Chapter Three
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Henri
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FOR AN ENDLESS ETERNITY, I existed with one foot in this world and one in the next.
Some days, I woke with coherency. I’d stay awake long enough to follow the black roof of the dungeon, trace the walls dripping with icy dew, and focus on Ily and Peter shackled by their collars across the small cell.
I’d count the bars locking us from freedom.
I’d trace the scratchy woollen blanket I lay on and groan as every bone throbbed as if they’d splintered into pieces.
But then the thickness in my head would win.
The fog would return...and I’d slip away.
I’d rouse as something hot was ladled down my throat. I’d wake spluttering as someone fed me water, reminding me too much of drowning as the guards chucked a bucket of ocean on my face.
I winced as someone tended to my injuries and begged anyone and everyone to let Ily go and me to die.
I didn’t remember what I said, but I knew I’d entreated every entity I could think of. I prayed when I’d never prayed before. I tried to make my shattered mind find that oasis of calm and concentration.
But no matter how hard I clung to living, death was a fierce undertow.
I dreamed of running in the black.
Being chased.
Being hunted.
Being butchered and eaten and burned.
I’d wake screaming, only for Ily to speak softly in our prison, telling me things I couldn’t recall, sending me back to sleep with her unconditional love.
I didn’t deserve it.
Didn’t deserve her.
But I slipped again, and more time passed.
Days.
Then weeks.
No light.
No sun.
No way of truly knowing how many nights had passed.
We existed in a perpetual one.
Never-ending.
All consuming.
Nothing but pain and misery.
* * * * *
“Henri. Henri.”
The clanging of chains and the tinny whack of metal against metal echoed in my ears. It reached down, down, down into the abyss where I now lived.
No matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t seem to crawl out of it for long.
My eyes cracked open.
The pain swamped me.
But...it didn’t seem as debilitating as before.
The fiery ache from dislocating my shoulder had abated, the joint now stiff and seized from the endless cold and almost constant unconsciousness.
The hundred contusions along my torso and legs slowly slipped through the sickly colours of healing.
A cast covered my right ankle and foot. Another locked around my left forearm above my cuff.
Heavy bandages wrapped around my torso, keeping me marginally warmer but not stopping the sharp pinch each time I breathed with broken ribs.
I’d never been so badly beaten before.
Hadn’t been prepared for how even my blood ached.
How my tendons felt overstretched and my muscles nothing more than congealed meat.
Lacerations cut the inside of my mouth from my teeth slicing into my cheeks when the guards walloped their fists into my face.
The concussion that slithered around my thoughts—making them soupy and foggy—had improved, but it hadn’t fully gone.
Regardless how much time had passed, I didn’t fully heal.
And time did pass.
I wore the ticking hands of it on my own body.
Outwardly, my bruises faded and my bones throbbed with internal knitting. Each time I woke, I had a little more strength. But...while my body fixed itself outwardly. Inwardly? My soul died, piece by piece.
“Henri, please stay awake,” Ily’s plea cut through the vicious allure of sleep. I did my best to stay coherent even though being alive hurt worse than anything.
No, not anything.
What hurt the most was knowing I’d failed her.
Failed Peter.
Failed every jewel.
Everything I’d hoped to achieve was over now.
We lost.
I killed us all.
I just wanted death to claim me because I didn’t deserve to be here.
I didn’t deserve to talk to her in the snatches of time between nightmares.
Didn’t deserve to see her fading across the dungeon, her gorgeous skin going sickly from lack of sunlight, her curves vanishing thanks to starvation, the light in her golden eyes turning dull.
But...while she breathed, I had to breathe.
While she still fought, I would fight.
With a guttural groan, I shifted upright on the plywood cot that’d been my coffin for too long. No mattress beneath me. Only a scratchy woollen blanket to cover me. Every inch of me cracked with filth and dried blood, minus the areas of my body that had open wounds.
Those areas were neatly scrubbed and dressed, ensuring I didn’t die of infection.
I vaguely remembered having an IV line attached to me for a while in the beginning. I’d flinched as the needle poked into my vein. I’d found Dr Belford’s face looming over me before I’d drifted off on another river of sleep.
Rubbing my eyes, I gathered what strength I had and forced myself to focus on Ily and Peter a few metres away. They had their own wooden cots, blankets, water bucket, and enough chain so they could move to the toilet tucked behind a rock wall.
My gaze locked on their golden collars flickering in the lights glowing on the chilly dungeon walls. Such a regal, royal metal, yet it marked us as the lowest of the low.
My heart twisted as I glanced at the cuffs around my own wrists.
They lashed my arms with a never-warming cold, the small electricity nodes on the inside band scratchy against my already beaten skin.
I’d tried getting them off in one of my more energetic moments. I’d whacked my wrists against the dungeon walls over and over again, clanging, clanging, clanging.
The broken bone in my forearm did not appreciate that.
It’d ached with fire for days afterward.
And for what?
My attempt at removing the godawful cuffs hadn’t worked.
And I’d passed out from the effort.
Skipping more days, losing more time, more hope, more life.
I sighed heavily as the chain tinkled behind me, connecting to my collar, keeping me firmly locked on this side of the cell. I could reach the toilet too—with an age of shuffling and blackspots dancing on my vision—but I couldn’t reach them.
Couldn’t touch her.
Hug her.
We’d tried.
On the first day I’d had the strength to fall out of bed, I’d crawled toward her. My eyes stung with the need to feel her. My heart felt like it would explode if I didn’t kiss her.
She’d dashed toward me.
Peter had shook his head sadly.
And we’d both jerked to a stop, just centimetres from touching.
A few lousy millimetres.
That was all that blocked us from comforting one another. Caressing and loving, sharing body heat and love in a place so full of hate.
“Henri...”
I forced a smile and looked at the love of my life. “I’m okay, mon c?ur. I’m up.”
She let out a heavy sigh. “I was so worried. You wouldn’t wake, no matter how much noise I made.”
“I was asleep. Healing is exhausting work.” I attempted a smirk. “But I’m getting better. You don’t have to worry about me.”
She hugged herself, her body wracked with trembles. “You were speaking to us, but then your words grew all scrambled.” Flicking a look at Peter, she whispered, “You passed out and...”
“Ily.” I licked my dry, cracked lips. “I’m okay—”
“I’m terrified you’re dying right in front of me.”
“I’m fine.” I sat as tall as I could, ignoring the fiery agony cutting through me in every direction. “See? Nothing to fret about.”
Peter gave me a narrowed look as if he could see every single one of my lies.
I gave him a pointed one back.
I couldn’t be the one to comfort Ily while healing and shackled so far away.
For now, that was his job.
And he’s failing.
Ily shivered and rubbed her arms. The floaty white dress she’d worn for the Halloween masquerade—the same dress I’d flipped over her back when I’d taken her from behind before our night ended in the Temple of Facets—was now grey with grime.
Peter’s linen trousers matched the same dirty colour; his bare chest streaked with dirt. His blanket rested over his shoulders. His already lean body shadowed with the lines of his ribs the longer we were kept down here.
We all shivered constantly, but...it fucking hurt to see Ily trembling.
“Paavak.” My voice came out rusty and almost cold. “She’s shaking. Do something about it.”
Without a word, Peter left his cot and joined Ily on hers. Draping his blanket over her shoulders, he cradled her close and kissed her temple. She welcomed his body heat, but her eyes never left mine.
And I never looked away despite exhaustion tugging at my eyelashes.
Their two beds touched each other at the top, their thin pillows close enough that their matching black hair blended while sleeping.
Occasionally, I’d wake in the dead of night—or it could’ve been midday, considering we hadn’t seen the sky in weeks—and I’d watch them sleeping, thanks to the flickering light that was never turned off.
I’d see Ily quaking in her dreams and Peter twitching in his nightmares.
Their hands would inevitably find each other’s, sending a vicious jolt through me.
A yearning made of jealousy, gratefulness, and overwhelming loneliness.
A clang in the distance made all of us flinch.
Heavy boots clomped over flagstones.
My skin prickled as I looked toward the bars of our cell, and a burly, muscular guard appeared. Carrying a tray, he placed it on the cold rock, fumbled in his pocket for a key, and unlocked our cage.
If I wasn’t a heartbeat away from passing out, and if Peter wasn’t starved to the point of cadaverous, and Ily wasn’t so fearlessly brave, and we weren’t chained up like vermin, we might’ve been able to swarm the deliverer of our once-daily meal.
But...Victor had always been too smart. Too cunning. Too sly.
He gave us just enough food and water to keep us alive but not enough for us to fight back. He gave me just enough medical care to stay in one piece but not enough for me to heal quickly.