Chapter 33 Folded Between Decades
Niles
Twenty-One Years in the Past
Timeline: The Year of Dessin and Skylenna’s Vexamen Imprisonment
I know better than to speak in my native tongue.
The language of Old Alkadonian is being used everywhere. The Vexamen Breed uniforms are here. The Meat Carnivals are back. And there is no sign Ruth has ever laid claim to her right to rule this country.
I can only guess Sapphire finally came into her own.
She claimed an ability like her parents.
I am collateral damage.
I have been left back in time, haven’t I?
The other captives call this place Draèmth Voryth.
The boy next to me speaks my language and says it is called the Blackspire Ward of the North.
It’s not associated with the Vexamen Prison.
It’s an in-between. It’s a holding cell until they figure out where to put you.
Prison, or working in servitude for life.
It’s a waiting room of quiet despair to be sorted like livestock.
I sit on the cold granite floor, speckled with brown, black, and the occasion stain of blood.
My back rests against an onyx pillar connected to a rib vault ceiling.
There are nooses up there. It’s one of the first things I’ve noticed after arriving.
Nooses. I counted them my first night. Thirteen.
The boy told me they leave them up there to scare us.
To show us that is the only means of escape.
Yes, nooses and cobwebs.
Crusted blood splatters.
Oddly the occasional claw marks.
The air in these barracks is too warm to sleep, thick enough to chew. A breezeless atmosphere infused with the nauseating scent of body odor, rusty metal, and sawdust. I’ve grown weary of the second layer of sweat that greases my skin and makes it rather irritating to work.
Work.
What else will we do while we wait?
I sort articles of clothing that need mending or need to be burned from the terrible stains of bodily fluids that will be too difficult to get out. Useless chores until the wardens call lights out, and we sleep in a gathering of sweaty bodies, waiting to wake up and start work again.
“Do you miss your family?” Renly asks.
The boy, Renly, has been here longer than me.
He is eight years old with dark skin, dimples, and eyes so round and kind—he’s more likely to dissolve in a place like this than to survive it.
Renly has no sharp edges, no hardened gaze.
Not a mean bone in his body. He tried to offer me his small portion of bread when I got here.
Obviously, I’d never accept a child’s food.
Ever.
However, I did risk getting my head cut off by stealing a piece of chocolate from a soldier’s satchel. Renly hummed for an hour after his first bite as it was his first taste of chocolate.
On my second day here, I watched Renly’s eyes go wide and fill with tears as a guard purposefully stepped on his barefoot to be mean.
This little boy’s bottom lip jutted out, and the potent fear and disbelief that someone could hurt him intentionally shoved a sword through my chest. He has no instinct for cruelty.
The kind of child who would build a small leaf fortress over an ant pile to keep them from drowning during a storm.
“Yes, I miss my family.” I close my eyes at the memory of my wife’s beautiful face. Of the way my son waters her garden and speaks to flowers to help them grow when no one is looking.
I miss them so much.
“Do you miss yours? Or are you happy to have a little break from them?” I ask, nudging his shoulder with my elbow getting him to crack a smile.
I don’t know if that joke is appropriate or not.
But I’m just trying to make this disgusting place a little less stressful for him.
He’s only a child. I hope I can make him smile more.
“I miss catching minnows with my father,” he says in a whisper, like it’s a secret I must keep extra safe.
I nod. “Minnows are hard to catch.”
“Not for us,” Renly sighs. “We are very good swimmers.”
“Not me, Ren Ren. I’ve got dense bones, I think. I sink like a rock.”
Renly laughs but quickly covers his mouth with a dirty palm, so his single moment of joy isn’t heard by the wardens. A fist clutches my heart at the sight of those dimples fading.
“Don’t worry. You’ll catch buckets of minnows soon. Just you see.”
We pause to keep sorting through rags and uniforms as two wardens approach to breathe down our necks and review our work.
Unbeknownst to me, Renly is in charge of sewing rags that are torn. Perhaps they saw my scarred hands and decided I’m too old to keep up with extensive needlework.
“Ceveizst, souvixst!”
Crooked, boy!
I’ve picked up some Old Alkadonian in my days helping Ruth reform Vexamen.
The warden with a slanted nose and blisters on his lips kicks the rag out of the boy’s hands. And I jump to my feet. Blood firing like a thousand arrows through my arteries.
I backhand the man across the face. I know it won’t harm him too much. But I’m not aiming for physical pain. I’m aiming to make his ego bleed.
“Veit leixcsz né gexex! Quécx heicv wiuox loove?!” I hiss in the warden’s face.
Half the room gasps before bursting into laughter.
I said: Get out of my face, bitch! Your breath smells like poop!
At some point, I’m not sure when, the wardens dog-piled me. They kick me in the ribs until I’m certain I’ll die before I can catch my breath. The air is knocked out of me. I can’t pant. I can’t gasp.
I can think of my wife. I can think of Niklaus as a little boy, the same age as Renly.
“Renly,” I choke out. “Close your eyes, son! Think of the minnows!”
Renly nods frantically, throwing his little hands over his face as he sobs. And with a furrowed brow, he goes somewhere else in his head. Somewhere with cold creek water, his father, and the minnows.