27 Splintered
Splintered
The sound of dripping water reached her first.
Next came the scent of rotting hay and piss, and the coppery, sharp taste of blood.
Vaelira groaned as she pushed against the stone floor and rolled onto her back.
Pain lanced down her spine and across her ribs.
She stared up at the damp ceiling, not bothering to flinch as a drop of water splashed against her cheek, rolling away like a tear.
But she was too tired to cry, too cold and stiff to attempt more than a weak tug at the shackles that bound her wrists. The skin there was raw.
When they’d first thrown her into the cell, she had tried everything to get them off.
She’d tugged her wrists apart, tried to break the short chain with her boot, even slammed her hands against the wall until the panic overwhelmed her and she collapsed, gasping for air as pain tore through her chest and hands.
But it was no use, and now, anything good she’d held within her had seeped through a gaping hole low in her stomach.
Something darker filled the hollow that was left in her chest.
She reached for the flame again, but only the incessant drip, drip, drip of water answered. Had the shackles blocked the essensia, or taken it from her? Either way, she deserved it. She had lost control and become the monster everyone expected.
Footsteps echoed but Vaelira didn’t move.
She didn’t know how long she’d been there.
It could have been days, or months. Guards came at irregular intervals with stale bread or scraps of meat, but she wasn’t hungry.
Without her essensia, simply breathing was starting to feel like a burden.
Once she had discovered her power, it was like it had always been there, and its absence felt like losing a limb.
The footsteps stopped. She waited for the sound of a metal tray sliding across the stone.
“Vaelira,” came a hushed voice.
Through the dimness, someone stood on the other side of the bars. Pushing herself upright, she squinted into the dark. Her breath caught as she recognised the outline of Elijah.
“I came as soon as I heard,” he said, glancing back towards the exit.
“Get me out.” Her voice cracked on the last word. Please, she wanted to say, but the word lodged in her throat, too bitter to speak aloud. Even now, she was still angry with him. Once she was out, maybe she could forgive him, or at least try to understand.
“Elijah,” she pressed. “They’ll kill me.”
“Vaelira, you need to listen.” His voice was calm, but he spoke quickly. “The Queen thinks you can cure my father. She’s not going to kill you. Once you do that, he will owe you his life, he’ll pardon you.”
Even as Vaelira frowned, hope sparked.
“Once you’re pardoned,” he continued, “we can go after the summoners.”
“I can’t stay here,” she said, shivering despite herself. “I’ll do whatever she wants, just get me out.”
He was silent. Her pulse spiked and the spark sputtered out.
“It won’t be for long,” he said. “You’ll understand. Once it’s over, you’ll understand.”
Something inside her cracked. The darkness in her chest splintered into a thousand jagged pieces.
“Why?” The word was small, barely a whisper. It hung between them, holding more meaning than she’d intended.
“I’ll have some blankets and hot food brought to you,” he said. Then he left, and those thousand jagged pieces coursed into her veins, into her very being, until nothing but cruel hatred remained.
Vaelira sank back to the floor, listening to his footsteps echo long after he was gone.