58. Vera
Vera
FOUR YEARS AGO
“Did you get some sleep?” Swift asked.
I yawned, and my head spun at the motion. “I did. A little.”
“I have one more raisin left. Do you want it?” The tip of a wrinkled raisin appeared in the hole between our cells. I barely glanced at it before my eyes fluttered shut again.
“Stop trying to give me your food, Swift,” I said, curling my head back into the crook of my arm. “You’re worse than my mother.” I tried to inject humor into my tone, but everything I said sounded the same. Flat. Monotone. Dead.
“Have you even touched your tray the last couple days?”
I cracked open an eye to stare at the tray of murky water, boiled onions, and raisins. Just the sight of it made my stomach lurch. “Not hungry. Tired.”
I’d been tired for months now. The days with Scarven and Mortep took away any appetite and made me so exhausted, I couldn’t keep my eyes open.
It was a good thing I didn’t have access to a mirror—I didn’t want to see the transformation three years in a cell had done to me.
The rags I wore had gotten even baggier. Bones jutted from my knees and elbows.
I was a shell. A hollow husk for Scarven to fill.
The past year was split in half: the darkness where my memories lived, and the pain in between.
I would go back to the laboratory and then wake up in my cell with clues of where I’d been.
Smoke on my skin, blood painting the palms of my hands, mud splattered on my legs.
Dirt, grime, and bits of someone else’s flesh or fur were often caked underneath my nails.
Some of the memories had started coming back to me.
I knew now my nightmares weren’t simply images my mind conjured—they were flashes of what happened in my blackouts.
I put two and two together and realized Scarven and Mortep were sending me on mysterious assignments.
Setting homes on fire, torturing people, killing them with my bare hands.
I never told Swift about it. I couldn’t bear the thought of him knowing what I might be doing, the truth of what horrible things they forced from my hands.
“I think you should try to stay awake, Songbird,” Swift said. An undertone of anxiety coated his every word. He was always so worried. “Just talk to me, yeah?”
I didn’t want to keep trying. I didn’t want to keep talking, fighting, standing. The drugs running through my system made my veins stand out black against my pale skin, and I could feel it coursing through me, bringing me closer and closer to blissful unconsciousness.
But Swift needed me to try.
I sighed. “What do you wanna talk about?” I mumbled into my arm.
He was quiet for a second. “Look, don’t be upset with me for not telling you earlier, alright?”
“What do you mean?”
“I’ve been working on something.” His voice drew nearer. “A way to get us out of here.”
Intrigue stirred inside me. I slowly planted my hands on the floor and dragged myself over to the wall. “You what? You’re going to get yourself killed.”
“I think I can do it. Your trick last year with keeping a piece of the cuffs in your mouth inspired me, kind of. You used it to block your magic, but it made me think about the opposite. Could I build up a tolerance to it if I tried to use my illusions for a short amount of time every day?” His voice was quiet and hurried.
“I know I cast an illusion on you before, but my range was only a couple of feet. Not anywhere near as powerful as it needs to be to reach the guards. I’ve been practicing, and—”
“Wait, you want to illusion the guards?” I rose to my knees to look at him through the hole. Even that simple motion made me dizzy. “That takes so much magic. You’ll hurt yourself.”
“That’s what I’m saying—I’ve been practicing.
” His green eye gleamed with excitement.
“A little bit every day for the last year, and I can almost resist the pain completely. Yesterday, I got an illusion into the hallway and held it for two minutes before I had to stop. That’s long enough, Songbird. ”
“Long enough for what?”
“To create an illusion of Mortep and tell the guards to unlock your cuffs. Then you would have your magic back and can take them out.”
My stomach churned. “Swift, I don’t know. There’s so much that could go wrong, and—”
“Sweetheart,” he said, his steady gaze finding mine. “Just watch.”
I held my breath, waiting. And then the cell began to change.
The hole in the center of the wall slowly turned green. Grass grew from the cracks, cascading down and spreading across the entire cell and even into the hallway, far beyond my line of sight. I sucked in a breath when it reached the floor—I could’ve sworn I felt the soft blades beneath my feet.
A blue sky formed above me, with a sun so bright, I had to shield my eyes.
The bars of the cell and anything on the other side were completely gone.
A bird swooped low and rushed past my ears with a squawk.
The wall on the opposite side of the cell disappeared, replaced by an endless sea of white sand.
Rolling waves crashed lazily into the beach.
He was right—this was infinitely stronger than the illusion he’d once cast on me.
In a daze, I reached out as if I could feel the warm breeze sifting through my fingers. A single tear slipped down my cheek. “I’ve never seen anything like it. This is incredible. And the cuffs aren’t hurting you?”
“Barely a sting. I can do this. You just have to trust me and be ready when it’s time.” The illusion slowly faded. The water turned back into a wall, and the grass retreated across the floor and blended into the cold stone.
“I told you we’d get out of here,” Swift said.
There was no hint of pain or hesitation in his voice.
“I told you about the future we’re going to make together.
It’s never going to happen if we don’t try.
I see what they’re doing to you, and I can’t watch it anymore.
” His finger slid through the hole, and I wrapped the tip of mine around it.
“But what if they catch us?” I whispered. “I can’t lose you.”
“Isn’t it worth the risk?” he asked. “What more can they do to us? I would rather die fighting for our freedom than keep surviving down here.”
I let out a shaky breath. He was right. I wished I had the same fire and conviction that I had three years ago, but I’d have to share his for now. “Okay. I trust you.”
He held my finger a second longer before releasing it. “We need to make a plan. I’ve been keeping count, and the guards rotate every ten hours. The one with the red beard always brings his flask.”
I nodded, his words triggering a memory. “I sometimes see him walking outside the cell. He’s definitely tipsy on the evening shifts after they bring food. He can barely stand upright.”
As we whispered our observations and ideas, a spark lit inside my chest. A small glimmer of life that reminded me what it was like to hope. Swift was practically buzzing with anticipation. I wondered how long he’d been keeping it a secret.
“I like seeing you like this,” I said with a tired chuckle.
We’d been talking for hours, and I wasn’t sure how I hadn’t passed out yet.
I reached for the cold tray of food and water, then popped a raisin in my mouth, adding, “Taking charge is a good look on you. I mean, I imagine it is, if I could see you.”
“Whatever it takes to keep you talking, sweetheart. I can’t remember the last time I heard you laugh.”
My small smile faded. “I can’t believe you’ve been planning this for so long.”
“I’ve been thinking about it for months, trying to work my magic around the cuffs. Knowing there’s even a chance of holding you soon is the only thing keeping me going.”
I put my forehead to the wall. “Me, too.”
“Tomorrow night, after they bring you back from the lab, we’ll make sure Redbeard is on guard. That’ll be our first chance.”
A long exhale left me. “Are we really going to try this?”
“No, Songbird,” he said. “We’re not just going to try. This time tomorrow night, we’ll be together, I promise.”
My chest tightened, hope bubbling in my throat. I nodded and closed my eyes. “Tomorrow.”