Chapter One
The relic war will make you bleed.
The watchman – Bauer, the sergeant had called him – shoved her, and she tripped over her own feet. She regained her balance and took a step back, refusing to walk through the door another watchman – Weber – had opened for her. Her hands were cuffed behind her back.
“Sir, please, send a letter to the academy. The headmaster knows me.”
That was a slight overstatement. He might have known about her, but he didn’t know her.
“Seraphina Bell,” she repeated her name, hoping he’d written it correctly in the ledger. “I’m with the Sarumite Order. With the resistance. They’ll want to know I’m alive, that I’m back. They’ll want to know what happened.”
“What happened is that you cut a man’s cock off.” Bauer shoved her again.
Weber spat at her feet, then grabbed her arm.
They both took hold of her and lifted her off the ground when she tried to resist. She fought them with all she had, thrashing and kicking, all the while trying to appeal to the sergeant’s good sense, though she wasn’t sure he had any.
She hated the men’s hands on her, squeezing and bruising.
It made her sick to her stomach. Bile rose in her throat, and she swallowed hard, trying to clear her head and not think about how easily they’d overpowered her, how she was at their mercy and they had no qualms about pawing at her, grabbing at her arms and sides, around her waist, catching her legs and carrying her like she was a wild animal they were taking to the slaughter, their eyes filled with satisfaction at what was going to happen to her.
“Please,” she yelled over her shoulder. “The headmaster will explain everything!”
The sergeant didn’t say a word, and she couldn’t see his reaction. The watchmen were crossing the inner courtyard with her. She noticed that the more she struggled, the more they pawed at her. She went limp.
“Put me down. I’ll walk on my own.”
Bauer, who was holding her from under her armpits grunted, and he must have nodded at Weber, who had her feet, because she soon felt sloshing mud under her boots. Shoulders slumped, she let them lead her into the prison wing of the building, where she heard a third man with a set of jingling keys.
“Rabid bitch,” Bauer said. “You maimed one of our own.”
“It doesn’t matter who you are,” Weber said.
“She’s no one. And even if she’s a Sarumite, that doesn’t give her a pass.”
They shoved her again, and she gritted her teeth.
She wanted to scream at them and tell them they were wrong.
She was someone, and yes, she’d cut a guard’s cock off, but he’d deserved it.
He’d deserved to die, in fact. Still did, since he was alive, his significantly shorter prick being currently patched up at the garrison hospital.
She should’ve killed him, and that had been her intention.
Except she couldn’t do it. He was right there, at her mercy, trapped between the dead end of a dirty alley and her two sharp daggers, and she couldn’t do it.
How was she going to enact vengeance on the men who’d ruined her life, hunt them down and take from them what they’d taken from her, when she’d balked at the last moment, unable to deliver the final blow?
All that training, for nothing. She was disgusted with herself.
They’d patted her down, taken her cloak, her daggers, and her money.
They’d taken the gold crucifix Matteo had given her three years ago, on her birthday.
He’d taken her hands in his, looked her in the eyes, and she’d melted on the spot when he chastely kissed her cheek and asked her if she wanted to be with him.
She’d collapsed to her knees, and he’d followed her, squeezing her hands harder in his, as if he wouldn’t let go.
Ever. A year later, he was butchered on the side of the road while they did even more horrible things to her.
Seraphina had survived despite everything, and more painfully, despite herself.
She heard the moaning creak of a cell door being opened, and before she was pushed into the tight, damp space, one of the watchmen removed her cuffs.
“Boots,” the turnkey said.
She shuffled farther into the cell, not wanting to give them her boots. The floor was stone, as cold as the biting wind howling outside, and it would only get colder with the turn of fall into winter.
She heard one of the watchmen sigh. Was it Bauer?
“I don’t know. Maybe let’s just take the laces.”
“She’s unhinged,” Weber said. “She’d cut off your cock if given the chance.”
The turnkey scoffed. “Is that what she’s in for? She unmanned someone?”
“Hartmann.”
“Who?”
“Georg Hartmann, one of the porters at Kr?henstein. She cornered him in an alleyway and gelded him like a horse.”
“He got what he deserved,” Seraphina spat out.
“Shut up!”
“Don’t know him,” the turnkey said, seemingly having lost interest. “Academy porters don’t drink where I drink. They don’t mix with the city watch, do they? They think their shit smells sweeter.”
Seraphina laughed. “Maybe it does. They eat better than you, that’s for sure.”
“Won’t you shut up?” Bauer said exasperated.
“What’s wrong with her face?” the turnkey asked.
She could sense him leaning into the cell to take a better look at her. She hung her head, letting her long, blonde hair fall over her face. The past half hour had been chaotic, and she’d forgotten to hide her face. She had nothing to cover it with; another thing they’d taken from her.
“The war has disfigured so many,” Bauer said.
Was it pity that Seraphina heard in his voice?
“Weber, take her boot laces.”
Weber tsked but did as he was told. Seraphina fought the urge to kick him when he crouched down to undo her laces.
She knew it was standard practice to strip prisoners to the last layer of clothing and leave them barefoot, and she wasn’t going to be difficult when Bauer had decided to pretend like he was a sensible human being.
“Here, you can have this back. Don’t hang yourself with it.”
She caught the piece of fabric he’d thrown at her.
“You’re too good, Bauer,” Weber said, exiting the cell.
“Good?” The watchman scoffed. “The state of her face turns my stomach. This is a favor to the next shift, so they don’t get nightmares like I will when I close my eyes tonight.”
That made Weber laugh. As the turnkey closed the cell door and locked it, Seraphina heard the men bang on the door next to hers.
“Did you hear?” Weber said. “We brought you a neighbor. Just as ugly as you. Now you have someone to talk to about... what do I know? What do monsters talk about?”
For reasons that eluded Seraphina, everyone found that very funny and burst out laughing.
She huddled against the wall and ran her fingers over the scarf Bauer had so generously returned to her.
It was a strip of worn linen, soft from countless washings, and maybe she could hang herself with it, but she hadn’t had such thoughts in a while.
It had taken her nearly two years to climb out of the dark pit of her own despair and self-loathing and stop wanting to punish herself for all the things that had been done to her through no fault of her own.
She wouldn’t go back to that hell. The hell of her own mind, ruled by that awful, screeching voice that told her she was filthy, worthless, that they’d taken all which was human from her, and all that was left was a wretched animal who needed to be put down.
With trembling hands, she covered her face with the scarf and tied a knot at the back of her head. The fabric stopped above the tip of her nose, so she could breathe.
They banged on her door as well, making her heart jump, then moved down the corridor banging on others, earning themselves a continuous string of curses and obscenities.
Once the prison had erupted, the yelling and swearing, banging and stomping went on for minutes on end, well after the watchmen were out of earshot, probably back at their posts, and the turnkey back in his office.
Seraphina pressed a hand to her heart and willed herself to calm down.
The clamor made her feel jittery and frail.
Without her daggers, she was naked. Vulnerable.
She was trapped between three walls and a barred door, and some crude man had the key to the lock.
A long time ago, she’d respected the city watch and trusted the porters and guards at Kr?henstein Academy.
They all kept Ingolstadt safe. Protected from the war raging outside.
A lot had happened since then, and now she didn’t trust anyone, especially men with guns and power.
The noise died down, the prisoners exhausted.
Her heart rate settled, but her mind raced, coming up with scenarios, one wilder than the other.
She needed to focus on something tangible, ground herself, so she started exploring the cell, one inch at a time.
She didn’t hurry, preferring to be careful and intent, so she could learn every nook and cranny, make sure she knew where everything was.
She crawled onto the floor, her hands sweeping in the darkness until they identified the tin bucket near the door, empty but smelling foul, with a lid on it – thank God it had a lid!
– the straw that covered a quarter of the floor, the wooden cot against one of the walls with a thick blanket on it, and the barred window that let air and the rain in.
She was too short to reach it, but she stood under it and let the cold draft lick at her fevered face.
She felt hot now, from nerves and anxiety, but she knew that in a few hours, her thin dress and the blanket might be barely enough to keep her from freezing.
The cell once memorized, she had nothing to do but curl up on the cot and think about how she’d ended up here.
“Stupid,” she whispered to herself. “Weak. Coward. Stupid.”