Chapter 34
thirty-four
The candles had long since burned out, leaving me in pitch black misery.
I managed to sleep, the exhaustion of starvation allowing me to do so, but the few minutes I drifted off were filled with bitter blues and memories I’d rather be buried.
It brought me a face I refused to acknowledge. One I would force from hiding by blade.
Plans had changed, but my goal had not, and my dreams were a bitter reminder of such.
When I awoke with a start, I brushed away the fading memories of his fingers caressing me. I wouldn’t allow myself to care, remember, or feel. No, I was meant to hate him.
But as awareness flooded through me, so did Ovatar’s words, and what he had done. Willfully, knowingly, and then brushed it away as if it were nothing.
“Bastard,” I whispered.
“At least look me in the eyes when you say that,” Tennith said from behind me. “It’s time.”
He didn’t need to say more. I pulled myself to a stand and followed like we were heading to the gallows.
My pulse thrummed in my throat as the tavern came to life. Hushed commotion filled every corner as the sunlight melted to uneasy candlelight. It cast long shadows, and I wished to beg them for aid.
But I wouldn’t, because there would be no response. A tinge of pain beaded in my gut, but I pretended it wasn’t there and focused on the coming carving.
The flurry of activity increased until I found myself seated on a rickety stool.
I hunched over on my elbows, preparing. No one met my eyes, but they still stared daggers as they filled the lowest floor.
I hadn’t seen such excitement since before the dungeons.
But I felt like I was awaiting my funeral.
Arlein was quick to make snide comments to the disheveled peasants shadowing her. Her wolfish smile chilled me to the bone, a horrifying reminder of Lilara. If she was here, would she be cheering on my coming pain too? Or laughed as Nenlyn pierced my eye? The answer gnawed in me.
A growing visage I had nothing and nobody.
The fact that both had valid reasons for demanding my head curdled in my stomach.
“Ready to answer for your crimes?”
I thrummed numb fingertips against the table. “Hurry up.”
“Strip yourself, then.”
My cheeks heated, and I tugged at my filthy cloak, jack, and the remains of my tunic. Why didn’t I realize I’d have to strip? I suppose I thought they might pull it up—but she’d probably need more room than that would allow—I shivered at the thought.
I tore the clothes over my head and held them before me as a makeshift cover, gritting my teeth when the air filled with poorly covered cackles.
Despite my unwavering will to see this out, I resisted the urge to flee—or find the nearest shiv.
Her lips curled into a sneer. “A well-fed princess, don’t know what else I expected.”
I ground my teeth and didn’t try to hide it. Couldn’t she see I was starving along with her? Weak and overtaken by dizzy spells? How many of my bones needed to show before my suffering was enough for her?
But one thought rose above the rest: it would never be enough. I’d get them food and risk my life, but I’d never gone through what she had. And she’d never let me forget it.
She didn’t ask if I was ready; instead, she shoved me until the table pressed into my gut. But that was nothing compared to when she dug the blade into my skin. My flesh bloomed with searing pain.
It became me.
I held fast. But quickly, a scream escaped. My nails pierced my palm. I hoped that would bring relief, distraction, anything—but it brought nothing except further agony.
I drowned in the sea of suffering. My gaze searched for any out, but I willed myself to stay. To not beg.
I screamed again. My voice pierced my ears, cloaking the surrounding laughter. The spectators rocked on their heels, raucous with their cackles.
“Warning,” I gasped between cries. “You didn’t give me—”
“Do you think my husband was given any warning? Or me before they doused him in kerosene? Do you think they stopped or gave a damn as I screamed like you are?” She dug the blade in deeper, and I was wracked with the blinding agony.
I didn’t scream; I bellowed. This time, I tried to fight, but firm hands wrenched me across the table.
Splinters from the rough wood filled my cheek.
I tried to count them. To inch through each excruciating second, but I couldn’t.
There was nothing to focus on but my spine and each etch of the dagger.
“You bitch,” I muttered.
“Only bitches survive in this great, unforgiving quarter. You haven’t seen suffering yet.
Then she pressed it in so deep she must have grazed my bones because the white hot agony became an ivory veil that fell over my eyes and claimed my thoughts.
It slipped me into the deep darkness of unconsciousness, where I begged the shadows to speak to me.