Chapter Twenty-Three
The Discarde d
Five Weeks Ago
He was rough, but he didn’t touch me. Not in that way. He hasn’t since she arrived. Since she arrived, things have been different. He’s always been aggressive, but he’s obsessed. Obsessed with her.
It’s her fault.
Everything that has happened is her fault.
And now she gets to raise my son while I rot in a dungeon.
It’s been two weeks since my son was taken. Two weeks I have sat in this dungeon, waiting to die. Will he kill me? Will he make it quick?
I’ve been well-fed. Enough bread and cheese to fill my belly until the next meal. No one has spoken to me, not directly, but I hear them whisper. I hear them whisper about the deranged king and the infant forced upon the queen.
My infant.
My son.
I can’t stand the screaming.
It’s too much.
The noises as he slices her open. As she sobs. As she cries.
She just keeps repeating that she’s sorry.
He’s mad, I think.
But I can’t tell why.
It’s my son. He’s missing. I screamed when I heard. Pounded on the bars, pulled at the door. All it got me was a busted lip and raped by someone who was forced to wait their turn for Elaenor.
The stream of men defiling the queen has been constant. She stopped fighting. She just cries. Every time she cries as they call her whore and empty themselves inside her.
I’m going mad. I can’t listen to it anymore. I can’t.
They stopped feeding me. They are far too consumed with Elaenor to care about the other prisoners.
Davel started to visit me, though. I don’t know when he was let out, but he is probably Elaenor’s most frequent visitor, and mine. I think I’d prefer it if I were dead.
I think she would too.
It’s dark. The dungeon only lit by a single torch. I don’t know why I woke; I’ve been sleeping most of the time away.
It’s quiet, which isn’t normal. I’m used to her sobbing. Her pleas for a quick death. She won’t get one. Not if she had anything to do with my son’s disappearance.
My eyes linger on the cell door. The rusted metal bars and the lock that has been taunting me for over a month. My eyes stay affixed to the iron, and I can’t tell why.
Until I see it.
It’s almost as if it’s alive, a snake or worm working its way over. My eyes widen and I stand, my back pressed against the wall.
It’s beautiful. White and sparkling as if it’s comprised of a million stars. The stream of light grows and climbs the metal bars, wrapping around them like lightning, or vines. The tip of it shoves into the lock and I hear the audible click, and then suddenly, it’s gone.
Just like that.
I hesitantly step over, my knees weak from hunger. My hands grasp the metal rungs and I push.
An uncontrollable sob creeps up my throat as the door opens with a creak.
I shuffle out, keeping a hand on the wall to steady myself.
I pass another cell, a man half beaten crumpled in the corner.
His hair a dirty brown, his skin pale. He watches me with brown eyes as I walk by.
I could stop, try to help him, but I don’t.
I reach the end of the cells, my ratty cloak dragging on the floor.
My mouth falls open as I turn the corner.
Elaenor is naked. Her body is clean, free of cuts and scars, but I know she’s been tortured.
The table beneath her stained with old and new blood. The floor around the table looks the same. A cart with various metal instruments sits in the corner, blood and flesh hanging to each tool. My hand covers my mouth as I fight the urge to gag.
I need to get out of here.
My steps quicken as I shuffle to the door. The only one that leads up.
“Hello?” Her voice is little more than a croak, broken and weak. “Is someone there?” She asks. I pause, my hand inches from the door handle, before I turn and face the queen.
I take a long, deep breath as I walk up to the table. Her eyes are covered, a blindfold wrapped around. Her crown is on her head, blood staining the diamonds. Her lips are pale and cracked, her nails broken and bleeding as if they’ve been digging into the stone.
“I can feel you.” She whispers.
“It’s me.” I whisper back. She flinches and her head turns in my direction.
“Nylah?” Her voice is filled with disbelief. “I thought you were dead.” She shakes her head. “I begged him. I begged him to tell me where you were. I am so sorry—”
“What did you do with my son?” I cut her off. Anger brewing deep in my belly. If she had anything to do with him disappearing, if he’s hurt, I think I might kill her.
“I’m sorry.” She whispers.
“Did you hurt him?” She shakes her head, her hands fisting. “Where is he?” She’s quiet for a second.
“Tatus.” My pulse skips and I step away from the table. “He’s with your aunt and uncle. I couldn’t let him stay here. I was afraid of what he would do.”
“You sent him away?”
“I was trying to keep him safe, Nylah. I promise. He is alive.” I step farther away from the table. My footsteps silent.
Tatus.
He’s alive .
Tears prick my eyes, and I can feel my pulse quickening.
If I can somehow get out of the palace, out of the capital, I can get to Tatus.
I can be with my son. I turn away from her, reaching for the door, but something prevents me from opening it again.
Something at the back of mind telling me not to leave her.
“Tell him I love him.” I hear her whisper, her voice barely audible. “I loved him so much.” I glance over at the torture instruments, my eyes catching on a small blade. Without thinking, I snatch the thin metal into my hand and run back to the table.
“This is for him.” I whisper as I shove the blade into the lock.
The restraint around her wrists clicks open and I reach for the ones on her ankles.
She’s shaking, her body trembling, but she doesn’t move when the last one falls away.
“You are free, Elaenor. Go.” I urge her, but she just shakes her head.
“I will never be free as long as he’s alive, Nylah.” She reaches up and pulls off her blindfold. Her blue irises are bloodshot, her pupils ten times their normal size. “Find your son. Be happy.” Her lip quivers and she lays her head down, sliding the blindfold back on.
“Elaenor, you can leave. You can escape.” I plead, my hand grabbing hers.
“I have no desire to live in a world where I will always be on the run. My place is here until he no longer breathes.” I don’t answer. I just stare.
This young girl, no more than eighteen, has been brutally raped and tortured. She has been abused for months, and I’ve spent almost all of them hating her. Hating that she has him.
But she saved me. I would be the one on that table if she didn’t exist.
I almost was.
A tear escapes my eye, trailing down my cheek.
She’s sacrificing herself. She’s prepared to die, just to ensure he does.
She’s doing it for me and for Cynfael. For herself.
“Every day I spend with my son, every breath I watch him take, I will think of you. I will not let the world forget your name, Elaenor, but you better fight like hell.” I say, my voice wavering slightly.
This won’t be the last time I see her. I can’t let it be. Because if it is, that means he has won, and I can’t live in a world where that is the truth.
I turn away from her, my hand finally closing around the handle of the only exit. I pause, only for a second, before I open it and run up the stairs.