3. Uvite
Teo?
My mind can’t help but continue to search for my mate despite knowing he will not hear. It feels like a small eternity, but I know it has only been a day or two.
Uno, dos, tres…
I cut off abruptly. Counting doesn’t help me. Not anymore.
There is a sensation in my gut that connects to the glittery magic from my Fuegorra. That bond shows me that he is alive and well. Surely, he must be planning to come for me, but I am not stupid. I know how many Enduares there are—not enough to launch an attack—even if he might wish it.
He has already done enough.
The last day has given me time to think about my time under the mountain. In my head, I relive the cruel words spewed from my mouth and the deaths I witnessed.
First, Tirin, the young hunter who believed in matehood and sacrificed himself so humans could continue living under the mountain.
Then… Dyrn, the noble hunter protecting his people from the cold ones who attacked me. I still remember watching him on the table, bleeding out. I called for someone to grab herbs, only to find that I had used up the precious ingredients for a poison meant to kill my mate.
Iam the link between the misfortune that’s fallen upon the Enduares of late. I was selfish when I tried to escape. Even though I didn’t want to hurt innocent people… I’m learning that intent doesn’t equal culpability.
Even thinking about what the giants could’ve done to get me here makes my heart race. I was unconscious, but I am sure they damaged Enduvida. Perhaps they killed some of the Enduares.
Their deaths wouldn’t have happened if I hadn’t walked into their lives.
The responsibility to escape should fall on my shoulders—I must pay them all back for everything I took for granted.
My head tilts back against the bars in my cage.
There are no windows. No light seeps through the door. Not a single soul had crossed the threshold into the small cottage since my last conversation with Rholker, and the torch has long since burned to ashes.
I’m as hungry as the day I was rescued by the Enduares. Time stretches on, muted in this pitch-black cage as I discard plan after plan. Searching, grasping, for any thread of inspiration while so utterly, chest-crackingly alone.
Sadness pricks against my skin with the same intensity as getting a branch of fresh pine needles whipped repeatedly across my bare back. There’s no voice in my mind, no palpable presence to scoop me up and hold me until the emotion passes.
There are other sounds, though. Slave foremen and giant warriors shouting, the laughter of my people, the gentle lilt of the human tongue, and the occasional scream. They all filter through the walls like a nightmarish ballad.
The cottage must be somewhere near the lumber yards—but the exact location is harder to discern.
I have tried to call to them by kicking until my bare feet became bruised, scratching until hot blood streamed down my painfully cold hands, and screaming until it felt like I swallowed a pile of stone shards, but it made no difference.
At least I have a few reminders of home. The Fuegorra heals my broken skin, and I rub my ring with one hand and slide the necklace from its hiding place in my pocket with the other.
Amor?1, the ring says. A message of love from my love.
And the necklace says…?
I don’t know.
Without light, I cannot inspect the stones well enough to know their names, but I can recognize a few energies—amethyst, sapphire, emerald, ruby, obsidian, and moonstone. The first letter of each word appears in my mind, and I draw them on the dark, dusty ground while I hum single notes just to hear them bounce off the gems and warm my insides.
Depending on where I hold the necklace, it feels different. But mostly, it feels like home—my home.
I was just starting to learn the ways of peace. Of planting seeds and laboring for their growth, of healing, of caring for others, of being loved in a manner previously unknown to my selfish, armored heart.
Now I have been yanked out of the quiet, welcoming place and put back in the hell that is Zlosa, with Rholker threatening me to take my agency, body, and burn everything I love. It fucking hurts.
And Mikal… Mikal is somewhere here, in this same city. Does he know that I’ve come?
Tears burn my eyes as I listen to the rhythmic chopping of wood. I cry for all the humans who have withered in this damned place, enslaved from birth and expected to chop, to serve, and to be grateful enough for their scraps to never fight back.
And if the giants can’t have their gratitude, they will gladly take their fear. I think of the merciless deaths—whipped to shreds, torn apart by spreaders, or simply rammed through with spears.
More threads of dread weave together and wrap around my now-chilled heart. The princes only left Mikal alone because of their father, King Erdaraj, and the decree that Mikal should remain alive and I should remain untouched. Now he only lives because of Rholker’s obsession with possessing me.
Luckily, when Rholker came into my cage after I awoke, my Fuegorra provided a new protection for me. How long that will last, I cannot say.
Rholker has the power to change his mind quickly.
He controls my food, my future, and my light.
This room is dark like I thought the Enduar Mountains would be—cold, and without even a sliver of heat to warm my cage. No mushrooms light the crags of the space, nor does the Ardorflame guide the way back out of the abyss in my mind.
I sit on the ground, atop smelly furs and straw, and think of things I could say, ways to slip through the bars, or, better yet, manipulate them. If only I were a metal bender, or, better yet, had worked with the smiths instead of Ulla.
The floor is uneven and catches along the calluses on my hands. A new idea blooms. My magic is too unpredictable, like a lyre string stretching and snapping when I’m in danger. But if I could make a weapon, I could kill him and run.
No guards come with him to my cell. It would be the perfect plan.
Tearing at the ground, I peel a long splinter from the boards. I do my best to sharpen it against the metal bars in the dark.
When the door cracks open again, I leap back and hide the makeshift tool behind my back as I see the large shadow in the doorframe. My heart stutters in rage and grief to see Rholker. His long hair is tied up atop his head, and a new crown is resting on his brow.
The traitorous king takes one purposeful step into the room and stops to strike a match. A sharp hiss heralds the warm yellow flame between his stout fingers. His cruel eyes and powerful form are lit up as he guides the small pulses of light into a glass lamp.
The oil catches the spark and blazes to life. My gaze dips for a second to look at the letters I’ve left on the ground.
A S E R O M.
Nothing of use, but I am missing thirty-four letters. I scrape my barefoot across the Enduar markings so he won’t see.
My eyes return to Rholker, only to find a trail of six women behind him. They are hidden under dark cloaks with long, flowing sleeves that cover their hands and long hems with short trains that obscure their feet.
Rholker smirks. “Estela,” he says, drawing out the word as if he were savoring the syllables the same way he’d like to savor my flesh. The oil lamp is held up closer to his face, and I see his ugly, scarred smile stretch upward. A few of the puckered lines are new—still red. I wonder where he got them.
“Thank our guests for traveling all night to see you.”
I press my lips together in defiance. Then I brace myself to accept whatever punishment he has planned for me today with these women.
Rholker takes another step forward and moves to light a fire as the six women line the space beside him.
“This is the daughter of Aitana?” one woman asks. Her accent is deep and guttural, not at all like the soft notes that come from my human tongue. And she knows my mother’s name.
Rholker grunts his approval.
One of the women makes a sound so inhuman that I find myself inching toward the back of my cage. Presumably, the same woman holds up her arm, bringing the sizable billowing sleeve with her, and a long, pointed fingernail peeks out from beneath the black-stitched hem. My mouth falls open when something slithers to the point of her digit.
A snake.
Its lithe, forked tongue darts out.
“If Mistress Dahlia ssspeaks, you will ressspond,” it hisses. The voice echoes in my mind, rattling around at the base of my skull and making my shoulders inch upward. I file the name away.
Dahlia.
Rholker raises his chin, puffing out his chest as he turns to the women. My grip on the splinter tightens.
“You are in my court now, and I have something you want. Do not think that since I have given you honors my father withheld that I am one of your thralls,” he spits at them.
One of the women makes a disgusted sound, but the one called Dahlia cocks her hooded head to the side as her companion speaks.
“Do not forget that we are not the sole benefactors of this deal. We came to provide a service for you?—”
Dahlia cuts her follower off. “Very well, Young Rholker. I would like to begin.”
Rholker frowns but doesn’t offer any retort; he merely gestures toward my cage.
I press myself back further as Dahlia reaches the bars. The others fill the space behind her, making my only view their dark cloaks and absent faces.
My breath is ragged as it escapes my chest.
It surprises me when Rholker is the next one to speak.
“Give them your hand.” His command rumbles through my being—pure dissonance—and I am frozen in place. It strikes something so deep in my soul that I would be foolish to ignore it.
Apparently I am that foolish because I say, “No.”
A hissing sound comes from the shadows in front of me. I move until my back is flush against the cold bars.
“Do you think you can hide from us, little one?” Dahlia says. Her voice is heavy and ancient and frozen, like the chunks of ice scattered along the way to the Enduar mountains.
I keep my mouth shut, but it doesn’t stop the thud on the ground or scales scraping against wood. My whole body starts to tremble as I look down at the viper in my path. Its muscular body coils to the left and right before reaching my foot.
Biting down on my lip hard enough to draw blood, I grasp onto the iron bar with one hand and pull myself up, all while wielding my weapon. The sudden movement agitates the snake, causing it to bare its fangs seconds before it lunges. I strike at it and miss. The second its teeth connect with my bare foot, a chill spreads. The ice crawls through my insides, icing over my muscles, stomach, lungs… heart.
“Stop. Fucking. Touching. ME!”I rage.
A blazing warmth spreads across my body as the Fuegorra fights against the darkness. The light grows bright enough to burn my eyes, and I squeeze them shut. There is a garbled sound from Rholker, and I expect the glow to scare away the damned serpent, but instead, the heat freezes over.
Black edges my vision, and I fall to the ground.
The sensationof Teo’s fingers trailing down my scarred back brings me back to my senses with a stinging, disorienting stab through my ribs. Even though the memory is sweet, something in it has been twisted—I shouldn’t be here right now.
I was… in Zlosa. With Rholker. The rest of the specific details fizzle out and lay in razor-sharp shards at my feet.
There is something dark in the shadows of the cave that didn’t exist before. Something that lurks behind the glow-glitter dusted stones and between the luminflor and lumicaps. It doesn’t speak or try to interfere—it watches. Studying every detail of my nude form, and memorizing the trail of my mate’s finger.
Suspended between time and thought, I am unable to resist the shudder of his rough fingers and gentle touch. The gasp that escapes my mouth is as loud as thunder. I see the scene from all angles, finally brave enough to tip my head over my shoulder as he takes in the scars representing my shame. It hurts to see the rage in his eyes. But… it melts away to sadness. Then resolution.
My Teo. Always analytical, so often disciplined. This memory is too private, so I try to tear it from before my eyes and lock it in some gilded box, never to be touched again.
I can’t.
He takes my hand again, squeezing and leading me into the pool. What comes next is burned into my mind with excruciating detail, like the stone artwork etched all across Enduvida. This should belong to me and him alone, but the lurking presence persists. I try to black out my mind to shield Teo from anyone seeing us in the water. Small, brilliantly colored particles of blue and green dance around us as we move.
This memory was pure heat and bliss, but I thrash against the intrusion my lover isn’t aware of. Far too late, I think of the windows in my mind that I used to keep Teo from reading my thoughts.
Teo’s teeth graze against my neck, and I grasp at the corners of those windows. My fingers slip as I fight for purchase. The memory continues in horrifying detail, prying apart the most sacred moments of my life.
I slam my fist against the shudders, closing them for good…
And wake up gasping for breath on the cold hard ground. The dryness in my throat causes the gasp to turn into a sputtering cough. Gods, it feels like I’ve swallowed stone shards and hacked them back up.
Clutching at my neck, my eyes focus on the tall, metal bars caging me in like a wicked, dark hand holding my body in place—as if I were no more than an insect. Near my head, a small, forked tongue flicks out and hisses. Every muscle in my body coils tight and then springs away from that spot.
I look up to see the six hooded women watching with hidden eyes while Rholker stands behind them. His face is hard, but a glimmer of concern flickers with a twitch of his lips.
My heart continues to race—did he see all of that? He’ll kill me. He’ll kill Teo?—
“Well?” he asks, clearly annoyed and clueless.
A splash of relief covers my innards.
“We found what you sought,” one of the women says. “She fucked the troll in a hot spring.”
The second of relief is dashed to pieces. My body tenses, every nerve on edge as Rholker”s face contorts with a mixture of confusion and fury.
Those yellow eyes trail to the side of my neck, now clearly visible. My hand flies to cover the scabbed-over bite marks I know that I’d find there.
“Estela,” he starts, his voice rumbling through the tension in the room. “What have you done?”
His tall, powerful body reaches for one of the room’s chairs, picks it up, and throws it against the wall. I flinch as it splinters into pieces. My eyes track them as they fall to the ground, and I am painfully aware of how he wishes that chair was my body. Under his calm, obsessed exterior lies a predator.
Mikal. I need to find Mikal.
”Tell me how to get the stone out of her chest so I can touch her again,” he growls, reiterating the lie I told him when I first arrived.
He steps close to my cell, and I crawl toward him, body aching. I grab my sharpened piece of wood again.
The women pause before they answer, and I find myself holding my breath as I stare at Rholker’s large ass. He’s too tall to stab in the heart, but a bleeding ass is still painful.
“We require more time to sift through her thoughts,” they say in almost perfect unison.
Blinking back hot tears, I stab through the bars. The sharpened wood punctures his left thigh.
He makes a strangled noise.
“What the hell?” My tormenter whips around. He looks at me like I have stabbed him in the gut and forcefully torn out each of his organs, not merely given him a flesh wound. If only he knew how much I would’ve enjoyed the former.
“You are a memory slicer,” he says darkly, no longer addressing me but still holding my gaze as he pulls out the stick and throws it across the room. “Slice apart that memory for good. Leave it until it is nothing more than threadbare ribbons in her mind. I never want her to think of it and find pleasure again.”
Each word is slow and perfectly articulated.
The women communicate with only the slightest shift of their faces, hidden in their deep hoods. The snake, curled almost gracefully around one of the bars, slithers to its mistress”s outstretched hand.
Pierced with a new level of fear, I fight the tears welling up, and I push into the grip of cold metal.
I close my eyes and try to focus on the memory, memorizing each detail so that it feels like it”s carved into my very being. They won’t touch it. They can’t. It would be like trying to remove the scent of humidity from a room after a thunderstorm, nearly impossible to erase. The memory is a tangled web of emotions, desires, and sensations, all woven together in a tapestry of love.
Mine and Teo’s tapestry. Our matehood.
The memory isn”t just a snapshot in time, but an experience that is alive, constantly shifting, and forever imprinted in my consciousness. How could they ever steal that?
But then, as we reach the moment where his fingers touched my back, something new slides into the image. The dark eyes, watching, analyzing… insidiously probing.
My eyes fly open once more, and I find the women watching me. The leader, Dahlia, turns to Rholker.
“We will return this evening to finish. This time, you will not come, Giant King,” she speaks for the first time. Her voice is as silky, dark, and cold as a snake”s.
Rholker frowns, the twisting of his lips mostly visible in the near blackness. Then, the women leave.
The door shuts, with Rholker remaining. He sucks in a deep breath.
Slut.
Bitch.
Little Flea.
Whore.
All the titles that I’ve been called over the years pass through my consciousness, and I shove them all away.
“You shouldn’t have let him touch you,” Rholker says, his eyes dropping to the floor as if he could feel anything approximating sadness.
My whole body tenses, preparing for him to spew a cloud of vitriol. I turn my sights to the ring on my finger. Mi amor.?2
“I touched him first,” I say, my voice much stronger than it feels, and look up. I refuse to let this memory be anything other than the damned miracle it is.
He moves the torch to the back corner. It lights those ugly, yellow eyes seconds before his body tenses. Then he reaches down, picks up the other untouched chair at the table, and throws it against the bars. The metal rattles upon impact before splinters scatter across the ground.
“Now where will you sit as you watch them torment me?” I say sardonically.
He snarls.
Closing my eyes again, I focus on the cage, feeling the icy cold from the metal seep through my skin and enter my bloodstream, grounding me. Then I return to the image of Teo’s fingers trailing down my scarred back, the sensation of the water surrounding us, and the memory of his lips on my neck.
“Estela,” Rholker shouts, trying to pry my attention away.
My mind feels like it’s being pulled in different directions, with the perfect images of our love-making clashing against the hatred and fury in Rholker’s eyes.
He can’t steal this from me.
Another crash against the cage has the bars shaking, zinging in my teeth.
“Why did you let him fucking touch you? You are mine. You never understand, you?—”
Something sharp scrapes across my face, and my eyes fly open at the exact moment the Fuegorra in my chest glows to life. The brightness from before returns, and this time, I realize that it is no mere glimmer, but a blaze that lights up the entire room. Brighter than the fire in the corner.
Rholker slinks back at the light, as if he weren’t responsible for the smashed wood littering the floor.
I stand, seething and indignant. The Fuegorra makes me feel like I am a million times more powerful than I am.
“That’s right. Cower. You are a weak, pathetic man. I told you that you would regret bringing me here,” I say, each slicing insult shooting off my tongue with expert precision.
Gone is the fearful woman from before. I can do this. I can go back to my love unbroken.
His face sags, almost as if he were about to cry.
“No, you little slut. You think you can threaten me? You couldn’t even save your brother.”
My fists tighten, as a malevolent smile spreads over his face.
“We whipped him when he came back. He was so sick he couldn’t move for months. Every time he was on the brink of death, we would call the healer and bring him back. All for you.”
A pit forms in my stomach, and this itchy need to see Mikal returns with a vengeance. It feels like I could peel the flesh from my bones.
Rholker watches me, waiting for the moment when my resolve breaks. “When I first felt that power of yours, I thought you’d been turned into a witch. The truth is much worse, and it is you who will regret everything you’ve done in my absence. Slaves do not find new masters.” His face twists and morphs into something monstrous. “In the name of Khuohr, I’m going to kill everything you love. Slowly. Finger by finger. Limb by limb.”
He continues his rampage of words. “When the world is lying at embers at your feet—when the body of your troll is hung up in the streets to rot and the Enduar children’s bodies are scattered in pieces across their enormous tomb of a mountain—then I will bring Mikal to you so you can either watch his final breath or succumb. You will be so steeped in contrition that you will fall at my knees and beg me to take you.”
My heart hollows out with each bloody, sadistic promise. The poison drips off his tongue like acid and burns holes in my resolve. Mierda?3.
“When that gem is out of your chest, it will only be the beginning of your remorse, my little love.”
A part of me recoils at his new name. My love doesn’t belong to him. But a much larger part of me crumbles with each word, and he watches it all.
“The last time we saw each other, you were to be married. Did you kill her too?” I ask, my voice much quieter now.
Smiling like the ugly thief he is, he says, “We didn’t marry, but I have my uses for her.”
While I have never felt much sympathy for a giant, I fear for her. His words shatter my heart into countless pieces. He relishes in my pain, believing that he can break me.
He smiles, turns on his heel, and walks from the room.
When I shift to lie down, I find a small cloth with something, round and slightly pliant. The second I pick it up, the smell of bread fills my nose, and hunger takes over my thoughts. Pressing it between my hands, the smell grows stronger, followed by a delightful crackle.
Logically, I assume that the women brought it for me. When I don’t smell the sourness of poison, I tear off bits and pieces and stuff them into my mouth. The loaf isn’t large, but my stomach hurts when I’m done.
With a bit of food in me, the ache in my stomach subsides. Unfortunately for me, I’m stuck in a dizzy headache. Fragments of memories swirl, and I close my eyes, helpless but to watch them pass.
One in particular is clearer than the rest.
“A human queen will bring the light of hope
To those in the shadows, forgotten and alone
The strength and courage of a noble soul
Will be the catalyst for a new tomorrow”
I recognize it, mainly from the voice that speaks the words. Liana. Even thinking her name brings me more peace and eases the dizzying throb behind my eye sockets. She spent so many days alongside me, teaching me how to use my magic and how to be something more than I was. Her stern expressions and gentle hands helped me change.
Dissecting the bits of her poetic song, I consider each line. Certain words stick out to me: hope, catalyst, shadows, alone. I realize… that Zlosian slaves live in the shadows, mostly alone. We don’t congregate as friends. We don’t hold onto ceremonies or traditions.
I just came from a place that was a dream compared to life here. I hate Zlosa, but so does everyone else. Mikal shouldn’t be here, and neither should the other slaves. If Rholker wants me so badly, I’ll stay. I’ll find Mikal, make friends, and I’ll take a few back with me.
I have the opportunity to bring hope. Teo is so good at inspiring such an emotion. I could act like a queen and be a good shining light in the darkness. The stones have already sung it.
I can do this. I just have to be strong.