chapter five
DARING A QUICK GLANCE OVER my shoulder, I can sense more than see it where it glides after me, but it doesn’t bother to catch up.
Wasting no more time, I sprint at full speed, taking random turns left and right, praying I’ll shake it off.
Rounding the next corner, I screech to a halt as I find myself at the eastern gate, guarded by patrolling soldiers, one of them staring right at me.
Breath heaving, heart thrumming in my chest, I strive to regain my composure. I need to come up with something, but what do I say? I cannot lie.
Beads of sweat form on my forehead as I near the gate and its guards. You can do this, La?na. I glance over my shoulder. It’s apparent the creature wishes to stay hidden from the watchful eyes of the city guards. At least it’s not following.
“Excuse me, sir,” I sign, addressing the nearest guard—the lieutenant, by the looks of it. “I was on my way back to my master’s estate when I was held up in the alleyways. I am so sorry. The estate is merely a short walk from here. I’ll be back there in no time.”
With my gaze fixed on his boots, I adopt the humblest posture possible. Although I avoid looking directly at him, I can still feel his scrutinizing gaze as he sizes me up.
“Is that so?” he drawls. Leaning in closer, he whispers in my ear, “Is that why you’re so disheveled, hmm?
” With a cool half smile that doesn’t reach his eyes, he lets the back of his hand run down my cheek and neck before grazing my breast. He leans in low, his breath tickling my ear. “Maybe I’ll have a taste later.”
His voice makes my skin crawl, but I know better than to say anything.
“Bran,” he barks. “Seems the Father has blessed us tonight. Throw this one into custody.” He casts one last glance at me. “Nice try though.”
My stomach plummets. No, no, no, this cannot be happening! Not now.
Bran grabs my arm, twisting it behind my back, his other hand pressing a cold, sharp knife against my throat. “Shall I search her, sir?”
“Don’t waste your time.” He waves a hand. “It’ll all be ashes by tomorrow.”
The guard hauls me toward the prison wagon. “Should’a known yer station, witch.” He spits, the glob landing with a splat near my feet, then grabs me like a sack of potatoes and throws me into the back of the prison wagon, my satchel landing hard beside me.
I twist around to glare at him. “No need to be a brute about it,” I snap.
“Shut yer cursed mouth.” He reaches for the latch.
“I don’t know what evil ye done, but if the minister wants ye, it’s no good.
” He fumbles with his keys, adding one to the lock.
“Or maybe ye were just at the wrong place at the wrong time.” He shrugs.
“Who knows.” The latch slams shut, leaving me in utter darkness.
Yeah, who knows? I seethe. “Never mind if you sentence innocent young women to death!” I yell after him through the latch, but all I’m met with is silence.
I blink, adjusting to the darkness enveloping me. The faint outline of a fellow prisoner slouched in the far corner catches my eye.
“Hello?” It’s supposed to be a whisper, but my voice catches in my throat, and it comes out as a raspy, strained sound.
I clear my throat. “Hello,” I say again, a little louder this time.
Is he sleeping? The smell of human waste is overwhelming, but I push past the stench and shuffle toward him on hands and knees, giving him a firm nudge, then wincing as he topples sideways.
Vacant eyes stare at the ceiling. He’ll be of little help. He’s dead.
Crawling back toward the entrance, I slump close to the latch, where slivers of fresh air seep in through the cracks.
I retrieve the dagger from my satchel and slip it into my pocket, my thumb rubbing along the shaft.
Why didn’t I listen to Llyr? Pulling my knees to my chest, I wrap my arms around them, resting my head back against the wall, trying to ignore the unpleasant tingling where my body comes close to the walls, and how they wrap around me like a suffocating blanket.
The solid structure is impossible to escape—at least, I’ve never heard of anyone capable of such a feat.
I stare up at the flakes of rust covering the ceiling.
I underestimated Llyr’s intuition, and now I’m paying the price.
This is it, isn’t it? Death. I sigh. At least there will be no more pain after that.
THE SCREECHING SOUND OF RUSTY hinges jolts me awake.
I’m not sure how long I was asleep, but judging by my aching joints and numb bottom, it’s been at least a couple bells, though I can’t say for sure.
I stare at the latch as it swings open, revealing the minister, his lieutenant, and the guard, Bran.
Another dark figure steps forward, and my heart lurches at the sight of Administrator Bereen next to the minister.
What’s Emma’s master doing here? Emma and I don’t always agree, but would she betray me?
My chest tightens as I spot a smaller figure behind the men.
The minister’s voice cuts through the silence, cold and devoid of emotion, as always. “Do you recognize her?” As he makes way for the smaller figure, my stomach drops. Em.
She takes a hesitant step forward, glancing around, then lifts her gaze. Turning back toward the minister, she nods.
I suck in a breath of air at the sudden constriction in my chest. Why would she do such a thing?
“Go ahead,” her master urges. “Tell the minister what you confessed to me.”
As I lock eyes with her, my heart sinks. She can’t deny him; the brace makes sure of that. What I’m not prepared for is the cool indifference in her eyes. Has our friendship changed so much?
“But . . . why?” I sign, face falling. “You are my friend.”
She looks away.
Coward. “You can’t even look me in the eye as you betray me, can you?” I shouldn’t be using my voice, but at this point, I doubt anything can bring me closer to death than I already am.
Her head snaps up, her expression devoid of any remorse.
“I saw a chance to elevate my position, and I took it,” she signs.
“It’s nothing personal; we all fight to survive here.
You, of everyone, should know that.” She pauses.
“Besides, my master deserves to know the truth.” She gazes up at him, her devotion undeniable.
My gaze flickers between Em and her master. Could it be?
“It’s her,” she signs toward the minister, then steps back to the side of her master.
“Thank you, my dear.” The minister gives Emma a curt nod, and Administrator Bereen pats her cheek, causing a deep flush to paint her skin. “Dispose of her,” the minister says, waving a dismissive hand in Em’s direction.
Her gaze, wide with shock, meets mine before her scream pierces the air as Bran’s blade flashes, slicing her throat. A wet, guttural sound accompanies the spray of blood, and then he unceremoniously tosses her limp body aside.
“Now, where were we?” The minister steps over Emma’s dying body as if she’s nothing but a minor inconvenience.
Clicking his tongue, he stops, facing me.
“You ought to be aware of the consequences when meddling in matters that do not concern you,” he admonishes, his head shaking slowly, as if I’m a grave disappointment to him.
“Hope, my dear, is a fickle companion indeed, hmm? One moment it fills your heart, and in the blink of an eye, it vanishes into the abyss, leaving nothing but a hollow emptiness.” He glances toward Em.
“Or death.” He presses his lips together in what I can only assume is supposed to be a sad smile.
A shiver runs down my spine as an umbra glides forward from the shadows. Is it the same one I encountered earlier, or does he have several of the creatures in his service? They’re indistinguishable to me.
It approaches the minister, and it’s clear it communicates something, although the words are too hushed for me to pick up.
“Is that so?” The minister turns back toward me. “Seems you won’t burn after all—at least, not yet.” He taps a finger against his nose. “But there certainly are fates worse than death.” He chuckles to himself. “Make her forget.” He dismisses me with a curt flick of his wrist.
The umbra glides toward the prison wagon, darkness twisting and turning around it. It’s captivating in an eerie sort of way.
Shaking myself out of the stupor, I get on my feet and scramble backward.
I’ve seen too many examples of the mindless shell that will turn me into.
My heels bump into something, and I stumble and fall.
I’d forgotten all about the dead man in the back.
The overwhelming stink of urine and feces makes me want to vomit—and I don’t even want to think about what grime is on my hands—but I dare not take my eyes off the umbra.
It stops at the edge of the wagon, its angry hisses reaching all the way to the back.
Good. That means it won’t come inside. My relief lasts until I see Bran approaching.
He has no scruples about climbing in and grabbing my arm, and he hauls me to the front.
Not wanting to look inside the umbra’s hood, I keep my gaze on my hands.
The stench is as bad here as in the back.
The only difference is the sickening sweetness to it, which is absent from the dead man.
A cold sweat breaks out on my forehead, and my muscles tense as I struggle to suppress my rising panic.
The umbra reaches a hand toward my face, and icy fingers grab hold of my jaw, forcing me to look up.
I stare into the darkness of the hood, and for the first time, I’m close enough to distinguish its pale yellow skin—fragile, like parchment—and deep red eyes.
I blink. Nothing is happening. With Mr. and Mrs. Willox, it happened in an instant.
Does it mean it’s not working? The thoughts move through my mind in the span of a heartbeat, and I decide to pretend.
I let my eyes glaze over and slump forward, like I have no will left.