Chapter 16
Peytor
Four Months Ago
“Next,” the gruff, portly Vessel with the pockmarked face called from behind the dilapidated food-serving station.
The line in front of me slowly shuffled forward, the bedraggled men and women with bones poking through thin skin and mangy, oily hair moved as one, keeping their heads bowed to their chests and eyes trained on the ground.
How pitiful.
I almost laughed at myself, but kept my lips sealed shut at the last moment.
I was one of those pitiful wretches—thrown into this pit of misery that stank of death and despair, destined to serve the Warlord here until I died of malnourishment or an accident in the mines.
Or I was thrown over the ledge.
I could always jump.
The thought was always there at the back of my mind, coaxing me to simply step off the ledge of our level, plummet thousands of feet down the black hole, and join Finian in blissful eternal sleep.
I’d been able to curb the thoughts more lately than when I first arrived. But it was only due to the anger that latched itself permanently to my soul.
Anger at my sister for not listening to me and for killing the man I loved.
Anger at the Warlord for twisting her mind.
Anger at the rebellion for not reaching us in time.
So much anger that it eclipsed the sadness that permeated my very soul when I first arrived in the mines. I clung to my rage, desperate for a way to escape and exact revenge on those who wronged me and murdered Finian. Finian told me to find a way; this was my way.
“Next!” The line shuffled again at the cook’s bark, and I held my cracked wooden plate out expectantly, waiting for the spoonful of feces-smelling slop that landed on my plate, the force of it sending splatters on my threadbare and dust-covered shirt.
“Thank you, sir,” I mumbled, my lips barely able to form the words without splitting and bleeding.
I kept my eyes trained on my dirt-encrusted feet as I followed the woman in front of me to receive our daily ration of water.
I inadvertently sniffed the “food” we were given and almost gagged.
I tried not to look at what we were fed—unsure how food was even delivered to the mines—but today I couldn’t help it.
The slop on my plate was dark and mushy, which was not abnormal. But there was a lingering odor that reminded me vaguely of shit.
Could it be?
I internally shuddered in revulsion.
No. There’s no way they’d feed us actual shit.
Right?
I grabbed my cup of dirty water in my free hand before finding a seat against the wall of the cave. My legs screamed in protest as I folded them in front of me, using my body as a table. I took a delicate sip of the water and almost spat it back out.
It was foul.
Laced with gritty sand and other substances, I could actually feel the sediment as it stuck to my tongue and teeth.
Some days were like this, though.
Some days, we were lucky to receive any water.
So even though it tasted sour and filled my mouth with grime, I would drink every drop.
Just like I would eat all of whatever the unidentifiable substance was on my plate. We were rarely fed anything that passed as edible, but I learned quickly to consume what was served.
I’d watched as more than one person refused their rations before dropping dead days later while working in the warmth of the crystal tunnels.
The Mage guards often left their bodies as a warning to others—which caused the stink of rot and decay to permeate the space—before forcing the prisoners to scrape the decomposing corpse off the cave floor and toss it unceremoniously over the ledge.
More than once, a prisoner or two holding the corpse would end up falling into the abyss with the dead—the hazard of not letting go quickly enough or simply being too weak to prevent the stumble that happened after throwing a large object into open space.
I poked at my food with my finger, wrinkling my nose as the slop squelched against my dirty fingertip.
It was warm, and I tasted bile in my throat.
I tried to disassociate from eating what I was now sure was shit, but felt sweat bead on the back of my neck at the prospect.
Was I really going to eat human shit?
I grabbed a hunk with my fingers and, just as I was about to lift it to my mouth, I heard the gossip of the guards.
Usually, they talked about the heinous things they did to the prisoners or which prisoner was the best fuck, had the tightest asshole or best mouth.
But today it seemed that they got news from the outside, and the warmth in my chest thrummed in anticipation.
“Did you hear what happened in the south?” The Earth Mage lazily guarding the entrance to the mess hall cavern asked the other man standing on the other side of the same entrance.
My ears perked up at news of the outside world, but I carefully kept my face blank as I began to eat the slop on my plate.
I nearly gagged, but kept a slow, methodical pace. I needed the guards to think I wasn’t listening, wasn’t interested.
The Mages and Vessels were very loose-tongued down here in the mines and, if you listened closely, they gave away more information than they should. But I guess they didn’t care—seeing as we were all simply walking dead men anyway.
No one escaped the mines. But I was determined to be the first.
Finian said I would.
So, I kept my ears open, filing away pieces of information, even if they seemed useless at the time.
The second Mage shook his head, and the Earth Mage barked a laugh.
“Rumor has it that the gods are back. The dead were apparently raised in the Valley. You know—where we killed all those Keepers? Strange we all ended up down here, isn’t it?
” The other man nodded his head noncommittally and the Earth Mage took that as his cue to keep talking.
“Anyway. Then, according to my source—she’s this knockout red-haired prostitute with huge knockers and pale white skin.
She’s super fun to hit around and bruise because the marks show so nicely. ”
The other man looked sick.
“Pussy,” the Earth Mage taunted. “Anyway, she said that the gods showed up to the rebel camp down in the south and caused fucking mayhem. Like half of them left and went north, apparently. And now Lishahl separated from the Northern Alliance.”
The other man’s eyebrows hit his hairline at that, and I thought I saw him shoot his gaze to me before quickly flicking back to the Earth Mage.
I froze, hand stuck in shit. I had to have imagined it.
Right?
I flicked my eyes up once, quickly, to catalog the features of this other man.
He was not tall but not short. Medium build.
Nondescript brown hair and eyes. A Vessel?
I couldn’t sense his power levels very well, so it had to be.
I wracked my hazy memories of the past few months but couldn’t recall ever seeing this particular guard.
Weird.
They usually were on rotation, and there were only a few dozen of them in the mines.
Unless he was new?
“What did Lord d’Refan do about that?” the man probed, his gaze flicking to me again. I buried my head in my shit, shoveling it in my mouth and trying not to heave while I hung onto every word.
The Earth Mage laughed. “Fucking married that d’Aelius chick.”
I froze.
Every muscle in my body locked tight. I couldn’t even breathe while I waited for his next earth-shattering statement.
“Apparently the bitch is his now. Controlled by these bracelets on her wrists to cut off her magic. She’s too volatile.
Though, if I were Lord d’Refan, I would’ve found a way to carve that fucking magic from her body.
Fucking cunt from a fucking traitorous family?
I would’ve gutted her like a pig right there in front of her people.
After I fucked her in all of her holes, of course. I’m sure her pussy’s tight.”
I growled, every bone in my body was ready to kill the motherfucker who would dare to insult my sister like that.
Only I could be mad at her, dammit. Though I didn’t feel any rage now. Only pity, if what the guard said was true.
“Anyway, he married the dumb cunt to try and ‘unite the region’ or some shit.”
“Did it work?” the other man goaded quietly, his eyes now fully trained on me.
I gulped at his intense stare, but didn’t look away.
There was something off about him.
“Nah. Now Lord d’Refan has two rebellions he has to worry about.” He picked his teeth with a long, dirty fingernail. “Gods in the south and the Last Keeper’s top generals in the north? He’ll be calling all of us back to Vespera in a month. Just you wait and see.”
The Last Keeper’s generals? My heart practically leapt from my chest.
The man shot me a wink and a smile before distracting the Earth Mage with a question about his most recent late-night conquest.
I tuned out, not needing to hear a recount of something I saw and heard every night. I sat against the jagged ground, mulling over everything that I’d heard.
The rebellion—Torin—was in the north. In Lishahl, which bordered the Crystal Mines.
Ellowyn was now married to the Warlord, apparently against her will. All of the anger I felt toward her evaporated, and the warmth in my chest pulsed briefly. It was misplaced anger anyway.
I have to get her out of there.
I wonder if the rebellion will come here. I blinked rapidly, my heart pounding in my chest with a sudden epiphany. My head snapped back to where the man was standing with the Earth Mage, but he was gone.
Had I imagined him?
I was shaken from my thoughts by the sound of prisoners retching from the rancid “food” as the Earth Mage and “cook” cackled.
“They’re eating shit!” the Mage crowed between hoots of mirth as he wiped tears from his eyes. A cacophony of retching and the smell of vomit filled the air at his words.
My stomach roiled as I tossed my plate aside and wiped my fingers as best I could on the ground. I wanted to be disgusted, but couldn’t.
My mind was elsewhere.
Focused on what it meant that the rebellion was here, and the strange man who gave me the news.