "I don’t know where to go." It was a plea as much as an admission of weakness.
"Pity." Desara laughed. "Because I do."
She didn’t expect the female to help her. It would be begging for death. Imagine her surprise when Desara began to speak, turning her back on Luella once more as she packed away her healing items.
"There is a room that opens to the outside. It is where the master dumps the bodies after they decompose far beyond his use. I’ve been there before, to rid of the bodies sent to Floris and me for healing—the ones who do not survive whatever ailment or torture is subjected upon them.
These healing rooms are situated far below the throne room.
No one values a healer until they find themselves in need of one.
As such, the hallways are lonely. I’ve found that if I leave this room and take the left corridor and follow it, the scent of fresh air and rotting bodies mingle. It is a hard smell to miss."
Desara wiped her hands with a cloth, then made for the door. There was a lock for a key. She traced her finger over the edge, opened the door, and left without another word, not bothering to lock Luella in or order her silence.
Shocked, Luella could only stare.
She waited until the sound of Desara’s footsteps faded, then waited some more to be sure. All the while, her heart pounded.
She slipped off the stone table, starting for the door, but her eyes lingered on the table of instruments.
Silver gleamed. A sharp blade, precise and pointed as if used to cut someone open, lay on the edge.
Without thinking it through, she grabbed it and held it tightly, her clammy palms making her grip slick.
And by choice, Luella ventured out of the room and into the dark hall, veering left.
Luella kept waiting to cross paths with someone, but she never did.
Not as she left the healing room far behind her, and not as she held fast to the left corridor, venturing further and further away, until the air began to hold a strange scent—that of putrid, rotting flesh, yet it held an undercurrent of fresh air. Freedom.
She followed the scent of dead bodies, one hand curled to her chest, the other gripping the small blade at her side.
She knew it was strange to equate corpses with freedom, but she had no other option than to trust Desara’s words: that escape could be found among death.
It was dark, but darkness didn’t frighten her anymore.
When she felt as if she could walk no further, her luck faltered.
There was an inconspicuous door carved into one of the marbled stone walls. It opened before Luella could hide, and there was nowhere for her to hide, regardless. The halls were void of shadow or tucked-away alcoves.
A body bumped into her right shoulder, sending fire down to her mangled hand.
There were twin sounds of shock. One ripped from Luella without her permission, the other light and feminine.
Hands held Luella’s forearms, keeping her from pulling away. She braced herself, only as a small torch was lit from the being before her, light illuminated a face she knew.
"Floris," Luella whispered harshly, staring at the other female.
Her eyes were wide, hair tumbling freely down her shoulders, the silvery strands catching in the light from the torch. "Princess Luella!" gasped Floris. "Why are you here? What happened? Are you… all right?"
Though delicate as fae were, the healer was still taller than Luella, and she was forced to stare up at her face, beseeching her, "Floris—" The word turned to a cut gasp. "You have to come with me. I’m going to get out of here. We can escape together. Please."
She was so happy at running into Floris that she didn’t even wonder what would happen if the female said:
"No." Floris shook her head and took a step back. "No, Princess. My place is here."
"What?" Luella searched the female’s blue eyes—blue like Luella’s, like a Luna fae. "How could you wish to stay? We can be free. You can come with me. If we find—my Vincire, they will help you."