5 Kora #3
“It’s his power.” Blake grasped her arm, all gentilities evaporating as he dragged her down the stone steps. Oh good, she hadn’t missed his mood swings. “That day on the ship, he used his darkest form of magic to pull you back, causing a wound to expand from his original infliction on your face.”
“It’s horrible!” Kora wept softly, tears flowing down her cheeks as moisture returned to her body. Yet, her essence was still empty.
“I didn’t take you as vain. It’s one of the few things I love about you.”
Love. As if Blake knew what love truly felt like, what it truly meant. In that moment, Kora realised neither did she. She loved her friends, her oddly put together family, but she’d never loved someone enough to call them hers.
Blake nodded to the dungeon guard, his creepy coolness returning in the presence of his father’s lackeys.
The guard guided them to a cell near the steps, his face hidden in the shadows of his cloak and the sombre light of the dungeons.
At least she wouldn’t be near the bottom .
. . near death. A cold, sickening shiver consumed her as the torrent of waves roared at the base of the spiral, and the creaking groan of wooden planks replied in return.
“It’s his mark,” she hissed. “This is a reminder of everything I hate. And it’s on my face . . . forever.”
Blake grunted, signalling he was finished discussing his father as they arrived at a cell two blocks down from the staircase.
It was larger than her previous one, and her legs quivered as the familiar stench of waste, rotting vines, and decomposing hay greeted her.
The cyclone winds toyed with her hair, welcoming her return with menace as the bars of the cell door creaked open.
Her frail heart hammered, and she was sure it was visible through her bag-of-bones frame as Blake pushed her into the cell. Her boots slipped on the slimy floor and she collapsed to her knees, unable to stand any longer.
No, please, no!
“We’ll return tomorrow.” Blake removed his jerkin and tossed it through the bars. It landed in a puddle beside Kora, and she wasn’t sure whether the stench of petrichor or waste was worse. “Try to stay alive.”
Grabbing the torch from the guard, Blake’s footsteps receded.
Kora knelt in the cavernous cell, surrounded by familiar black walls, and vines looping down from the underbelly of the earth above.
The four walls of her recurring nightmare enclosed her, crushing her as she curled in on herself, smothering the anxiety blooming in the pit of her stomach.
Hold onto your life, Kora.
She could do this . . . right? She could survive this again. Thanos’ words wrapped around her, yet doubt crept in, fanning the flames of panic in her centre, threatening to snowball and swallow her with its perpetual fathomless.
“Cadell.”
Kora froze as a shadow appeared behind her. She craned her rickety neck, peering through the dim light at the guard who’d locked her in here. He knelt, revealing stained black leathers, and bloodied silver vambraces around his wrists.
Heart pounding, Kora gasped as Ivar pulled his hood back, his slender face scowling. Black eyes absorbed the darkness of the dungeons and his lips pulled back as he inspected the cell.
“You’re alive,” she whispered, barely loud enough for her own mud-caked ears. Thank the gods. Her nose wrinkled. “You smell like shit.”
“No one checks the sewers,” Ivar spoke swiftly, each syllable effortlessly cool and clipped. He peered around the walkway but the dungeons were just as quiet as the castle. “I can’t get you out of here. Not in this state.”
“Don’t you know I love it here?” Sarcasm oozed from her lips.
Ivar grunted. “I still haven’t found Theron. I’m sorry, Cadell, but I need to find him first. He’s my prince.”
Kora bowed her head. Thirty-six days.
“Save him,” she whispered. “It might be too late for me.” Indeed, she had no idea what awaited her. If Raiden couldn’t find her, how would anyone else? Was she destined to become Barron’s pet? She didn’t think her gut could churn any more.
“Once I find him, I’ll come back. I promise.” Ivar pulled his hood back up.
“Wait! What do you know? What’s happening? Have you seen Sam, or Erick?” Kora lunged forward, her bony shoulder banging against the bars. Ivar pressed a finger to his lips, footsteps echoing in the distance.
“Barron is clearing the castle out. I haven’t seen anyone else—” The footsteps grew louder. “I’ll find you again, Cadell.”
And Ivar left, sprinting up the spiral and disappearing into the barracks above. His own footsteps were silent, his long, black braid peeking around his hood. The slam of doors muffled Kora’s cry of frustration as she rattled the cell bars once again.
A lump in the corner groaned, and Kora hissed in retaliation as it shuffled towards her. What was it? Who was there? The lump grew, and her heart continued its relentless pounding before splintering as two familiar voices spoke, their sombre tones entwined.
“Kora? Who was that?”
“Is that you, child?”
“Erick? Agatha?” Kora whispered.