15. Time Plays Tricks
TIME PLAYS TRICKS
WREN
Every time I think there’s no way things could get worse, that I must’ve hit my limit for bad luck, I’m proven wrong. At this point, I’m fairly certain that if the gods are real, they’re mocking me, seeing how far they can push me before I break.
I wish I were made of steel. Unbreakable, like Gabriel’s sword or my dagger that I lost in the alley in Saltwater. Able to withstand pressure. Forged in fire, ready for anything.
But I’m not.
With every passing day and every awful thing that happens, it becomes clearer that I am very fucking close to breaking. How many more terrible situations can I endure before I shatter into a thousand pieces, unable to pick up the shards of what was once my soul?
My brain slams against the confines of my skull as I slowly drift back to consciousness, my body one giant bruise. My eyelids are heavy and refuse to move, and my limbs feel as though they’re weighed down with rocks.
Slowly, painfully, I pry open my eyes. The simple movement takes far too long, but eventually, they obey my commands.
Only, once I look around, I wish I’d kept them shut.
It’s fucking official: The gods really do hate me. I thought it was bad when I learned being Marked meant I was destined for death, but this . . .
Suns save me, but this might be worse than that.
I’m in a cell. Small, compact, and dark, it feels like my worst nightmares come to life. Iron bars block the only opening. The walls are closing in on me, tighter than our room at the inn. The ceiling is low, and there are more shadows than light.
A wheezing gasp escapes my dry, chapped lips. There is a small cup of water by the bars, and I pick it up with trembling fingers. I’m so thirsty, I don’t think before I drink. The water is lukewarm and strangely gritty, but it slides down my throat, easing my thirst. It’s gone far too soon, though.
I drop the cup, reaching for a bar. My fingers curl around the cool metal, and it’s so fucking real that a wretched sob rips out of me.
Other than my Mark, which seems dimmer than normal, the only source of illumination comes from faint yellowed rays shining through small slices in the rocks above my head.
My lungs constrict as the reality of my situation sets in, and tremors run through me. I have no idea where I am or what I’m doing here.
Then, my attention slides to my wrists.
“What the fuck?” The curse is hoarse and tastes like ash as it slides past my lips.
Two thick bands are clamped around my wrists. A black so dark they seem to absorb what little light there is, they’re heavy and unnatural. I turn my wrists slowly, looking for a latch or other way to remove them, but there doesn’t appear to be one.
The skin above the manacles is red and angry, and scratches cover my arms as if I’ve been itching in my sleep. My only solace is that my captors, whoever they are, didn’t take Amelia’s bracelet.
I don’t know what the cuffs do, but I’m certain it’s bad. Why else would I be in a cell, unceremoniously dumped on the ground? This is awful.
I know I wanted to explore more of this world, but this is not what I meant. I would’ve been happy if I went my entire life without seeing the inside of a cell.
Unfortunately, it appears that will not be happening.
I release the bar slowly, looking over my shoulder and scanning the space behind me. A covered chamber pot sits in one corner, and a ratty blanket that looks like it’s made of more holes than fabric has been thrown in the other.
The only good thing—and I’m using that term liberally—is that I don’t feel off and my clothes don’t seem out of place. The fact that I haven’t been violated is a small relief in this sea of uncertainty.
I shift my weight back onto my knees and grasp the bars with both hands, staring into the darkness.
“Hello?” Each syllable is rough and hoarse. I’m still so fucking thirsty. “Is anyone there?”
My words echo, and there’s no response.
A rope wraps around my middle, squeezing tighter and tighter. I yell into the darkness, but there’s no response.
I only stop when it becomes painfully clear that no one is there. Not even . . .
“Gabriel?!” My voice is sharp, and I press my face against the bars as if that will amplify my voice. “Where are you?”
That thing in my chest constricts my insides painfully.
I can’t breathe.
I can’t move.
I can barely think as panic courses through my veins. It feels like mine, but not. As if it is originating from a place deep within me, but also, it’s bigger than me.
“Gabe!” I scream into the void.
Silence.
I call out his name until the sounds from my throat are nothing but hoarse rasps. My fingers fall from the iron bars, and I sit back with a gasp, resting my head against the rigid stone behind me.
He’s not here. A short while ago, I would’ve been happy if the Hunter left me alone. I would’ve rejoiced at the fact he was gone, and maybe even out of my life.
But things have changed. We have changed.
And now . . .
Now he’s gone.
My eyes burn. I could force the tears away and keep them for later, but why bother? Why should I be strong when bad things keep happening to me? No matter where I go, no matter what I do, things always seem to get worse.
So I don’t fight the tears. I don’t push back against the gods who clearly have it out for me. I don’t yell or stare into the darkness.
Slumping, I draw my knees to my chest, rest my head in my hands, and weep.
I think I’ve been in here for two days. Maybe three? It’s hard to judge, and time has been playing tricks on me. But based on the dryness in my throat, the thirst that has been growing more insistent with every heartbeat, it’s been a long time.
My cup was refilled once. Someone—I don’t know who—came by yesterday while I was sleeping and gave me more water. I drank it, but it wasn’t enough to soothe my thirst. I’ve been trying to stay awake to see if the person who brought the water will return, but so far, no one has come.
I’m crouched at the entrance, staring past the bars with bleary eyes. Is it just me, or is the inky blackness more prominent than before? No matter how long I peer into it, squinting, I can’t make out a single shape.
I’m beginning to suspect that I will die in this lightless place.
At first, when the tears subsided, I tried occupying myself to pass the time.
I’d attempted to summon those sparks again, wondering if those blue flames that had devoured the king’s soldiers could help me in this situation.
None came, and I gave up when it became clear that I was expending precious energy on a useless endeavor.
It makes sense, in a twisted way, that the sparks are out of reach now. I hadn’t been able to save my friends, so why would I be able to save myself?
The awful truth is that I am completely, utterly alone. There aren’t even any rats in this isolated place.
If not for the cups of water, I would think there is nothing here at all.
My chest aches, getting worse with each passing hour. I never knew loneliness could be physically agonizing, that it could feel like a slowly expanding gap in my chest, destroying me from the inside out.
The loneliness is nearly as painful as my thirst.
Wouldn’t it be fucking ironic if I survived so much only to die because I didn’t get a drink? Water is all I can think about, all I can focus on.
“Please,” I whisper for what feels like the thousandth time, my lips cracking from dryness. My head falls against the cold iron bars. “Is anyone there?”
The darkness swallows my words, and the silence mocks me with its loudness. I didn’t know silence could be loud, but this incarceration is teaching me all sorts of things I never wanted to learn.
Time slips on.
Despair wells up within me, and I clutch at the bars. My chest burns, and my eyes sting. I don’t let the tears fall, though. I can’t afford to lose the precious liquid.
“I need water,” I beg hoarsely. Desperation tinges my words, but I don’t have it in me to care.
It feels like an eternity passes. The silence is screaming at me, and I lose track of how many times I ask for a drink.
I’m not even sure why I’m wasting my breath. My captors, whoever they are, haven’t even shown their faces. Why would they put me in manacles and throw me in here, leaving me to rot?
I’m fairly certain the king isn’t behind this. Even though he made it clear on the night of the ball that he wanted to kill me, I don’t think this is what he had in mind. I imagine that death at the king’s hand is a bloody, painful affair.
If Gabriel were here, I’d ask him, but he isn’t. Every thought of the Hunter is accompanied by a painful contortion in my gut.
My breaths are drums in my ears as time marches on. I release the bars, running my fingers down my bracelet, the sun catching between my fingers.
Please, I think as I rub the token. Please let someone come for me.
I don’t know who I’m asking for help—not the gods. Not even fate. Amelia, then? Or Kadyn. Perhaps the collective of gods-blessed who lost their lives, all of us pawns in a game I still don’t understand.
More time passes. My throat is a desert, and my fingers are about to fall away from the bars when a noise catches my attention.
It’s faint at first, but it gets louder.
Oh.
Oh, thank the suns.
Footsteps—two pairs, by the sounds of it—are coming closer. One is lighter than the other, and they’re getting louder.
I gasp, pressing my face between the bars.
“Hello?” I cry out. “Please, help me! I need more water.”
Every word hurts, but that no longer matters. What is pain when compared to the chance of being rescued?
The footsteps are drawing near.
And then I see it—a glimmer of light, bobbing up and down in the distance, a star trying to shine through the clouds on a dark and stormy night.
Growing brighter, the light infuses me with hope. And gods, I needed that. I hadn’t realized how deeply despair had settled into my bones until now. Relief floods my veins, shoving thoughts of my demise away. Someone is coming for me.
“Thank you.” I murmur the hoarse words. The gods may have abandoned me, but someone is looking out for me. I’m not going to die in this cell, alone.
The bobbing star is coming my way, and I couldn’t look away from it even if I tried. It brings the promise of people, and with it, relief. I strain towards it.
I didn’t enjoy the dark before, but now, I positively loathe it.
Soon, I can make out two shadowy, cloaked forms standing near my cell. I think they’re men, judging by the bulk of their bodies, but I could be mistaken.
Neither of them says anything for several minutes, and my skin prickles under the weight of their stares.
“I know you’re there,” I rasp. Each word hurts. “Who are you? Why am I here?”
They don’t say anything, and frustration is quick to bubble inside me. Why come all this way only to silently stare at me?
If I couldn’t see the flickering light—which I now realize is a lantern, being held by the shorter of the two figures—and if I couldn’t hear the steady sounds of their breaths, I would think that perhaps they have been conjured by my mind in a desperate attempt to keep me sane.
But I know they’re real.
“I need water,” I say as firmly as I can manage, which isn’t very at all. “Please, I’m incredibly thirsty.” I curl a hand around the base of my throat. “Can you help me?”
Minutes that feel like hours stretch before one of them finally moves.
The shorter man hands the lantern to his companion, saying something too low for me to hear before he steps forward.
A hood hides his face, casting him in shadows. He tilts his head and crouches in front of my cell. Locks of forest green curls fall on his forehead, and even the shadows can’t hide the etchings of age on his dark brown face. His eyes sweep over me, halting on my Mark.
I repeat my desperate plea for water, the silence even louder than before.
This isn’t the first time I’ve been stared at, and I’m sure it won’t be the last, but there’s something about the way he’s looking at me—all harsh and angry—that makes my stomach contort. I am not an animal, nor am I a curiosity to be studied.
I am thirsty beyond belief and exhausted, but my anger at this man’s behaviour momentarily pushes those aside.
“What?” I snap. “Haven’t you seen a fucking Given before?”
The man’s eyes remain on my Mark, but I swear he flinches. Another endless moment passes before he shifts.
“Soren?” The shorter man’s eyes never leave my Mark.
“Sir?” The taller man at the back takes a step towards me. His voice sounds younger, closer to Gabriel’s age, but I can’t be sure.
“It’s real,” says the man in front of me. “It hasn’t faded or peeled.”
Soren sucks in a sharp breath, and the lantern shakes. “You mean—”
“The council needs to know about this, and Evelyn will want to see her.” The shorter man finally looks away, glancing over his shoulder, and I exhale a sigh of relief. “Do it.”
My brows furrow. Even though these men are speaking in the common tongue, I barely understand what they’re talking about. Who is this Evelyn, and what council will want to know? What has the man commanded Soren to do?
Soren places the lantern on the ground, but he doesn’t come any closer.
“Yes, sir.” He extends his hands at his sides, his cloak riding up.
Questions rise on my tongue, but they jumble together as Soren murmurs under his breath. Several things seem to happen at once.
Orange sparks similar to the ones I produced beneath Rose Palace dance above Soren’s pale hands. I curse the suns as a faint orange glow comes from somewhere beneath his cloak.
The shorter man frowns and stares at my Mark, his expression unnervingly serious.
A flash of brilliant light explodes, illuminating the pale grey walls. A heartbeat later, my skin tingles. Heaviness floods my body, pushing me down as if a hundred blankets are dropped on me at once.
I try to stay awake, but it’s impossible. I’m dragged into darkness.
The last thing I hear is the other man telling Soren to prepare the council for me. And then there is nothing at all.