Chapter 18
Eighteen
Anya
The sea crashes against the rocks but I can’t hear them over the whistling wind. The sun dips lower in the sky and it’ll be dark again soon. Another moonless night.
I retreat to the corner and sit, pulling my knees against my chest. The building sways and I squeeze my eyes shut, repeating lies to myself: it’s all going to be alright, you’ll see Taylan again soon, she didn’t have to marry Caiden, you didn’t let her down…
The words are hollow, but I repeat them anyway. They don’t help, but they prevent my fears from crowding my brain.
There’s a gentle knock on the door and I tense. It’s been three days and every knock has brought a guard throwing a plate of food into my room. It’s surprisingly fresh and after two days of avoiding it, I chanced eating it. I’m still alive and it didn’t taste terrible.
This is the strangest prison I’ve ever seen.
The knock sounds again and I wait for the door to open but it doesn’t. After a third knock, I rise, curious by the change.
“Hello?” A woman’s voice calls.
All the guards delivering food have been male. I hurry to the door, then try the handle. Still locked. “Who’s there?”
“My name is Rosalyn. Can I come in?”
“It’s locked.”
“That’s not an issue.”
I take a step back, curiosity peeked. “Sure. Come in.”
The handle turns and the door creaks as it opens. A slim woman in a loose fitting, simple gray dress. Her long dark hair is plaited in two braids that reach her waist. She’s pale, but in an unnatural way. I suspect she’s been here longer than I have.
She closes the door behind her, then walks into the room, looking around the space carefully. “You’re in one of the better rooms. They must be planning to keep you alive.”
“I’m sorry, who are you?” I take a few steps away from her. She appears frail and delicate, but there’s something about her that makes me nervous. She’s not what she seems even if I can’t place why yet.
“Rosalyn.” She’s looking at the ceiling, studying it as if searching for something.
“I know, you said that. But where did you come from? Why are you here?”
She stops in front of the window and peers outside. “Oh, yes. I’m a prisoner. Like you. Three floors above you, I have the entire top floor.”
“How did you get down here?” I move a little closer to her and notice that her feet are bare.
“There aren’t any locks that can contain me. I got tired of waiting for the guards to make our introduction.” She finally turns to me. “Anya, is it?”
“Yes.” Somehow, I’m not surprised that she knows my name.
She cocks her head to the side as if she’s studying me. “You’re friends with the false princess.”
I blink a few times, taking in her words. It’s not a question, but it feels like a question. “Yes.”
“She’s in trouble, you know.” She resumes her pacing, moving slowing around the space, looking at the walls and ceiling as if she might find something of interest.
I tense. “What do you mean? Did something happen?”
Roselyn stops, then faces me. “Not yet. But it will.”
Someone pounds on my door, then it swings open. The guard holding a plate of food stills, his eyes going wide when he sees Rosalyn. “You—you aren’t supposed to be here.”
“I told them I wanted some company.”
The plate shakes in his grip. “Did you…are they…?”
“No, I didn’t kill them this time. I like these guards, even if they’re incompetent.” She shrugs.
Chills run down my arms. What is happening? Who is this woman?
“Are you going to stand there all night?” Rosalyn asks.
“No.” He sets the plate on the ground. “Would you like me to bring your dinner here?”
“Please.”
The guard inclines his head, but he’s still shaking when he closes and latches the door.
Rosalyn picks up my plate and walks over to the small table near the window. She sets it down, then rests her hands on her hips as she stares at the chair. “This won’t do at all.”
I’m standing against the wall, not sure how to respond.
She looks so fragile and timid. Her mannerisms are delicate and her voice sweet and calm.
It’s like she’s designed to lure you in with a false sense of security.
If not for the way the guard reacted, I would have thought my instincts warning me against her were a result of being in captivity.
She opens the door without issue. I know I heard the lock, but apparently, she wasn’t exaggerating when she said locks don’t work for her. “Bring another chair, will you? I’d like to enjoy my meal with my new friend.”
A moment later, another guard strides in, a chair in his arms. He keeps his eyes down as he passes her, then drops the chair next to the other at the tiny wood table.
“Thank you,” Roselyn says.
He inclines his head, then hurries from the room. The first guard arrives just then, a tray with a silver cover atop a plate, two crystal glasses and a bottle of wine.
“You even brought an extra glass. Well done,” she says as if she’s praising a child.
He sets the tray down, then removes the cover before leaving the room. When he closes the door, I hear it latch again, but I’m not sure why.
Then I realize it’s locking me in the room.
There’s a shrieking sound coming from outside that sends all the hairs on my body on edge. “What was that?”
“One of my friends. They usually kill them, but this time, he survived. I wonder if that means the guards outside are dead?”
I swallow hard and glance toward the window. The sound comes again. The glass panes vibrate. Chills spread down my spine. I’ve never heard any creature make a sound like that.
“Don’t worry, he won’t harm us. Sit, please.” She gestures to the table. “They brought the good wine. They must know it’s a night for celebration.”
I approach the table cautiously. Her plate of food is the same as mine and I realize that must be why I get such good rations. Whatever they prepare for her, they give to me as well. “What are we celebrating?”
“Death, my friend. Lots, and lots of death.”