by Wendy Wang
Understanding bloomed inside her and her chest filled with icy cold. Peter had not come up with the use of blood on his own. He had stolen it.
“They knew,” she said under her breath.
“Yes, they did.”
“Why those girls?”
He moved his hand and brushed the backs of his fingers over her cheek. His lips curved into a half-smile, but there was no humor in it, only sorrow. “You still don’t understand do you?”
“I guess I don’t. Explain it to me.”
“The blood of a Kael woman is more powerful than that of a Kael man. Whether she has one affinity or all five. These fringe Bohrs somehow learned this and used it to improve their weapons and their own powers. My father lead a small incursion on the camp and discovered the girls bodies. When his group attacked, they had no way of knowing what they were using the girls’ blood for.”
“But your father figured it out.”
“Yes he did. And he made it his mission for the next year of his life to stop it from happening again.”
“Is that when he was killed?”
“Yes. But he wasn’t killed by the Bohrs. He was killed fighting a group of Kaels that allowed the Bohrs to pass through the fold into Ethavia.”
“Why would they do that? Why would they betray their own people?”
“I don’t know. They were all killed the same night as my father.” His lips twisted, and his eyes filled with pain. “When you said that if they were for Peter, then they were against us, you sounded like my father.” He brought his hand to her chin and tipped it up, his gaze bore into her. “No matter how I look at it. It was his obsession that killed him. And it nearly destroyed his relationship with my mother.”
“Cai—”
“I will not let that happen to us.”
“I am not your father and I am telling you right now, I won’t let that happen either.” She snaked her hand up his body and pulled him to her, pressing her lips to his. His arm went around her waist and his body pushed against hers. He deepened the kiss and her belly filled with heat and longing. He raked his lips across her cheek, his breath hot against her ear.
A shiver crawled across her spine when he spoke, “Promise me.”
“Yes,” she whispered. “I promise.”
In one motion, he lifted her up by her thighs and she wrapped her legs around his waist. Her mouth landed on his again and she clung to him with her arms around his shoulders as he carried her inside to their bedroom.
The door to their balcony flapped in the early winter wind, but she barely felt the cold as he laid her down on their bed and joined her body with his, salving his sorrow and fears with her lips.
******
Sorrel’s legs and back ached, and she could barely feel her feet from the cold. She had mapped out the cell walls by touch, and paced the square box of a room. Anytime sleep tugged at her, she made herself move. If she stopped those things would get her. She’d made the mistake of squatting down and nodding off once, only to wake up to little pinches and hairy legs crawling on her bare calves again. She’d swatted them again—killing two of them. They had squeaked as she crushed their hard exoskeleton with the heel of her hand. They were some sort of beetle, and the thought of them kept her moving. Between her pacing and the uncontrollable crying, which just left her cold and thirsty, she thought about what was happening outside of her locked cell.
As she walked, she went over every minute she spent with Eryn. Had there been signs of Eryn’s betrayal? She thought they were actually becoming friends. Had Egan already killed Jorgen and Raemah? These thoughts tumbled over and over in her mind while she moved and waited for food.
Five times the guards had opened a small hatch and shoved a metal bowl filled with a soupy, hot gruel into her cell. She had licked it clean every time not caring about the gritty feeling against her tongue.
A door opened down the corridor and the squeaky wheel of the cart rolling closer signaled dinner was about to be served. Her stomach twisted and growled in anticipation. Her hands opened and closed, and she stared at the door in front of her—not really seeing it, but knowing it was there by how cold it felt.
The sound of metal clanking made her heart beat its way into her throat. How long did it really take to open the hatch?
Bright yellow light blinded her for a moment and she threw her arm up to shield her eyes. Rough hands seized her by the tops of her arms, dragging her out into the hallway.
“What happened to your pants?” One of the guardsmen barked at her. She opened her mouth to speak but could only manage a hoarse whisper.
“Can I please have some water?”
“Listen to her,” the other guardsman said, and continued on in a mocking voice, “Can I please have some water. Sure. You want some water. Here you go.”
She didn’t realize what she was seeing at first as she watched him unbutton his fly and pull out his penis. She’d never seen a naked man before.
The other guard knocked her to her knees and wrenched one arm behind her until she cried out.
The hot spray of urine hit her skin and she screamed, holding up her free arm to cover her face. Their tittering laughs echoed off the stone walls. She had never felt so small and worthless, even when she’d been taunted for her stutter.
The guard holding her arm, let her go so suddenly she lost her balance and fell face forward into the now cooling piss, making them laugh even harder. Sorrel pushed herself up, her arms shaking from weakness, tears mixing with his stinking pee.
A door behind them opened, and the sound of heavy boots striking the stone, reverberated throughout the corridor.
“So? Where are we with her?” A new voice said, sliding through her, making her bones ache.
“Take a look for yourself,” the pissing guardsman said. He stepped aside to let the man have a look at her in a heap, sitting in a puddle of piss. She gazed up at him from beneath her brows, through the dark strings of her wet hair. He sneered and shook his head.
“Hello Sorrel,” Egan said. “Miss me?”
Hate mushroomed insider her chest, spreading through her half-frozen limbs. Never in her life had she seriously wanted to kill someone, but staring into Egan’s icy blue eyes all she wanted was to slice through his throat and watch every drop of his blood spill onto the dank granite floor. His sneer widened into a half-smile and she growled, launching herself at him. Her nails dug into the skin of his face before the other guards tackled her to the ground punching her in the chest and ribs. She lay on the floor breathing heavy, her muscles spent and twitching.
Egan knelt next to her, and yanked her up by her hair. A yelp escaped her and he made her look him in the eye.
“I told you I would make you pay if you failed me,” he said.
Sorrel swallowed the lump clogging her throat. “Are they dead?”
“Not yet. But by the time I’m finished with you and them—you’ll all wish you were.” He held her gaze for a few seconds more before letting her go with a jerk. “Put her back inside. And no food till I say.”
“No…no…wait…wait…please—” She hated the whining, desperation in her voice but couldn’t stop it. “Please. Egan! Egan wait!”
The guardsmen lifted her up by her arms, dragging her back into her cell. She kicked her legs and flung her hands out towards the nearby cart. Several metal bowls filled with still steaming gruel lined the top, waiting to be passed through hatches in the doors along the hall. Her fingers managed to latch onto the edges of a bowl, flipping it up, spraying her arms and the front of her body with the scalding, goopy liquid. It clung to her skin, mixing with the drying urine.
They dropped her on the floor of her cell and the pissing guardsman landed one more kick into her belly forcing all the air out of her lungs before he left, cursing her for making a mess under his breath.
After the door slammed shut and she could breathe again, she choked back her tears, brought her arm to her mouth and began to lick the gruel from her skin, trying
not to think about how it mixed with the guardsman’s piss or what Egan was doing to Jorgen or Raemah.
She could not avoid sleep forever, and once she’d cleaned every bit of the gruel from her skin, she rolled onto her side and pulled her knees to her chest, folding her arm beneath her head. There was no more fight left in her. Every muscle ached with exhaustion. He may as well have killed her. She could not spare Jorgen and Raemah from the pain Egan could inflict on them. She couldn’t even spare herself. What difference did it make now if she lived or died? Fatigue weighed her body down, and the cold numbed her skin enough that she barely felt the pinches of the beetles as they bit into her flesh. She closed her eyes and said a silent prayer, begging for death to come before she sunk into the darkness of sleep.
Sixteen
Neala nestled in the crook of Cai’s arm, her head resting against his shoulder, and her hand splayed against his broad chest.
Snow had begun to fall again, and she watched it through the paned doors. The rhythm of his breathing lulled her, and she let her mind drift.
One thought kept rising to the top—the camps. What was Peter using the camps for? Why wouldn’t he just kill the Kaels they captured? Especially if they rebelled. It made no sense. Unless he needed something from them. Neala propped herself up on her elbow letting Cai’s arm fall down her bare back.
“Cai? Are you awake?”
“Mmhmm.” His eyes remained closed.
She couldn’t help but smile. “Cai?”
“Yes, my love,” he said softly. Still his eyes didn’t open.
“Why would Peter have camps?”
Cai’s brows tugged together and a deep line formed between them, then his eyes finally opening. His arm tightened around her waist.
“Why do you think he might?”
“Because he needs something from those he’s holding captive.”
His brows raised and his mouth flattened. She’d hit the answer. But what did Peter need? Panic fluttered in her chest.
“Blood? Is that it? He needs their blood,” she whispered.
“Among other things,” Cai said.
“What other things?”
“Food. Textiles. Anything he needs to run the realms, he’s shifted the burden of labor to his captives.”
“Jerugia’s crown,” she said under her breath. Neala clenched her teeth as her stomach knotting. “If we destroy the camps we could stop him.”
“I agree.”
Neala’s head jerked and a half-grin tugged at one corner of her mouth. “You do?”
“Yes, my love, I do.” Cai pushed himself up and raked his fingers through his dark wavy hair. “I wasn’t disagreeing with you about cutting off his resources. I was disagreeing with—” He stopped and settled his gaze on hers.
Neala’s lips twisted smugly.
“I was disagreeing with your delivery.”
“Oh, of course,” she said dryly.
“It’s a good idea. We’ve learned quite a bit about these camps. He has two large camps where he grows food on the outskirts of Nydia.”
“I thought Nydia was mostly desert.”
“Mostly, but there are places along the ocean where things are quite fertile.”
“We should strike there first.” Excitement thrummed in her belly.
“And what happens to the captives?”
“We bring them here and set them free. Then we take back Nydia.”
Cai nodded and stretched his hand to her face, cupping her cheek.
“As you wish my queen.”
******
Gordon met them in the hall as they emerged from their quarters with an urgent expression.
“I’m sorry to bother you right before dinner, Sir, but this arrived while you were, uh—detained. I thought you’d want to see it right away.” Gordon handed Cai an opened envelope. Cai pulled out the single page and turned it over, reading the back. Neala could see symbols on the paper—the code used by all of Cai’s spies.
“Who is it from?” Neala asked.
“Eryn,” Cai said. He scowled.
“What does she say?”
“They were caught trying to escape, and to maintain her cover she had to turn on Sorrel.”
“What?” Her voice sounded too sharp in her ears.
“It happens. I’d rather she’d kept her cover, otherwise Peter may have killed her on the spot.”
“What about Sorrel?”
“She’s been turned over to one of the camps.”
“Which one?”
“She doesn’t know, only that it’s in Nydia, not Ethavia. She says she’s contacted spies in several of the camps to be on the lookout for Sorrel.” He frowned and continued to read. “She says it’s getting more dangerous for her. Sorrel predicted her death. Evidently, it upset her greatly.”
“Well of course it did.” Neala folded her arms and stared at him. “We have to get her out, and this is a great opportunity to kill two crows with one arrow.”
“I agree.” Cai folded the paper and put it back into its envelope.
“You do?” she said, surprised at the ease he accepted her assertion.
“Of course.”
“All right, then we should strategize after dinner.” She clapped her hands and rubbed her palms together. “Taking down the camps won’t be easy, we’ll need troops, and more information from Eryn’s contacts.”
“Wait. What are you talking about?” Cai narrowed his eyes.
“Uh—what are you talking about?”
“You first.” He planted his hand on his hip and cocked his head.
“I’m talking about rescuing Sorrel and taking out one of the camps. And you?”
“I’m talking about getting Eryn out of Peter’s house.”
“Oh. Well. Yes.” She nodded. “We should do that too.”
Cai’s jaw clenched and he glanced from her to Gordon and back to her. Gordon fought to suppress the ghost of a smile on his lips.
Cai sighed. “I’m never going to win am I?”
Neala stepped forward, pushing to her tip-toes. Her gaze steadied on his before kissing him sweetly on the lips.
“If we rescue both of them, then we all win and our family comes home safe to us.”
Cai nodded. “Let’s make it so then.”
******
Sorrel kept brushing her fingers over the three coins sewn into her waistband. Three coins. Three potential knives. Three ways to escape, even if it was only in her dreams. Maybe, when she got out of here, found Jorgen and Raemah, the three of them could fight their way out. Three coins. Three knives. She sighed.
The metal felt dead against her fingertips. She missed the thrum. Would she ever feel it again? If she’d had any tears left she would have choked on them, but her body was bone dry at the moment.
The wheel of the meal cart squeaked as it made its way down the hallway. The scent of the oat gruel wafted under her door, but her stomach didn’t even growl.
Twice a day for three days, she’d been handed a flagon of water—but no food. Keys rattled against her hatch. She pushed herself up, swiped at the beetle feeding on her leg, and moved towards the door to retrieve her water. How long would Egan keep them from feeding her, she didn’t know. Maybe till she died. Although a small part of her doubted he would be done with her so easily.
With a clang, the metal hatch pushed up and a hand thrust the wooden flagon into the space. Sorrel reached for it. She squeaked when the giver’s other hand wrapped around her wrist and yanked her downward. She slapped at him, but fighting against him left her breathless and made her muscles burn.
“Sorrel, don’t,” he said in a harsh whisper.
She froze as if he’d just doused her with ice water. None of the guardsman had ever called her by name. One called her sweetheart, but that was as close to a name as she had with any of them.
“Listen to me carefully,” he whispered. Her heart thundered against her ribcage, and she leaned in closer. “Take this.”
He shoved
a pair of clean pants and a round piece of flat metal into her hand. She stared down at it, dumbfounded.
“It won’t help me,” she whispered and pushed it back towards him. “Not with these things on my wrists.”
He pressed it into her palm and closed her fingers around it holding them in place with his own. The warmth of his skin against her hand brought sudden tears to her eyes.
“Take it,” he said softly. “Trust me. The harnesses can’t stop it from working.”
He let her go and she pulled her hand to her chest, grabbing her water with her free hand. The hatch closed taking the light with it.
She nestled the flagon onto her lap and settled with her back against the metal door before opening her hand. She stared down at her palm, eyes blinking, unsure of what she was seeing, because she was seeing. The little disk emitted a pale blue-white light, driving back the darkness.
The laugh started in her chest, bubbling up her throat, shaking her shoulders and belly with its force. Her voice sounded crazy to her ears, but what difference did it make. She could see! Someone out there, she didn’t know who, had sent her this little piece of hope, and she was going to hold onto it with everything she had.
She moved her hand up, then down, getting a better feel for the cell. Her heart skipped a beat when she saw the beetle crawling towards her. It must have been at least an inch and half long and a half inch wide. Its sharp thin proboscis was nearly as long as its body and its shiny black wings glistened in the light. She nudged it with her toe, no longer afraid. It squeaked and changed course.
She put the little disk on the floor in front of her and its light brightened, driving back even more shadows. Sorrel inspected her legs, not really shocked by the dozens of red welts on her skin. Touching a few of them, she found hard little knots instead of open sores. She had dropped the pants by the door and she grabbed them and put them on.
Cold air wafted around her shoulders and she shivered, wishing the little disk could somehow bring her fire. As if it had heard her command, the light began to shimmer and glow red before finally bursting into a flame floating above the disk. No metal she had ever commanded had brought something outside of its natural elements. She picked it up and the flame went away. It was cool to the touch. She closed her eyes for a moment and willed it to become a metal star. When she opened them the disk remained the same, still emitting blue light. She sighed. At least it could bring her heat. She placed it back on the floor and wished for fire again and immediately the flame returned.