Chapter 22
Twenty-Two
They throw me into a circular stone chamber, bare of anything except a straw mattress and a stained-glass window depicting a white tree silhouetted against a fragmented blood-red sky.
Its branches grasp upward as if its sole purpose in life is to climb to what is just out of reach.
Crimson beams filter into the room at odd angles, illuminating the cobwebs that cling to the corners of the damp walls.
Remnants of old hay scatter across the rough floor, digging and poking into my feet.
Behind me, the heavy wooden door slams shut, and an iron bolt echoes as it scrapes into place.
Footsteps retreat into the distance.
Still dressed in only my shift and stays, I’m wet and freezing, the material clinging to every contour of my body.
Pain radiates as I touch the bruises and bumps rising along my skin before I gingerly check my skull.
My circlet hangs on the back of my head, hidden under the tangled and half-fallen-out braids that hold it in place, while mud snarls the bottom half of my loose hair into matted knots bigger than my fist. With a gulp of air, I realize that the circlet’s healing properties must have kept me alive up to this point.
Shivers shudder through me. The straw mattress in the corner is thin and ragged, but I trip over to it and wrap its bulk awkwardly around my body. It smells like piss, but I’m past the point of caring. What is shame when I’ll surely die in this room?
My cheeks grow warm and wet. I touch the tears, and my palms burst with pangs of sharp energy. As I rub my hands together, they emit more sparks until a tiny flame grows in my palm before going out.
All of my breathing stops, and I bite my lip until it stings. It seems I can never produce magic until my life desperately depends on it. I stifle my anguish at not having better control over this power.
Sparks continue to jump from my palms.
One lands on the threadbare mattress, igniting the straw and turning the embers into a hungry blaze that rapidly devours the hay.
A little scream rips from my mouth as the room fills with growing smoke.
It plumes until I’m choking and coughing.
My throat scratches rough and tight, as if it might never get air again.
Fearing I’ll inhale too much smoke, I attempt to stamp the flames out with my bare foot, but pain licks up my ankle. I abandon the attempt with a curse.
The bolt scrapes across, and the door flies open, making my heart jump.
A man storms in, radiating violence and clutching crimson fabric.
Black armor with fine detailing and a simple cape encases his imposing and broad frame, while swirling shadows ripple from his every footstep as he strides through the column of fire and haze.
He immediately assesses me while extinguishing the burning mattress with a stomp of his armored boot.
My breathing stops.
Who is he?
Embers flying in the air frame his face as he pushes cropped raven hair from his pale forehead. I gasp as narrowed silver eyes slice into me like steel blades. He pays my surprise no mind as he asks in a tight voice, “How did you produce the fire?”
To protect myself, I decide to play dumb and motion to the minuscule fireplace, barely big enough to hold a few twigs. “There.”
“You think me an idiot, do you?” He towers over me, unnatural and foreboding. His northern accent vibrates and rumbles through my already trembling body. “I’ll give you another chance. If you have a flint, tools, or weapons, hand them over now.”
“I have nothing.” The lie burns on the tip of my tongue. He stares at me as if he can see every thought written across my skin.
By some miracle, the diary I shoved into my stays remains hidden. Probably soaked and ruined but secure in my undergarment’s rigid structure. Have the guards not informed him of the circlet yet? I avoid touching my head for fear of bringing attention to it.
Perhaps he doesn’t know…
But that would be absurd.
Thinking about it hurts too much. I’m too thirsty. Too cold. Nothing makes sense.
His words reverberate as he encircles me. “I will cleave the truth from you. Layer by layer, there is nothing you can hide.”
The threat roots me to the spot, my toes curling on the gritty stone floor. He slides his gaze over the entire length of my shaking body. More black shadows dissipate from under his rounded, armored shoulders.
My cheeks burn when I look down and see how torn and transparent my shift is under my stays. Half of my pink nipples are clearly visible under the wet fabric. I cross my arms over my chest. I don’t want to feed whatever beastly hunger this man has.
Something flickers in his eyes before he orders, “All foreign enemies must be checked for weapons.”
Before I can pull away, his palms slide over my shoulders and down my sides.
I hate how my frigid skin craves more of his molten touch—a frightening survival instinct.
He drops to his knees and searches under my shift’s hemline, running his hands over my calves.
I shriek and recoil before he goes any higher.
He rises to his full height, his expression cold. His fingertip slowly traces the top edge of my stays before he gives it a little tap. Gooseflesh dots my cleavage. A grimace spreads over his square jaw as he sees my body react. “You could be hiding so much under this thing.”
I don’t think; I rear my arm and slap him across the face, making my fingers sting from the impact. My chin lifts in stiff defiance. “Take me to your king.” With every bit of venom I possess, I bite out, “Now.”
I have to get away from this low-level prick of a guard.
Sore from the smoke, my throat tightens even more when I think about how he could punish, torture, or debase me, as I hold no authority.
My heart barrels against my chest. I don’t know how cruel this particular man could become.
A sheathed sword with an iridescent and jeweled pommel perches between his shoulders, shining like a bad omen.
He closes the gap between us.
A warning erupts in my mind.
With a rough, calloused hand, he grabs the bone structure of my jaw, tilting my face upward until my head can’t go back any farther. He forces me to look at him.
I stop breathing.
Beneath dark eyelashes, his silver-moon irises pierce my terrified soul. “Gladly.” He gently pushes me back, and that’s all it takes for me to stumble to the stone floor.
With his other hand, he throws the wad of fabric at me. I clutch it to my chest. “What’s this?”
“Get dressed, and try not to lie to the Witch-King. He isn’t as forgiving as I am.”