3. Reign
G oddesses above, what is that smell? I think as I scrub the greenish-brown muck from the washroom floor. How honored I feel to have one of my daily chores here in The Hollows be cleaning this wretched washroom.
I scrub harder when I hear footsteps approaching.
“I am almost done!” I call out, keeping my head down, focusing on the task.
I hear two sets of footsteps creeping closer and closer as I continue to scrub the dirty stone floor.
“You are done now,” an unfamiliar male voice says.
I look up to see two prisoners—a man and a woman, both in the same inmate gray—standing a few feet away. Devious grins twist their faces.
I leap to my feet, clutching the wet cloth. “What do you want?”
They don’t answer. Instead, they rush toward me. I try to dodge, but my bare feet slip on the wet floor, and I stumble. Panic like I never felt before starts to seize me, making a shiver snake up my spine like tiny spiders scurrying along as the man grabs me.
“Your death is a message for Elm,” the man growls as he slams me against the wall, his hand tightening around my throat. “I got the hole because of him.”
The woman snickers, glancing toward the entrance, keeping watch.
I want to scream, but I can’t. Fear blankets me, heavy and suffocating. I claw at his hand, but he’s too strong. The chipped stone digs into my back as his grip tightens. Panic surges through me, seizing my body like a vice. My pulse pounds in my ears, and the room begins to blur.
I’m going to pass out. No—I’m going to die.
“Hurry it up alre—” the woman starts to say, but a sharp thwack cuts her off, followed by a heavier thud. It sounds like a body hitting the ground, but maybe it’s my blood vessels popping in my head from lack of air.
“What the fuck?” the man gasps.
His grip loosens, and I collapse, gasping for air, sucking it down greedily like water on a scorching day. My chest burns with each breath, but I’m alive.
When I look up, Larah is behind my attacker, her palm blade pressed against his throat, pinching the skin.
“It’s okay, Reign. I’ve got you,” she says, her voice soft, but the wild look in her eyes tells me she’s anything but calm.
Tears blur my vision, the salt stinging my cheeks. My breathing steadies, and I finally regain control over my body.
“Go. Back to our cell. I’ll handle this,” Larah says, jerking her head toward the door. “They won’t bother you again.” She digs the blade deeper into the man’s neck, drawing a bead of blood. “Isn’t that right?”
“Yes,” the man whispers, his eyes squeezed shut in fear.
Larah yanks his hair back, pressing the blade harder. “Say it louder.”
“Yes!” he yells, panic lacing his words.
Larah nods toward the exit. “Go on. I’ll clean up the mess.”
I stare at her, my eyes weary. She wouldn’t kill them for trying to harm me, would she? With trembling legs, I step over the unconscious woman by the entrance and make my way back to the cell.
* * *
Elm shows me a move again, his blue eyes calm and patient.
“You need to be precise with your footwork. Dancing and fighting are both a similar art. Master one, and you can master the other.” His slick blonde hair clings to his sweat-sheened forehead as he moves with fluid grace.
I chuckle. Elm insists on teaching me dance moves before he teaches me hand-to-hand combat. He and his husband used to dance at the theater and teach private dance lessons to the royals. He moves gracefully—like water flowing through narrow channels. It’s mesmerizing really.
It’s been just over a week, and while I’ve made progress, it’s slower than I’d like. Thank the gods for Larah and Elm. Without them, I’d be lost. They’ve shown me how things work here: wake, eat, shower, train, chores, more training, eat, sleep. Every day is the same routine.
Apparently, Elm is one of the best and most celebrated fighters here. Larah is slowly but surely working her way up there. The guards encourage us to train, knowing the monthly fights draw bets from wealthy spectators—including the heir to the throne, Princess Vanna. I guess that is why those of us who lived in the Drifts never heard about it—we were too poor and too busy surviving to care about such things.
The first thing Elm taught me, on my second night here, was how to make a stone palm blade. It was surprisingly simple, and besides the few cuts to my fingers, it went well.
We pick up broken bits of stone, where and when we can. The smaller stones are used to break down bigger ones for a blade, and we use flat ones to sharpen it. The tiny blades are surprisingly sharp. We wedge them between our beds and the wall when sleeping, making them completely camouflaged unless you inspect the area closely.
Larah made a slit in my waistband so I can conceal the tiny blade across my waist, while the butt of the blade is easily accessible. This makes accessing the blade in an emergency effortless. The entirety of the blade fits in our palms. They are small, easy to conceal, and deadly—the perfect weapon in an underground prison. I hope I never have to use it, but I am glad for the security and comfort the small blade gives me.
Elm told me to always keep it with me, in case other inmates try to attack me and I go down. He said the most vulnerable times would be in the washrooms. I just wish I remembered to use the small blade when I was attacked earlier. He said I need to keep my eyes open and know my surroundings at all times. He warned me to only use them as a last resort.
Elm said he used the blade on two inmates that attacked him. They were going to execute him, but when it was his turn in the ring, he brought in the biggest crowds, meaning the most coppers. So, Big Al only wanted him punished. His punishment consisted of the hole, then the tub.
Elm’s description of what he endured in the tub makes me physically sick. He said the guards bind him, cover his head with a soaked cloth, and submerge him in freezing water. He fought to stay afloat, lungs burning as the guards dunked him repeatedly, only letting him breathe when he was on the verge of drowning.
I shudder at the thought. I pray I never experience that level of torment.
“Elm, I heard some inmates talking about how you were going to be fighting Jack in two full moons. Maybe that’s why he keeps looking over here,” Larah says while looking over the massive stone training room.
Elm and I look to where Larah is staring. Sure enough, there is a muscular, bald man sparring with someone, but he is staring our way.
“He is predictable. I am not worried.”
“Wait. You are fighting this month and next? I thought they rotate who fights when?” I ask, concerned I may have to go into the ring more than I originally thought.
“Don’t look at me with those big lavender eyes, 7296,” Elm chuckles. “You can wipe that worried look off your face. They only put the best of us in the ring monthly. We bring in the wealthy to bet on the fights. You won’t be monthly for a while.”
“If ever.” I roll my eyes.
“You will get there. If you listen to Elm, you will get there,” Larah says with a half-grin on her face.
At the moment, I decide that I will use every ounce of my energy to train and be the best. Since I am stuck here for the rest of my life, I might as well.
“Inmates! Cells, now,” the one guard in the room yells to us all.
“Well, good night, ladies. I will see you across the cells.” Elm smiles a wide, handsome smile. I don’t know how he is so okay with everything that goes on here. I have only been here a little more than a week, but I don’t see how I can live the rest of my life here. This existence is terrifying and definitely not for the weak—physically or mentally.
Back in our cell, I watch as Elm, who is in the cell across the hollow center, gathers the straw from his bed into a ball and wraps it in his blanket.
“What is he doing?” I turn around to ask Larah and notice she is doing the same thing.
“We are going to practice throwing the palm blades.” Larah props it up on the bed and then walks to the cell door and looks both ways. She then turns to me. “Step out of the way. Come behind me.”
I am thoroughly confused, but I do as she instructs and walk behind her. Then she turns to Elm and gives him a nod. After a few seconds, a stone palm blade soars across the hollow center and into our cell, striking the bundle of straw. I am stunned—shocked.
“How in the double burning hells did he do that?” I know my face is a picture of pure shock and amusement.
Larah’s grin widens, making her eyes squint. “When you have been here as long as him,” Larah nods in Elm’s direction, “you will be able to do it too. But for now, throw your palm blade at the sack in here.”
I pull out my blade. The stone is cold against my palm. Larah shows me how to properly hold and throw it. I do exactly as she instructs and strike the straw sack on its side. I did not hit dead center, but I am just happy I hit it on my first try. I grin from ear to ear triumphantly.
“Well done,” Larah says with a smile. Even Elm nods in approval from across the way.
Suddenly, Elm makes a funny noise, and Larah frantically empties the sack of straw
“Lay down quickly,” she whispers to me as she jumps into her bed.
I do just that. The second I lay down a guard comes walking by doing his rounds.
Gods and goddesses, these two have everything down to a system.
When the coast is clear, we build the sack again and continue until late into the night.
* * *
The next few weeks are the same: practice dance moves and throwing palm blades. But tonight is ring night, and it’s Elm’s turn to fight. As it looms, I’m not sure what to expect. I’ve only fought once, and Larah knocked me out embarrassingly fast.
We make our way to the ring and it is packed—over congested. People I have never seen before in their fine, luxurious clothing occupy seats, while inmates are lined up all about, anywhere a body can sit or stand. The air is thick and humid. The smell of sweat and earth cling to each intake of breath.
Close to the front of the stage, I see… her : Princess Vanna, heir to the throne of Umbrahdor. I’ve never seen her up close before, but I know it is her. She has reddish-brown hair and brown eyes, and sitting like a stick is up her ass—it is her. Even if I wasn’t sure, the presence of the royal guard surrounding her gives it away.
She is laughing and touching a male guard’s arm, leaning into his personal space. I hate her for doing this to me, to Larah, to Elm. I make myself a promise—a vow, right then and there—that I will get my revenge on Vanna.
My first night here, I found out she went after Elm. She made advances toward him, but he declined, stating he had a husband, which she already knew. Apparently, when he declined her after a dance practice, she was not pleased at all by being turned down. He and his husband were attacked later that night. Elm killed two guards and ended up in here. He still has no idea if his husband is alive or not. I couldn’t imagine that—not knowing if your loved one is alive or murdered by the royal guards.
Princess Vanna has ruined our lives and who knows how many others. There is no way I can get to her, not with that many guards around her. I don’t know what I would do if I got in front of her, but I know it wouldn’t be good.
The first match begins. Two inmates step into the ring and bloody each other until one is knocked unconscious.
The night goes on like this. Inmate after inmate, match after match. The stage is painted in smears and splatters of crimson. The metallic tang of blood drifts in the sticky, confined air as Elm takes the stage for the final fight. As he ascends the steps to the center stage, he does not tremble. He is calm, collected.
His opponent is a gorgeous man who stands almost as tall as him. I do not remember ever seeing this man around. According to Elm, the prison is massive and has multiple sectors like ours. The structure is very much like a hive, and we are only one part of it.
I watch Elm fight with dread in my stomach, yet also fascination. I have never seen someone move like Elm—the swiftness, the precision. It is enthralling, and I can’t tear my eyes away. I have never witnessed something so beautiful, yet violent. Watching Elm now makes me understand why he is making me learn dance moves first. The way he moves is both graceful and dangerous.
Within minutes Elm knocks his opponent out, and that is it, the event is over. People clear out, and inmates are sent back to their cells. The guards all have smiling faces, clutching their bags of coins from their bets.
A guard walks over to where Elm has exited the stage, toward Larah and me.
“As the winner, you get your pick of any two inmates tonight. You deserve it.” The guard jingles his pocket, making his coins clank together.
“These two.” Elm nods to us.
“Come. You two are to comply with whatever Elm wants. We will bring you to your own cell in the morning.”
The guard walks all three of us to Elm’s cell and locks us in.
Immediately, Larah begins cleaning the blood from Elm’s fists, along with the splatters on his chest and stomach.
“What is your magic?” Elm asks, turning to me.
I sit on the floor in front of him and Larah. “I don’t think I have any. I am twenty, and still no signs of magic. Pretty sure I am a Nomatrab.”
Larah dips the washcloth in the basin, ringing it out—the water cloudy with crimson. “The prison is made of marcanite. Even if you came into your magic now, the marcanite stone would hinder using any magic. It snuffs magic out completely.”
Magic usually manifests between the ages eighteen and twenty, so maybe I will have a lesser magic, but I could be a Nomatrab. It doesn’t matter anyways. I’ll never know now.
I look to Larah , then Elm, my lavender eyes wide, and curious. “What magic do you guys have?”
Elm speaks first. “I have a lesser magic, which makes me practically a Nomatrab, but I inherited a small amount of wind magic. Occasionally, I’d use it during the theater performances to blow hair and dresses around to make a dramatic effect.” Elm looks off for a second like he is lost in a memory. A hint of a smile laces his face before it disappears.
“I came from two Nomatrabs, but I have a hint of water power,” Larah adds in.
After a brief moment of silence, Elm turns to me. “Get up.”
I look at him, slightly irritated that he is making me practice dance moves again. However, I stand.
“Tonight, you’re learning how to fight,” Elm states as he also stands.
A wide grin graces my face as I grow excited to finally start learning.