“Your stomach was growling while you were asleep.” He sounded bored with the whole situation.
“With all due respect, I’m not about to eat just so your paranoid queen can go poking around in my head some more,” I snapped, not bothering to mask my bitterness.
“You’re going to eat.” It was a barked order from an elf who'd obviously been reared in a military structure from day one, and I didn't care one bit.
“Okay, I’ll try explaining without the respect this time and see if you get the picture." My voice dripped with sarcasm, and some corner of my mind assured me that I would probably regret it. "I am not going to eat just so that insecure whack-job can violate my personal, private memories.”
Damon blanched, which was surprising considering how pale he already was, and he leaned down until the tips of our noses collided. “If Queen Sigrid did not need you alive to extract your memories, I would kill you for saying such things. Do it again and I may not be able to keep myself from taking your life.”
“Oh my God, you’re in love with her.”
“Silence!” He grabbed a handful of my hair and squirrel-dragged me farther away from my dungeon cell's door. He knelt in front of me, and the frigid violence in his eyes froze me where I sat. “You are never to voice that thought again! If you do, I’ll kill you and damn the consequences. Do we understand one another?”
I swallowed violently and nodded as much as I could with his hand still fisted in my hair. “We do now.”
“Good." He simultaneously shoved me toward the bowl and two cups sitting next to my blanket. "Now, you will eat the food I brought you.”
“Whatever you say,” I grumbled, rubbing my sore, stinging scalp.
“Every morsel better be gone when I return,” he growled.
“I’ll get right on that,” I snapped, glaring balefully up at him. I couldn’t help the sarcasm, and I could tell it got under his skin because his eye started twitching just before he turned and stormed out. One more point for me.
I considered dumping everything into the sewer, but my hunger got the better of me. I even drank the God-awful wine, which tasted like what I’ve always imagined lighter fluid would taste like. Well, if I ever make it to 21, this is definitely not on my list of things to drink. Lighter fluid or not, it warmed me up and I huddled in the blanket once again, knowing it wouldn’t be long before Damon was back.
I was still awake when Damon returned and didn’t bother protesting when he hauled me up and marched me back to Sigrid’s study chamber. I was numb and I knew there wasn’t a single thing I could do to stop her. I slumped onto a wooden bench and gave her a hollow-eyed stare. “Go ahead and get this over with, will you?”
She beamed at Damon. “Your methods worked, Damon. I must say I am surprised and impressed.”
I watched him flush with pleasure and stare down at the floor. “Thank you, my queen.”
She nodded and turned her attention to me. “Surrender the truth, witch.”
My most recent Christmas flashed by. Once again, I missed Noah terribly as I sketched what I imagined he must look like now. I was stunned by my father’s marriage to Michelle. I showed up on my mother’s doorstep; I took that fateful walk to clear my head. I relived being hit by the car, being punted into the middle of the icy road, and the blinding pain as my head slammed into the icy asphalt. After that, nothing…there was a black void and then I was blinking up at Sigrid.
She glared at me with confused frustration and tried to force her way into my memory again. No memory came. My mind didn’t reveal my encounter with the Messengers. I was sure that was their doing, and I was beyond grateful for it. I almost laughed when she smashed the nearest oil lamp, and Damon calmly extinguished the fire.
“It’s useless,” she shrieked, “Take her back to the dungeon until I can find a way to get around this mental block of hers.”
I couldn’t hold the laughter in any longer, and my hysterical giggling even made the hairs on the back of my neck stand up. Damon dragged me back to my cell and sat me down with my back against the stone wall. I slumped forward and laughed myself to sleep, muttering a genuine, grateful thank-you to the Messengers, or God, or whatever as I went.
5
Déjà Vu?
I jarred awake as something clamped over my mouth. I tried to scream, but it was no use, only coming out as muffled squeal-grunts. I attempted to turn my head, but the hand clamped harder around my jaw and the person’s other arm snaked around my waist. I could feel whoever it was hauling me back against a hard, warm chest as the masculine-feeling body stood up, pulling me with what I assumed was a him. He was tall enough that my toes were barely brushing the dungeon’s stone floor. I clawed at the hand over my mouth and whoever had me squeezed my waist tighter, forcing the air out of my lungs in a defeated woosh.
“Stop,” a masculine voice hissed. “Don’t fight me. I’m getting you out of here.”
I went still and gave a cautious nod. It seemed like an age before the man let go of my waist and pulled his hand away from my mouth. “Who are you?” It was a desperate, demanding hiss. I don't even sound like myself.
“Who I am is of little consequence, witch. How many of the Queen’s guards have you scarred with those bloody talons of yours?” The man growled and muttered something I couldn't make out under his breath.
It took me a moment to register the feeling of blood on my fingertips. “Oh. Sorry.”
“Don’t apologize." I tried to turn toward his voice, but almost lost my balance, so I stopped. "It was instinct, and I wager you’ll be needing instincts like that here.”
“Why?” Seconds after I blurted the question, I mentally kicked myself. Even I knew it was dumb.
“Do your current surroundings not answer that question well enough?” He sounded like my question had pissed him off, and I winced.
“Fair point. How, exactly, do you plan to get me out of here? How in the world did you get in here, for that matter?”
“Save the questions for later," He snapped. "We need to leave now, so follow me.”
I heard him move, an shifted with discomfort. “I can’t see.”
The man grunted in frustration, grabbed my arm, and pulled me toward him. I stumbled into his chest and jumped back like I’d been struck by lightning. He snorted and moved around behind me, placing his hands on my waist. I shuddered at his hot breath whispering in my ear. “I’m going to guide you, just trust me.”
“Yeah, right.” As if I've got a whole lot of reason to trust anybody in this crazy world.
“Will you stop being difficult and let me rescue you?” Something about his exasperated tone sounded familiar, but in a way I couldn't quite put my finger on.
“What’s your angle?” I was momentarily caught off guard at the heaviness of my newfound cynicism.
“Be quiet,” he growled. He nudged me forward and I caught a strong whiff of sewage.
“Oh, no.” I put on the proverbial brakes, hard.
“Do you want to get out of here or not?” He pushed me again, a little harder, and the soles of my boots skidded and ground on the dusty stone floor.
“Of course I do, but isn’t there some other way to get out of here that doesn't involve the sewer?”
“This is the best way,” he snapped, “but you’re welcome to try and find your own way out. That seems to have worked quite well for you so far.”
I clenched my teeth and hissed a sigh through them. “Fine, but you’re not allowed to be angry if I throw up on you—this was your idea.”
“Charming,” he drawled, pouring the sarcasm on thick.
“I’m just warning you. That is the most awful smell I’ve ever encountered!”
“Stop talking and start moving.” He gripped me under my arms, lowered me into the hole and let go. I fell at least a couple of feet and staggered into a wall when my feet slipped on the wet stone. I couldn’t stop myself from gagging and clapped my hands over my mouth and nose as human, or elven, waste squished up a
round my boots. I decided that I'd probably feel better if I quit fighting the urge to throw up. I gave up and emptied the sparse contents of my stomach while I waited for the mystery man to join me in the sewer.
I heard him splash down next to me and wiped my mouth with the back of my hand before croaking out, “How did you get the bars out of the way?”
“I told you to save your questions.” He grabbed my upper arm and started tugging me through the narrow sewer tunnels, which felt just big enough for a person to get through and clean them out once or twice a year.
“This is disgusting. We’re going to get some kind of disease traipsing around in this mess.”
He ignored my statement and continued pulling me through the mazelike tunnels. Visibility started to improve as we continued and after a couple more minutes, I could see just fine. I jerked my arm out of his grip and he turned to stare at me in frustrated confusion.
“What are you doing?”
“I can see now, thanks. You don't have to keep dragging me behind you like a child.”
He threw back the hood of his cloak and backed me against a wall, his hazel eyes, a mixture of dark chocolate and gold flecks, glittering with the calculation of a predator. “Don’t do anything stupid, girl.”
I stared at a nearly perfect copy of the drawing I'd done of how I imagined Noah must look now. It was like my representation came to life of its own accord. I floundered, unable to think, almost unable to breathe with the shock of what I was seeing. “Noah?" I gasped and shook my head as if to clear it and returned to the point that bothered me most about his behavior. "I have a name, you know.”
He rolled his eyes and pushed a hand through the dark brown curls of his hair. I admit it, I was distracted for a couple of seconds by how long it was—it fell a few inches below his shoulders. If he'd cut it, he would have been a perfect replica of my speculative sketch of Noah. “Please, tell me how you would like me to address you, and I will be happy to oblige.”
The fact that he'd sounded nothing but belabored and annoyed since the beginning of my so-called rescue ruffled my feathers and I snapped back at him. “Don’t take that sarcastic tone with me. You don’t have to be a jerk.”
“What tone? What's a jerk?” The incredulity and sass in his voice increased by about tenfold.
“That one,” I hissed. "You obviously don’t care what my name is, and I’m guessing you aren’t likely to call me anything besides ‘girl.’”
I saw a muscle in his jaw twitch and he spoke through gritted teeth. “I was serious and please pardon my tone. I’m just a little irritated that you feel the need to be a talkative, nosy, typical female while I’m trying to rescue you.”
“How original," I huffed. "I’m being rescued by a male chauvinist.”
“A what?” He snapped, growing more agitated by the second.
“A man who assumes that women know nothing and believes that we females should worship the ground he walks on.”
“Are you going to tell me your name or not?" He crossed his arms and glared down at me. "That is what this fit is about, isn't it?”
“My name is Lauren.” I crossed my arms and gave him a suspicious glare. “What about you? Do you have a name?”
“Yes. If you insist on using names, you may call me Kieran. Are you finished antagonizing the man who just saved you now, or are you determined to convince me to take you back to that putrid little cell of yours?”
“Fine,” I mumbled under my breath.
“What was that? I didn’t hear you.” His sing-song, taunting tone made the hair on the back of my neck stand up for a moment, but the mention of taking me back to my cell had successfully subdued my feistiness, for the moment.
“I’ll behave,” I grumbled.
He smirked. “Now, was that really so hard?”
“Shut up.”
“You first.” His comeback was so quick and natural that it made my heart stutter for a moment. He has to be Noah, somehow. I shook the thought off, knowing that it was probably 98% wishful thinking.
I sighed and shook my head. “When are we going to get out of this reeking maze?”
He shrugged and leaned against the wall with one shoulder. “We have to wait until the sun goes down. What happened to you being quiet?”
I crossed my arms and stared up at the ceiling. I’m going to kill him if he keeps this up, I thought.
It felt like an age passed before light began to fade in the passage and night fell. Kieran, or Noah's doppelgänger as I thought of him, shoved his cloak at me. “Put that on and pull the hood up. Don’t take the hood off for any reason.”
I shrugged on the mass of heather-gray cloth, clasped it, and flipped the hood up over my head. “All right, I’m ready.”
“Not yet.” Kieran shook his head and tugged on my hair. “You need to hide this. I’m reasonably sure that you are the only female in Daraglathia with obscenely long black hair.”
“Gee, thanks.”
“You are such a girl! Just hide the hair, will you? It’s nothing personal, people in Daraglathia just don’t have black hair. It’s unnatural and it makes you easily identifiable, which is a problem.”
I glared at him as I stuffed my hair back in the hood. “Happy now?”
“Much better, now let’s go.”
I followed him out of the sewers and through an endless labyrinth of claustrophobic back alleys before he stopped in a small, cobbled courtyard. The stench of horse droppings wafted out of the thatch-roofed stable that made up one side of the courtyard’s perimeter, and it was almost a welcome change after spending most of the day in the sewers wading through humanoid waste. Kieran crossed the hard, well-worn cobblestone yard and knocked on a wooden door that I hadn’t even noticed. A moment later, an older, portly man pulled the door open and glared out at us until recognition bloomed on his weary features.
“Kieran! Come in, my friend. How are you?” His greeting dwindled as he sniffed and pinched his nose. “You smell horrible! Have you been running around in a sewer?”
“As a matter of fact, I have." Kieran gave an ironic bow, accompanied by a sarcastic grin before continuing. "Listen, Eric, the girl and I both need baths, new clothes, and to have these clothes washed. Our shoes need cleaning and we need an extra pair of boots each.”
“Girl?” The man peered around Kieran and frowned, squinting at me through half-moon spectacles.
“Is this she? Why on earth is she wearing a hooded cloak in midsummer?”
“Sigrid’s soldiers are looking for her. It’s best if no one has a chance to identify her. Come to think of it, she could use a cloak of her own, as well.”
Eric nodded and ushered us in. “Private baths, I assume?”
Kieran thought about it for a moment and shrugged. “I’ll chance it in the public baths, but take her to my room and have a tub of hot water carried in.”
The pub keeper bowed so deeply that his glasses almost fell off his nose. “I will see to it immediately. Follow me, miss.”
I hesitated until Kieran gave an encouraging nod. Eric led the way up two sets of narrow, creaky stairs, pushed open a heavy oak door and stood aside so I could enter. “You’ll be safe here at the Eyrie, miss. If you need anything at all, please do not hesitate to ring for me.” He gestured to a rope beside the door and started to leave.
“What about payment?" I shifted uncomfortably and wrung my hands. "I don’t have any money.”
Frost: An Otherworld Tale (The Otherworld Tales Book 1) Page 6