TEN #3
Would I be festering away down here in my own filth for weeks or months before he decided it was time to talk to me?
Why else put a shackle on me that would need to be cut off? It would be an inconvenience to go through that each time he wanted to drag me out to use me.
Then again, men like Cass never had to do anything for themselves, so I imagined the thoughts of inconveniences never crossed his mind.
"Stop those gears a'turning," the old woman told me, shaking her head.
"Been down here most my life. Not so calmly either as I seem now.
If there was a way out, I'd have found it.
I was young and pretty once true. Tried even to use that.
Flashing my cunt around to the hungry eyes of the guards.
Get yourself used, that's for sure, but not free. "
I couldn't find a nice way to say I was not the kind of person who would flash around any part of her anatomy for freedom, so I stayed silent, thinking, trying not to let her pessimism ruin my chances of hope.
"It ain't so bad. They feed us most days."
Most days.
"And they keep it clean enough in here. Cass hates the stench of flesh and sweat and shit and piss, so they come in, take care of things every week or so."
Week or so.
I knew she was trying to be helpful, but all she was doing was increasing my doubts about the whole situation, my assurance that I was not going to be able to withstand this situation long term.
"What's your name?" I asked, wanting to change the subject.
"Venia."
"Venia," I repeated, rolling the sounds around on my tongue. "I'm Amy. Amethyst."
"Not skill-less like me then."
"Actually, any skill I might have has been stunted for some reason."
"Well, that's all for the best. You don't want him draining you on top of everything else. Don't know exactly what that feels like, but you can hear the screaming from over in the prisons when they do it."
Lovely.
My stomach turned itself over, making me wonder if the contents of my stomach might come up after all before I was able to carefully breathe the urge away.
"How do you keep yourself from going crazy down here?" I asked, looking down at my ankle, feeling the burn that got no better with the passing of time or the stillness of my leg.
"Who says I'm not crazy?"
That was a fair point I hadn't considered. Was she crazy? Was she actually Cass' birth mother, or just some old woman with cobwebs up in her head.
"Crazy people don't stop to consider whether they are crazy or not," I decided, shrugging.
"Well, you're right there at least. I wish I had an easy answer for you, deary.
I honestly don't know why I haven't lost my mind yet.
After all this time. I guess I find the precious few good moments in my life, and focus on those.
Let myself drift into them, see the sights, smell the smells, feel what I felt, let my mind think I am actually there instead of here. that helps. You got any good memories?"
Had she asked me simply a few months before, the answer would have been very different. "Yes."
I did.
I had Drake.
Aya.
Nesta.
Rayna.
Even Kieran and Tsar.
I had safety and usefulness and appreciation and, more than anything else, love.
Love for my new clan, for their acceptance of me, their willingness to show me their ways. Love for Aya and Nesta and Rayna who had become the mother and sisterly bond I had never been allowed to have before.
And, most of all, the love for Drake.
Just precious hours before, we had admitted it to each other for the first time. After weeks of feeling it, showing it.
Just hours.
It felt like days, like weeks.
I could see how easily time got lost here.
And as I drifted off to sleep, hoping the rest might dull the ache still in my temples, I wondered if maybe that was for the best, not being aware of each moment passing me by.
Maybe it was less painful that way.
"Girlie, wake up already!" Venia's voice croaked as something slammed into the side of my head, dragging me out of a dream I wished was reality, Drake and I planting mint and chamomile, rosemary and thyme in the beds out front of our house, happy, useful, in love.
But that wasn't the reality.
The reality was the hard stone floor making pressure points in all the wrong places, creating an ache that seemed to overtake my entire body at once.
The screaming in my temples felt more tolerable even if waking up made me suddenly, painfully aware of the burning in my ankle again.
I found myself unreasonably annoyed that she would wake me, rip me out of the only peace I had known for what had to be about a day and a half.
"What?" I grumbled, pushing myself to a seated position, brushing the grit of dirt and who-knew-what off my cheek.
"They're coming," she told me, almost sounding a bit excited. We hadn't been fed the day before. I figured she was glad to be fed. Which I understood given the grumbling of my stomach even if my thoughts were more leaning toward feminine issues with no supplies to be found since my bag was missing.
"Oh joy," I sighed, rolling a crick out of my neck, outwardly appearing a lot more calm than I was feeling inside. Which was pretty much facing a hellbeast level of panic as the footsteps came from stairs that were so far to one side of the cellar that I couldn't even see them.
"I don't think that is our meal," Venia observed. And since she knew a lot more about the sound of footsteps than I did, I guess I had no choice but to trust her.
But if not our meal, then what?
And, more importantly, who?
"Oh, boy," Venia said, shaking her head. "That was fast."
"Cass?" I hissed, eyes feeling like they were bugging which meant they definitely were.
My heartbeat skittered into overdrive as the sound of feet moved toward us.
Multiple sets.
Three, maybe?
Possibly more.
But no less than three.
"Get some fucking light on in here. I can't see my own hand in front of my face."
I knew that voice.
And, see, I didn't know Cass' voice.
And we were in the Dark Court.
So that meant...
Even as his name fluttered across my mind, a match flashed, setting a torch on fire, illuminating his darkly handsome face.
Jet.
"Jet?" I snapped, not meaning to. And certainly not meaning for my voice to sound quite so, well, pissed.
In response, one of his strong brows rose, but otherwise showed no sign that he was offended by my tone.
"That is His Royal Prince to you, prisoner," another voice pitched in from Jet's side.
I looked away from His Royal Prince finding three guards at the sides, one carrying a tray that he moved to set down next to Venia.
"Oh, am I not properly respectful of my fiancé imprisoning me?" I spat back at that guard, eyes shooting daggers, not caring if it would get me a kick.
"She's not wrong," Jet said casually, shrugging. "In fact, that is why we are here. Clearly, the guards brought you here in error. I am sure my father meant for you to be delivered to the guest quarters, not shackled in the cellar like a heretic."
From my side, Venia made some sort of noise, something akin to surprise and amusement at once, but she covered it up with one of her usual dry coughs, all dust and cobwebs. She said nothing.
"Well," Jet's voice snapped, a whip of a noise that even I shocked back at even though it wasn't being swung at me. "Is someone going to unshackle her, or should I remedy your fuck up myself?"
Everything about Jet's voice was pure royalty. Cruel, Dark royalty, sure, but royalty none the less. Confident, cocky, condescending.
And the guards responded to it, nearly tripping over each other to go fetch the equipment. Which I had a feeling was going to be unpleasant and sharp.
But it was better, I was sure, than having the iron continually eating my flesh away.
"Venia," I told him, making his brows raise.
"Who is Venia?"
"Your grandmother who is shackled down here with me," I shot back, irritation slipping into my words, for some reason knowing that Jet - unlike his father - wouldn't punish me for it.
We were all pawns, after all, in the Unseelie King's game.
"One thing you should be aware of, Amethyst. This is not an act of mercy.
I am not a merciful man. You are my fiancée.
This is a matter of respect. I take that very seriously.
The fate of old women... not so much. So if you do find yourself occasionally plagued with ideas of benevolence, I advice you to keep it to yourself. There is no place for it in this life."
I had to work to bite back the response on the tip of my tongue, but luckily the guards came thundering back down the stairs, rushing over toward me, taking perhaps a bit more care than they would have if Jet were not standing there watching, his handsome face completely impassive, arms folded over his chest, not so much as wincing when the guards started hacking away at the iron, making me writhe and cry out as the metal was forced deeper against my skin at times, making it cut in.
"I don't think that could have taken any longer if you tried," Jet chastised, not offering me a hand as I struggled to get to my feet.
I had no idea at this point if he was putting on a show for his guards, or if he was genuinely just this much of a, well, prick.
But I got myself to my own feet, falling behind him as he turned and walked toward the stairs.
As I passed, Venia's gaze held mine. My pain for her must have been on her face because all she did was shrug. "Double the food for me," I could have sworn she murmured, sounding like she was trying to console me, trying to assuage my guilt for my sort-of freedom.
"Walk faster," Jet demanded. "The sooner I can get you to a bath, and get that stench off of you, the happier I will be."
Behind me, the guards chuckled, making the skin of my neck and cheeks heat.
Because, well, I knew I smelled. Like sweat and oil and, well, blood.
"Have someone fetch her some fresh clothing," Jet demanded as he stopped beside a closed door, giving them a pointed look when they didn't immediately turn to do so.