39. Katya
39
“ A emon, Aemon,” my mind screams. “Where are you?”
I race through the streets, weaving around and between—and when all else fails, barreling through—the fae going about their day. All pretense of being a regular citizen moving about the city is gone. He’s taking too long. We’re never going to make it back to the women in time.
“Where are you, gods dammit?”
I thought I heard him respond the first time I called for him, but it’s been dead silence since, and I’m starting to worry he didn’t hear me at all. What do I do then? Take over the minds of every guard in the slave camp, so I can grab him and get him out. Am I even powerful enough to do that? I sidestep a group of blood fae, grimacing as a sharp stone cuts into the sole of my foot. Ignoring the pain, I keep going. I don’t know if it’s the blood or simple urgency fueling me right now, but all my aches and pains and dizziness have disappeared, and my strength’s returned tenfold. I’m like an overfull kettle, the power raging through my body teetering on the brink of eruption.
A guard rounds a corner, and our eyes lock. I stop short, about to turn around, when his face morphs and, suddenly, it’s Aemon running toward me, a wide grin splitting his face. My heart sings. He heard me. He’s here. My legs start pumping with renewed vigor as I race to reach him. I must look insane, half-naked, wearing a male’s cloak and smiling like a fool as I plow through the bodies separating him from me. I can practically feel the space between us closing as we draw closer.
Then his expression changes, that smile turning to wide-eyed horror. He raises his arm, and he’s holding a pistol pointed straight at me. He’s shouting, but his voice is swallowed up by the din, and it takes me a moment to decipher the words his lips are forming. “Get down!”
I duck and spin around just in time to see the club coming at my head.
A flash of pain and everything goes black.
I lie on the cold, hard floor, my head aching so badly, I’m half convinced when I open my eyes, I’ll see my brain spilled across the marble. My eyelids glow red from what must be an extremely bright light shining down from above. That, in and of itself, is incentive enough for me to take a peek at my surroundings, but when I try, the light sears my vision like hot pokers being driven through the sockets.
I throw an arm over my head to shield my eyes and that’s when I feel it: warmth. The air is cool, yet I can feel warmth kissing my skin like… sunlight.
I bolt upright, eyes flying open. The movement sends a spike of stabbing pain through my skull. Blinking rapidly, I clutch my head, waiting for it to pass. When, at last, the pain begins to wane, I raise a hand to shield my eyes, and squinting, look up to find the sun shining like a warm and welcoming beacon above, and my heart leaps at the sight.
Until I realize, I’m looking at it through bars.
In fact, I’m completely surrounded by bars on all sides. I’m in a cage barely large enough for an adult to sit up comfortably, and forget lying down flat. Even I’ll have to bend my knees up to fit. I can’t imagine what it would be like for someone Aemon’s size.
Aemon .
Foggy images buffet my mind: me escaping with those girls, Aemon running toward me, him lifting the gun and shouting.
Somebody knocked me out and locked me up here, but what about him? I press my face up against the bars and look around.
Cages, identical to mine, stretch at least fifteen deep to either side. Across from me, separated by a narrow walkway, is another line of cages and beyond that, another. Spinning around, I find more of the same—rows upon rows of cages—surrounded by an endless sky. I scan the neighboring ones, searching for a shock of brown hair that would set Aemon apart from the mostly white-haired fae surrounding me. It all sort of reminds me of the kennels Leodin used to keep at Duje, but instead of dogs, these hold people.
Lots of people.
“Aemon,” I call out.
No answer.
“Aemon.”
“If you’re looking for the male they brought in with you, he’s gone.”
I spin around at the sound of the female voice to find a fae woman with bright white hair and angry, red, peeling skin sitting in the cage behind mine. “What do you mean, he’s gone? Where did he go?” I say, panic leaking into my voice.
She shrugs. “Interrogation, most likely.”
I swallow back my gasp. Interrogation. Oh gods. The sight of that wooden chair flashes in my mind. “When will they bring him back?”
She shakes her head, pity painting her expression. “I don’t know. Sometimes they come back, sometimes they don’t.”
My heart shudders in my chest, and my eyes prick with tears. This is all my fault. Aemon could be dead, and it would be all my fault. I lift a shaking hand to my chest and breathe. I have to calm down. I have to keep my wits about me if I want to get Aemon and me out of this place. I search myself for any lingering magic in my system, but I feel… empty.
I start frantically tearing at my wrist with my fingernails. I have to get my magic back. I have to get us out of here.
“Uh, what are you doing?” the fae woman asks .
“Nothing.” A bead of red wells up from my skin, and I try to suck on it, but it’s too damn small, so I start scratching away at the already irritated wound.
“Are you stupid?”
I whip my head around to glare at the rude woman. “Excuse me?”
We lock eyes, and she cants her head, studying my face. “You know that only works for blood fae, right?”
“Yeah. I know.”
“So what? You part blood fae or something?”
Talk about a loaded question. I huff out a frustrated breath and continue tearing at my wrist. “Maybe. I don’t know. Does it really matter?”
“Well, color me confused, but if you were a blood fae, I’d expect you to know that won’t work, and if you aren’t one, I don’t know why you’d even try.”
I drop my wrist and turn around to face her. “Why won’t it work?”
“First off, your blood is already in you, drinking it isn’t going to change anything. You want more magic; you’ll need somebody else’s blood. And even if you were able to get some, the sun will negate the magic before you can even try to use it.” She points up at the sky.
I blink, while my mind tries to process what she said. “Are you telling me that sunlight destroys blood magic?”
“Well, yeah.” She clutches her knees to her chest. “That’s basically the whole point of the sky cells. The torment of being exposed to the elements up here is just an added bonus. Nobody ever told you this? ”
I shrug. “I was raised somewhere else. I didn’t even know I could use it until—” I pause. Gods, I have no idea how long I’ve been here. “Until recently.” I glance around at the cages. There look to be a few humans here and there, but most of what I see are blood fae. I peer up at the open sky. My mind flicks to the day we were attacked in the woods—they had their whole bodies covered. And the day I fled the palace, my power faded so quickly, and I didn’t know why. “It all makes sense.”
She chuckles. “A lot of good it’ll do you now.” A chill wind blows through, tossing my hair in my face and raising the gooseflesh on my arms. Wait, where’s my cloak? I’m dressed in a tan tunic and pants I’ve never seen before. The fabric is incredibly thin, and the sleeves are so short, they don’t even reach my elbows. I scan the occupants of the other nearby cells. They’re all wearing the same thing as me. And there isn’t a blanket in sight.
I let out a breath and rub circles on my temples in a vain attempt to relieve my aching head. “All this time, I had the means to escape, and I didn’t know it.” Because your mother lied to you. I feel like I should be angry, but really, I’m just hurt, betrayed. I trusted her and she lied—everything I thought I knew about myself was a lie. I sag against the bars. There has to be a reason, right? She wouldn’t just lie to lie. I have to believe she had a reason—
“They had you up in the slave camp, I take it?” the fae lady asks, breaking me from my inner tirade.
I sweep a hand under each eye, drying my tears before they can fall and clear my throat. “Yes.” I nod. “I’m Katya, by the way.”
“Mave.”
“I saw you at the market, didn’t I? The first day I got here. You were stealing food, and they caught you. ”
Mave shrugs. “Me and over half of the fae in these cages.” She drops her head back against the bars, eyes blinking at the sky. “Ledi only knows how long I’ll be in for this time. At least I get fed here, even if the food is shit. I just wish I knew if my girls are alright. My sister said she’d take ’em if I got pinched again, but she’s got her own mouths to feed so…” She trails off.
I think back to how fae swarmed the spilled rice after she was arrested. “There’s not enough work, huh?”
She taps her nose. “Why pay for something you can get for free.” She laughs, but it has to be the saddest laugh I’ve ever heard. “Some days, I wished I was a slave. Probably get beaten and raped on a regular, but at least they get fed. But now look at me. Free food, and I spend my days lying around. Talk about luxury.”
I spit out a laugh. “And all the sunshine you could want.”
“More.”
It’s been five days.
Five days of my skin slowly cooking in the sun. Five nights so cold, I wasn’t sure I would make it till morning. I thought it couldn’t get any worse. Then came the freezing rain, falling like tiny bullets from the sky. I have no idea how long I’ve been like this, huddled in a ball, shivering so hard my teeth and muscles ache. Warmth is an abstract concept now. That was a different girl, at a different time, who had no appreciation for simple luxuries like a roof over her head or a fire in the hearth. She had power, even if she didn’t know it. Power to move freely, power to choose her next meal, power to breathe in something other than the fettered scent of sweat, shit and death that hangs over this place like a bad dream. I was never very devout before—simply going through the motions at morning and evening service so Leodin wouldn’t beat me senseless for making a “mockery” of him. But I’ve been doing a lot of praying these last few days: praying to Duje to heal my ravaged skin, praying to Casmir to help us get free, but today, I pray to Morgana.
Today, I pray for death.
And even in that, I have no choice.
The doors leading onto the prison platform squeal open, but I don’t pay it any mind. For the first couple of days, I eagerly watched the guards coming in and out, hoping by some miracle they were coming to get me and let me go. After that, I only checked if I heard them nearing my cage. Today, I can’t even muster up enough energy to open my eyes.
Which, of course, means today is the day they finally come. Something crashes above my head, startling me enough that I peek up from where my arm is covering my face to see what the ruckus is. Two guards, one brandishing a baton and the other an umbrella, stand outside my cage.
“Get up, girl. Let’s go,” says the one with the baton.
“She can’t understand you,” says the other.
It seems worthless to keep pretending like I don’t speak the language, but I keep quiet anyway .
The first guard shrugs and cracks the baton a few more times on the top of my cage before he leans down and unlocks the door. “Come on.”
If only it were that easy. I’d happily climb out of here—I don’t even care where I’m going at this point—but my muscles are as frozen as the rain. Locked into my protective ball, I can’t seem to do much more than wave my hand. “Ledi, burn me,” Baton guard says. “I’m getting too old for this.” The baton clatters along the top of my cage where he tosses it, and he climbs in after me, grabs me by the hips from behind, and grunting, drags me out the little door. The rough floor tears up my knees and forearms, but it’s the way that the movement forces my muscles to stretch that has me crying out in pain.
“You’re hurting her,” the guard with the umbrella chastises. “Here, take this.” He hands the umbrella to his friend, and the next thing I know, I’m being hoisted into the air, muscled arms and chest wrapping me like the most delicious blanket. That, too, is a bit painful as his body heat burns against my icy skin, but I sink into it, soaking up his warmth the way a starving man devourers a four-course meal. You know it’s too much, but you can’t help yourself. I have my face pressed to his chest, but I still hear the door opening and feel the change in atmosphere when we step inside. I keep my head down, too exhausted to move as shivers continue to wrack my body. After a few minutes, I’m deposited onto a rough stone floor facing a pair of black silk slippers. I haven’t even got the strength to lift my head and see who’s standing in front of me. I just plant my forehead on the floor and curl in on myself for warmth.
“Hello, Katya.” Raiden. I’d know that voice anywhere .
I start to reply, but my throat feels as though I swallowed glass, and my words turn to whimpers.
There’s a change in the air around me, but I don’t realize it’s Raiden crouching until his warm hand comes to rest on my head. Another whimper escapes me, as my pride gives way to survival. “Please,” I manage to say, my voice a raspy whisper.
“Please what, Katya?” He lifts my head by the chin, the ache in my neck almost unbearable after so many hours huddled in a ball. My eyelids feel as though they’ve been glued together, and when I do finally manage to peel them apart, the light stings them back into slits. Raiden peers down at me, his gaze soft, lips slightly tilted at the corners, like a benevolent god to his creation. In this moment, with my survival hanging in the balance, that’s exactly what he is to me.
“Please, master,” I say. Tears stream down my face and into his palm. He doesn’t seem to mind, and I’m too far gone to even consider hiding them.
His mouth curls into a smile. “That’s a good girl.”
Yes. A good girl. I will be a good girl. I will be perfect for him. I will worship him. I will do anything-everything. Whatever it takes.
“Are you ready to behave, Katya?” he asks.
“Yes, master,” I say, voice cracking on the words.
He releases my chin and my head thumps back on the floor. I more feel than hear him stand.
“Get her cleaned up,” he says to somebody. “I want her ready for tonight’s games.”
“Yes, sir,” says a deep male voice.
At his words, relief washes through me like a tsunami and back out again in an uncontrollable torrent of tears. Caught up in my emotions, I don’t hear Raiden walk away or the door open and shut behind him. I hardly even notice when a warm pair of arms lift me up onto a raised surface—a table, maybe—and covers me with a thin blanket.
I snuggle into the scratchy warmth and let sleep take me under.
I’m startled awake by a pair of hands shoving me onto my back.
My eyes blink open. They’re raw and crusty, and the whole socket aches when I look around. A female with pale blue eyes and a severe scowl presses a hand to my sternum. “Lie still.” I settle back on the table and take in the fae’s high cheekbones, full lips and wavy white-blonde hair, as she hovers over me. She’d probably be pretty if she didn’t have that nasty look on her face.
“Who?” I grunt out.
“Hush.” She swats my arm. “I’m a medica. Just be still so we can get this over with quickly."
It wasn't actually a request, but I nod, anyway. Be still… that’s something I can definitely do. “Are you going to heal me?”
She rolls her eyes and plants a fist on her hip. “No. I’m going to feed you treats and give you a foot massage.”
“I love foot massages,” I blurt, internally slapping myself when that scowl deepens. Note to self: when you’re at death’s door, don’t piss off the healer. Ignoring me, she raises her palms over my chest, and I recoil, my heart jumping from steady to breakneck speed in an instant. She’s wearing an ashari on her index finger, like the others at the masquerade ball. Just looking at it is making me queasy. Noting my reaction, the medica’s lips tighten again, but surprisingly, she doesn’t give me a hard time about it. She removes the nail and slowly, deliberately, sets it down on the bench at my feet. I let out a breath and reposition myself. She lifts her palms again, but this time she pauses, watching me. I nod for her to continue, and she positions her hands above my torso and closes her eyes. A sensation like warm water pouring from a faucet spills upon my chest and flows up to my skull and down to my toes, taking with it the aches and pains that riddle my body and washing them away. After a time, she drops her hands to her sides and gives my shoulder a pat.
“All done. You can sit up now.”
Keeping the blanket wrapped around me, I do as I’m told. I’ve been healed before—the worst was when I was a child and broke my arm. Mama used one of the healing sythra the dom kept for emergencies to fix it, and Leodin was furious with her for “wasting” it on me. But whereas that bout of healing was almost as painful as the break, this was like a loving caress. And she didn’t just heal my burns and bruises, she took away my exhaustion, the crustiness around my eyes. Even my voice sounds more my own when I say, “Thank you.”
She’s leaning over to grab a sack of something off the floor, but when I speak, her head tips up and she arches a pale eyebrow. “You’re welcome?” She says the words like a question, and I wonder how often, if ever, people thank her for helping them. Standing, she throws a small satchel over her shoulder. “Someone will be by to take you to the baths shortly.” She wiggles her nose in distaste. “Gods know you need one.”