Twenty
Rohan
A slap to my cheek has a rough groan coming from me.
“Thank you, Declan, for your help with bringing him here, please tell the king the task is at hand.”
“I will,” Declan replies. “Do not fail him while he attends to the people in the Enclave.”
A door shuts, and then another slap strikes my face.
I force my eyes open, dizziness making me nauseous, but I shake my head again to clear it as I sit up. My wrists feel heavy and I realize I’m once again chained. I grit my teeth, looking around the room and pause on Emerish.
His back is to me, his clothes a little more disheveled than before.
“Finally,” Emerish says, not looking back at me. “Time to convince her, though she seems to have discovered her silence.”
I tense, my eyes dropping down to the ground, finding splashes of blood, and above, tiny feet barely touching the stone.
No.
I launch to my feet, lunging for Emerish but I’m pulled back, my shoulders grinding, the chain restricting me once again.
“Move,” I growl at him, the cloth now gone.
It cannot be her. It can’t.
Not my Alara.
“Oh? So eager to see what I’m best at?” he asks, hand lowering, revealing a knife in his grip with blood dripping from it.
“Do you want to see firsthand how fast elves heal? Not as fast as the wolves of Vrohkaria, or the demons in Evermorn, but I do wonder if that’s possible.
” He does something, still blocking her from sight, and those feet twitch.
I hear the squelching sound, and anger wars with dread.
“Did you know that with elves, the wound heals, but it’s fascinating how the pain lingers even longer after? ”
“Get away from her!” The chains rattle, and I grit my teeth. I don’t care if I have to break my shoulders, snap my wrists, I need to get to her.
He turns to the side, taking a single step back, and the sight before me causes my knees to give way.
“Alara?” My voice doesn’t sound like my own.
I sound wrecked. I am wrecked.
Because she doesn’t move.
“Ahh, that’s right. She has a name now, doesn’t she?” Emerish laughs, and I peel my eyes away from her.
Away from the bleeding and scarred skin, from the fresh wounds and blood pouring off of her.
From the bruises, swollen eyes…
And her hair.
He cut her hair.
What was once long, curly hair is now cut in rough, uneven chunks to her shoulders. Like it was done with the purpose of hurting her, and I know it must have.
She loved her hair. Loved when I braided it, took care of it, and he touched it, desecrated it.
Her head hangs, tear stains tracking through the blood on her face, turning them pink.
Breathing harsh, fury ignites my skin. Heat rises, ready to spill over.
I can feel it there, beneath the surface. Just out of reach.
My stare lands on Emerish, and he must see it in my eyes, the death that awaits, because fear flashes in his own.
“You will pay for what you’ve done.”
It’s not a throw away comment, it’s a fucking vow.
He shrugs. “You’re not in control here, dragon boy, I am, the king is. He doesn’t give a shit about you.”
“I will break every bone in your hands.”
“You will do as asked!” he spits.
“I will tear your lungs out.”
“When she wakes,” he continues, voice a little shaky. “You will get her to be compliant.”
“I will snap your legs so you will have to crawl for mercy.”
He swallows. “This is your new task after the show you put on in the Enclave, disturbing the king.”
“But I won’t give you a single shred of mercy.”
Silence follows, and he clears his throat, scowling, “Do as you’re told,” he sneers, and then he cuts the ropes that Alara hangs from, and she drops to the floor with a sickening thud.
I growl, nostrils flaring, my eyes never leaving Emerish.
He lifts the knife and holds it over Alara, and I freeze. “I suppose I don’t need to tell you what happens if you don’t?”
I glare at him as he nods, standing. He gives me a wide berth, heading to the door.
“The king has given you three days, but you will need to be quicker than that. Oh, and Rohan?” He stops at the door. “Do tell her to keep her mouth shut about me to the king. You wouldn’t want her to lose that tongue of hers now, would you?”
The door bangs shut behind him, his threat hanging in the air.
My chest heaves with the effort of filling my lungs. The sight of my heart laying on the floor, crumpled and hurt is making it hard to breathe. I turn, trying to pull the chains out of the wall.
I manage to move them a little, the stone crumbling around one but I roar with frustration when it doesn’t give way all together.
Fuck!
I turn to Alara, moving as close as the chains will allow.
Fuck, the sight of her, it take me three times to find my voice over the rage burning within me.
“Little Whisperer? I’m here.” Nothing. I can barely see her face with the way she fell, and my vision swims when I see the damage that’s been done to her body. And what’s even more unsettling is that I can see some has healed already.
Just how much has she endured?
Why?
“Alara…”
I clear my throat. It feels like it’s tightening, and my breathing turns rapid.
“Alara, please.” My voice is hoarse, cracking. “I’m here,” I tell her, not knowing what else to say, looking over her body, hating the bruises, the blood, the wounds.
I look around the room and spot a table full of knives, scalpels and other instruments. I squeeze my eyes shut at the thought of them being used on her.
Not my Alara.
Not my Little Whisperer.
She shouldn’t be here like this.
She should be telling my dragons to sit.
Collecting her roses that she gives me every day.
Brushing Serah in the stables, sneaking her an apple that she thinks no one notices.
She should be braiding, looking over the pictures in my mother’s book.
Smiling with Tofa and the stable boy, listening to Calian, gently touching my beard while she sleeps.
She shouldn’t be here like this.
Hurting, unconscious.
I drive my fist into the floor, my head bowed, frustration spilling over.
“Come back to me,” I beg her, uncaring of the weakness I’m showing.
She doesn’t so much as twitch.
Fuck.
I sit back on my heels, staring at her chest rising and falling, my fingers twitching with the need to reach her as I wait for her to come back to me.
Because she has to.
There is no other alternative.
I don’t know how long I watch over her, constantly listening for any approaching sounds, my eyes on the door, but eventually, I hear her.
A sound, a croaked whimper that has my head snapping up.
“Alara?” I whisper, heart hammering.
Her fingers twitch, another whimper.
I sit up more. “I’m here, fuck, I’m here Little Whisperer.”
I pull at the chains once more, growling, my heart in my throat.
She cries out, her body locking up and I freeze.
“Slowly, okay?” I urge her. “Take your time.” Her leg moves. “Can you look at me? Please look at me.”
I need to see her face, her eyes, I need to know that she’s still here.
Her chest heaves, my fingers clench.
I need to hold her, I need her to be here with me.
“You need to fight it, Alara, okay? Fight it and come back to me.”
But I’m not even sure she can hear me.