Chapter 17
I stared at him, trying to process what he’d said.
“In the dungeon?” I asked.
Mac nodded, his eyes stormy with anger. I couldn’t stand for longer than ten minutes, but I knew Madame wouldn’t give a shit.
“Okay.” I gingerly stood, leaving my blanket and the shirt I’d been mending. I wore the long brown skirt Sky had found for me, and I had to admit Raven had been right. It made using the outhouse much easier.
“The dungeon?” Sky repeated in a tiny voice.
I glanced at her, shame souring my stomach at the fear and surprise on her face.
As far as I could tell, most people were unaware of what exactly Madame did in the dungeon.
Madame had never told me to keep it quiet, but maybe she knew my role in what she did wasn’t something I would ever voluntarily share.
“You gonna be able to walk all the way there?” Mac asked. “I can go get a horse, but it’ll make us even later.” His expression stayed even, but I could hear the worry in his voice.
“I dunno,” I said and then paused, startled at my honest answer. “I’ll be fine.”
That muscle in his jaw ticked. “Let’s go, then.”
I made it almost halfway before I had to stop and lean on a tree due to the stabbing pains shooting up and down my back. My puffs of breath made clouds in the cold air, and the icy wind made my eyes water—the kind of wind that burned against any exposed skin. Mac swore under his breath.
“I can sit on the floor when I get there if I have to,” I said, dazed by the pain. “I just gotta get there.”
“She’s doin’ this on purpose,” Mac said in a low voice. “She knows you’re not healed enough.”
“I figured,” I muttered.
“I don’t know how to help without hurting you.”
I looked up at him. He fidgeted where he stood, his eyes darting between me and the watchtower. I’d never seen him look so anxious, and it forced me to set aside my pride.
“I’m gonna hurt no matter what. Might as well get me there.”
“Do you think you could climb on my back?”
“Like a kid?” I hoped I understood him right.
He nodded, turning his back to me and crouching.
I hiked up my skirt, leaned onto him, and wrapped my arms around his neck. It hurt, straining my wounds. He looped his arms under my thighs and carefully stood, which hurt worse. I blinked away the sudden memory of Wolf carrying me like this.
“You good?” Mac asked.
“Yeah.”
He started moving quickly, and I clenched my jaw.
Each step sent a stabbing pain through my back, but I refused to make any noise.
The walk seemed to take forever, but finally, the watchtower loomed ahead of us.
Seeing our destination didn’t bring any relief, though, and as Mac set me on my feet outside the door, I considered clinging to his neck and begging him to get me out of there.
Instead, I forced myself to take slow, painful steps down the stairs to where screams already echoed off the walls.
When we entered the room, I stopped short in the doorway.
Mist sat in the chair again, looking gaunt and sobbing.
Her blond hair hung around her face in greasy clumps, and blood dripped onto the hay, but she wasn’t the only person there.
Hawk, the leader of the other Safeguard crew, stood in chains attached to a hook on the wall.
Madame had her hair in a knot on top of her head as she cut into Mist’s arm. Hawk strained against his chains, and a vein pulsed in his forehead. His wide eyes swung to us, and the flicker of hope that lit in his face at the sight of me made me want to die.
“Took your sweet time, Bones,” Madame stated, those cold eyes flicking to me.
I didn’t answer. I wasn’t going to apologize. Her eyes narrowed on me, but then Hawk yanking on his chains distracted her.
“You know you don’t have to watch this,” Madame crooned to Hawk, gesturing at Mist with her bloody knife. “All I need is a couple answers.”
“I’m so…so sorry, Hawk,” Mist sobbed.
I fought the urge to be sick. Was Madame torturing Mist in front of Hawk to try to get him to talk? I’d only had a few interactions with Hawk, but he’d seemed nice enough. Now his bloody face looked anguished. He’d been roughed up, but Mist looked terrible.
“Bones, clean her up,” Madame ordered.
Hawk met my eyes, looking expectant, but I dropped mine to the floor. He didn’t know my role here wasn’t actually to heal but to prolong the torture session until Madame got bored.
I moved forward and placed my hands on Mist’s bleeding arm. As I healed her, I made the mistake of meeting her gaze. I expected to see hate and fury directed at me, but her eyes only held deep pain and sorrow and a horrible kind of understanding. My eyes welled, tears spilling down my cheeks.
I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, I thought toward her as I healed her arm.
When I stepped back and Madame stepped forward, the realization dawned across Hawk’s handsome face. His eyes flashed to me, anger and betrayal shining there. I’d expected that look, but it still hurt. I dropped my gaze, feeling so helpless.
“I know you helped Mist steal that food. Did you steal the ammunition? Where is it, Hawk?” Madame asked.
“Fuck you!” Hawk roared at her.
Madame placed her knife against Mist’s chest, just under her shoulder, and slowly pressed.
As she pierced Mist’s skin, blood began to trickle down.
The trickle became a stream as the knife went farther in.
Madame did it so slowly, it must have been agonizing, but Mist squeezed her eyes shut, her breathing labored.
Madame stopped when the knife was buried almost to the hilt, and then she began to turn it.
A scream ripped out of Mist, and Hawk screamed with her. All the blood drained from my face at the sound. My knees buckled and the ground raced up to meet me. Next thing I knew I lay on my side in the bloody straw with Mac crouched next to me.
“—tapped out, Madame,” Mac was saying, his voice even, but I could see the anger in the tight lines of his jaw. “If you want Mist to live, you’ll have to let Bones heal some more.”
Madame said something, but it sounded garbled. I closed my eyes, hoping the room would stop spinning.
“Bones.” Mac shook me. “Can you heal Mist one more time?”
“Yeah,” I mumbled, hoping I could.
He half lifted me to my feet, and the pain in my back made me nauseous. Hawk glared at me, tears on his face. Madame had pulled her knife from Mist’s shoulder. Mist’s eyes were closed, her face deathly pale. I knew from a glance that if I didn’t heal her, she’d be dead in a few minutes.
I placed my hands on the wound and tried my best to focus.
My healing power flowed with a sharp pain, a warning of an approaching burnout, and my stomach dropped.
Mac stood at my side, and it wasn’t long before I depended on him for support.
His hands tightened on my hips, holding me upright.
My healing power slowed to a thin thread, but I kept going, watching with blurry vision as the wound slowly closed.
When it did, I could have cried from relief.
Madame spoke—maybe to me—but I used all my remaining energy to keep myself upright.
Mac half carried, half dragged me out of the room. He hesitated at the stairs, then swore.
“I’m so sorry, Bones,” he said, then scooped me up into his arms. I couldn’t help the cry that escaped my lips, pain stabbing through my back and—
—
“It’s alright, darlin’.” A low, comforting voice.
A cool cloth moved across my forehead.
“I can’t,” I whimpered. “I can’t do it anymore.”
“I know. I know, Bones,” Trey murmured.
“Please don’t—” I choked on a sob. I didn’t know what I was saying. This felt like a dream.
“You want me to go?”
I squinted, bringing his blurry face into focus. I lay on my stomach on the hard metal table again, chills shaking me and causing pain to lance across my back with the movement. Panic surged through me like I’d grabbed an electric fence.
“No,” I begged, trying to reach for him. “Don’t go. Please don’t go.”
“Okay. It’s okay. I’m right here.” He gripped my hand and squeezed. “I’m not goin’ anywhere, darlin’.”
“Fuck, some of these stitches ripped,” someone said.
“You sure we can’t—”
“No. Absolutely not.”
“Well, you better get ready to fucking hold her down.”
I didn’t understand what they meant, but the next thing I knew, my back burned in agony, and I screamed until everything went black.
—
“—she doing?”
“She’s still unconscious.”
“This has to stop.” The words were whispered like a secret.
In the silence, I struggled to pry my eyes open. I was back on my mattress, my body aching.
“I brought some broth. I know she drinks it often.”
“Thank you,” Griz said. “She’ll really appreciate that.”
“Tell her…tell her I’m sorry.”
“I’ll do that.”
I heard the door open and close. I tried to lick my lips to get some moisture into them. A head popped into my vision, startling me.
“Griz, she’s awake!” Apple called. Then she glanced back at me, her little hand resting over mine. “Hi, Bones, how you feeling?”
Griz appeared beside Apple, relief clear in his face. “There you are.”
“Water?” I croaked.
Apple held up a large jug of water with a clear tube sticking out of it. She placed the tube at my lips. “Here. Drink,” she ordered.
I obeyed, the cool water like a balm.
“What happened?” I mumbled after I drank my fill.
“You passed out while Mac was carrying you back,” Griz explained. “When he got you home, your back was bleeding, so we had to check the stitches. Some of ’em were torn, so we sewed you back up. You had a burnout fever on top of all that. You were unconscious for almost two days.”
I closed my eyes, trying to process all that. I had vague recollections of crying and pain and a warm hand squeezing mine.
“How you feelin’?” Griz asked.
“Like shit,” I muttered without opening my eyes.
“Did you answer honestly?”
The surprise in Griz’s voice made me drag my eyes open again.
He smirked, but his eyes were worried. “I can’t tell if that means you’re dying or if you’re actually starting to trust me.”
I rolled my eyes, or tried to.