From The Shadows : Book 2 in the Mortisalian Saga

by L. J. Stock

  My impatience at the chasm of silence she held was growing by leaps and bounds. I'd been gone for weeks and where the hell were they? Sure, I'd been sleeping for a while, but if it had been my father, brother or Damon in my place, I could say with my hand on my heart that wouldn't have left their sides until I had visual confirmation that they were alive and well. Rasmus and Shannon had been more messed up than I was. Was it possible they were fighting to keep them alive? I hoped so, but I had my doubts.

  “Fine!” I snapped, pushing back the covers and immediately pulling them back.

  I was naked under the blanket. It was understandable considering how long I'd spent in my clothes, but still. My mother didn't move, didn't even seem to react to my state of nudity or my reaction to it. Her eyes were still watching me, and her mouth still hadn't moved to answer my lingering question.

  Rather than asking for help, I slid from the mattress and pulled the blanket from the bed and under my mother before wrapping it around my aching body. I limped slowly to the closet where all of my yoga pants and comfy clothes were located and stared at them in a moment of glorious wonder. The room was still spinning pretty badly around me, but my determination was stronger. If my suspicions were correct, I needed to get this taken care of immediately.

  “You need to rest, sweetheart,” Mom mumbled, her voice barely registering in my ringing ears. It wasn’t what I wanted to hear. I knew what I needed and she obviously wasn't going to give it to me. Once again, answers seemed to elude her.

  “Yeah, well you need to tell me what the hell is going on, though I have a pretty good idea.”

  Finally, she seemed to come back to her senses. Her hand dropped from her chest where it had been vigilantly keeping her silent.

  “If it’s that behemoth monster you’re worried about… He kidnapped you.”

  “Bullshit. He saved my life,” I spat back, pulling on underwear under the blanket. It felt nice to have clean clothes against my body, but I was more than aware that I needed a shower. I could feel the gritty dried blood and sweat lacing my skin.

  My mother sighed, standing from her place by the bed. Her hand had moved to cover her mouth as she watched me, and I realized that no matter how shitty I felt, how broken I was, I was in this alone. She wasn't going to offer me an explanation or help to get where I needed to go, so it was on me to find my way to the dungeons, where I was pretty sure they were trying to get answers. Had I been able to keep a hold on my consciousness, I was sure things would have been different, and explanations would have been given. Unfortunately, all they saw in Grigori was a veneficus who lay unconscious and close to my broken body and had assumed the worse.

  If they'd laid one finger on him in hate, they were going to have to answer to me. Grigori had risked everything, and I hadn't saved his life just for their folly. He was my friend and under my protection. He'd risked his own life to save Rasmus, Shannon and me. He’d risked everything to get us out and we were repaying him… how? I had no doubt they’d jumped to conclusions.

  I finished getting dressed as quickly as I could manage and glared at my mother before I hobbled to the door, wincing with every step.

  “Cass, you've had a really difficult month…”

  “You have no idea what I've been through,” I growled, misguiding my anger to the wrong target. I took a deep breath and leaned against the wall next to the door, sighing when she recoiled like I’d slapped her. “I'm sorry. You just have to understand what I've been through, and there’s no way you can. You don't get it. You may never get it because you weren't there. You didn’t experience what we did. No matter what you think happened down there... You're wrong. I can guarantee that you are so very wrong.”

  I pulled open the door and was immediately met with Anker's kind and concerned eyes. I floundered for a second in confusion, before I took a deep breath and limped forward. I didn't remember hurting my ankle, but the fight in the cell had been chaos fueled by adrenaline. There was no telling how much damage I'd done.

  “Anker, where are the dungeons please?”

  “Milady?”

  “Please don't treat me like I'm an idiot.” I sighed, steadying myself by leaning against the wall. “I don't want you to get chewed out. I'm sure you were told to keep me in my room or away from the dungeon. Can you just point me in the right direction?”

  “The castra.”

  “Thank you,” I said, nodding with genuine appreciation. “Are you going to try to stop me?”

  He gave me a smile and shook his head, his eyes flicking to my mother who was edging closer. “I was told not to leave this door, milady.”

  I gave him a pat on the arm. “You're doing a phenomenal job, Anker. Keep doing what you're doing.”

  He gave me a surreptitious wink as I pushed from the wall and wobbled down toward the grand staircase. For a moment, I was curious as to why he'd pointed me in the right direction, but I realized he probably thought I wanted to see Damon. I reached the top of the stairs and looked down them with a sigh. There were staff moving and going about their daily tasks as they did every day, and it should have been comforting, but it wasn’t. All I could think was that it was going to be a long journey to the castra with the limp I was sporting.

  Taking one step at a time, I had to stop several times during the descent to rest my ankle. When I finally reached the bottom, I took a seat on the bench that was nestled into the curve of the stairs to catch my breath. Pain throbbed through me—everything hurt, and my aches seemed to have aches, all of it gathered in the pit of my stomach and aimed straight to the pounding in my head that was just as relentless. A couple of the staff noticed me and curtsied, but hurried on their way to stay out of mine. I was grateful that nobody seemed willing to try to stop me to chitchat, but then again, what could they say? I was pretty sure my face was a solid bruise.

  Armed with the ability to breathe a little better, I pushed up from the bench and tried to bite back a groan of pain. My ankle was hurting so much more now that I was putting more pressure on it.

  Sticking close to the walls, I headed down the great hall to the castra corridor. The moment I reached it, I leaned against the wall for another break. At this rate, I would get there in two hours, and that was simply unacceptable, so I cut the rest short and pushed down the corridor. My eyes scanned the walls and rooms surrounding it for any indication of where I should go. I was pretty sure it wasn’t marked with a neat sign. The point of dungeons was to keep prisoners out of sight and mind. I was in so much pain that when I came to Rasmus' door, I weighed whether I should knock and ask for directions or find the damn thing myself.

  I leaned against the wall by his door and scanned the hall for tapestries or places they could have hidden the entrance to my destination, but there was nothing that stood out. I was either losing my touch or the nausea brought on by pain was making me senseless.

  Resigned. I knocked on the door and waited, my breath coming in small spurts to push back the pain. When there was no answer, I knocked again with a little more enthusiasm. It sent another jolt of pain through my body, but I finally got a result, even though it was a grumbling. When the door was pulled open, I was shocked at the appearance on the other side of the door. Rasmus' face was swollen to the point I hardly recognized him. The swelling was circled in deep, angry, purple bruises.

  “Ras?”

  “Oh shit, Cass.” He groaned, pulling me into a gentle embrace that was worth every ounce of pain it created.

  “Are you alright?” I asked in horror, my hands flat on his back.

  “Been better,” he said weakly, releasing me and propping himself up on the doorframe. “When did you wake up?”

  “About fifteen minutes ago,” I replied, shuffling on my aching feet. I felt guilty for waking him up. He was hurt and obviously needed time to heal.

  “You want to come in? Shannon's here.”

  “No,” I answered, shaking my head. “I didn't mean to disturb you. I just needed directions to the dungeons.”
/>
  “Dungeons? Why?”

  “Why do you think, Ras?”

  He shook his head, his confusion obvious.

  “What do you remember about coming home?”

  “Not much,” he said, running his hand along the back of his neck. “I collapsed the moment we got out of the bath. “I remember getting really wet and opening my eyes seeing you with a sword, but that's it.”

  “They have Grigori in the dungeon. I think I killed Harker, too, but it's not that clear. I just know Grigori was out when we landed and...” I trailed off as my head throbbed with the attempt to remember anything that made sense.

  “Shit. Let me get dressed. I'll show you the way.”

  “No time if I’m right. I need to be there yesterday. You can catch up. Believe me, I'm moving slow.”

  “End of the hall,” he said with exhaustion, his arm lifting to point. “There's a suit of armor on display. Press the sword down.”

  I took off at a quick hobble, strength and determination flooding me now I knew where I needed to be. I waved my thanks over my shoulder as I closed in on the end of the corridor. I found the suit of armor easily and slammed down on the hilt of the sword, bouncing on my good foot as I waited for the door to open. The cool, damp air hit me almost immediately, followed by the musty smell of old straw and bodily fluids. I heard a groan of pain from deep within the belly of the staircase and started down quickly, ignoring the screaming pain of my ankle as it accepted all of my weight.

  The stairs spiraled downward, deeper and deeper into the earth and darkness. The further I went down, the louder the grunts of pain became. The louder the grunts, the more my anger boiled to the surface and pushed back any hint of pain I’d been feeling only moments earlier. At this point, I could have cared less how long it had been since I'd seen these people. I was horrified by their behavior. Jailing Grigori until they had a chance to talk to me, I could have understood. Torturing him, however, was unacceptable. I stumbled at the bottom of the stairs as the room came into view and was caught by one of the guards. I didn't look up at his face. I couldn't. The scene in front of me held all of my attention.

  Grigori had been locked into a sturdily built chair. Iron bands locked him down to the arms at the wrists. There were a circle of guards around him, but standing in the front, his eyes dark with anger, was Damon. My father was standing to his left, back from where the torture was happening, yet close enough to be a part of the investigation. My stomach rolled in disgust.

  “Tell me where the stronghold is,” Damon growled, lifting his hand to strike Grigori again, but I couldn't let it happen. I couldn't, in good conscience, stand by silently to find out what was happening while they smacked the only reason I was alive around.

  “What the hell do you think you're doing?” I shouted, my voice filled with anger, disgust and strength, which brought every eye in the room onto me, including the only working one of Grigori's.

  For a moment nothing happened. The sudden sigh of relief came from Damon. His eyes lit up and glowed as he took me in, relief flooding his features and misreading my tone.

  “Thank God you're awake,” Damon said, starting toward me.

  I raised an arm and shook my head, my eyes meeting his as anger radiated through me in small tremors.

  “Don't you dare take another step in my direction,” I spat in disgust, my head shaking in disbelief. When the King moved to come to me, I reiterated my statement and turned my glare to him. “Any of you.”

  “Cass...”

  “Don't Cass me!” I cried indignantly, hobbling forward to the door of the cell. I wasn't looking forward to stepping inside it. I knew the memories would hound me. I could already smell that bitterness of stale sweat and the metallic tang of spilled blood. “I asked you what the hell you were doing.”

  “The bastard hopped back—”

  “Wrong,” I growled, catching the arrival of Shannon and Rasmus in my peripheral vision. “I killed the veneficus that tagged along—big asshole, face like a dartboard. He was the one who wanted to rape and throw me at his king to kill. What you’re doing is torturing the only reason I'm still alive.”

  “You're not well, sweetheart—” my father started, but was cut off.

  “Sir, excuse me for speaking out of turn, but she's perfectly lucid,” Rasmus said, limping forward, his other arm around Shannon's waist holding her back. I could see her anger as she watched her nephew locked to a chair where he'd been inflicted with pain.

  I knew the feeling.

  “Unchain him. Now,” I demanded, authority lacing my tone and sending the guards to search for my father’s command.

  “Cass,” Damon whispered in confusion, but my name on his lips just made me more angry.

  “I swear to whatever deity you people worship, if you try to placate me, I will hit you so hard you'll bleed for a week, Damon.”

  Ignoring my wishes, Damon stepped forward cautiously, his eyes full of hurt and pain as he studied me, searching for some sign at all that I was happy to see him. I longed to fall into his arms the way I'd dreamed of doing for the duration of my incarceration, but I couldn't do that. I was so angry with him, with all of them. They were acting like the veneficus, treating a man who had risked so much to save my life like he was lower than an animal, and I couldn't and wouldn’t condone it. We were better than that. Even if he was a prisoner of war, they had no right to beat him. No wonder they were spreading rumors we were the instigators. There was a fine line and as far as I could see, we’d just crossed it.

  “Father, if you truly trust me, you will unchain him,” I said, ignoring Damon even as my heart pounded and ached in my chest. “The only reason I'm alive and here is because of this man. He was willing to give his freedom and even his life for mine. He sent me to safety and I was the one who chose to save him. I grabbed him and used everything I had to bring us both back. Right now, you're torturing the only reason we’re even breathing.”

  My father paused and looked between Rasmus and I before he nodded and one of the guards rushed forward to unchain Grigori from the chair. I stumbled forward as Grigori slumped, his chin falling against his chest, but Damon caught my arm and held me in place. I looked down to where his hand was gripping me, his fingers trembling. My breaths came shakily as I tried to keep my anger in check. I couldn’t do this now. I needed to calm down first.

  “What the hell happened to you there?” he said, pain lacing his tone as his other hand rose to brush wayward strands of hair from my face. “I was so worried.”

  “Yeah, I can see that,” I replied with a sardonic bite, dodging his hand and choosing to blow the dark strands from my face. “I opened my eyes to an empty room because you're down here doing this to a genuinely good man who fought to keep me alive and get me home. Tell me something—did you get satisfaction from it? Did it make you feel better to take your revenge in a pound of flesh? You should understand that I know what it's like to be in that chair, to be on the end of someone trying to beat information out of you. I know what it is to be surrounded by people who loathe me for simply being born into a situation I had no power over. You're no better than they are, Damon. You didn't even wait to see what happened, did you? You couldn't wait to pick up your duties and take your retribution.”

  “That's not how it was.”

  “No? Do you have any idea what I’ve been through? Or what it took to keep my promise and come back alive? Did you see a dead body and assume I'd missed the other one? Would it have killed you to imprison him until you knew what the situation was?”

  “Cassandra…” My father’s voice was quiet but pleading.

  “All of you stop trying to placate me. I am not a child.” I snarled, blinking back the angry tears before meeting Damon’s eyes. “No one in this room, with the exception of Rasmus and Shannon, knows what we went through there. All I wanted was to come home. I wanted to see my family and the man I love, only to find you all down here happily beating the only reason I’m not face to face with Thánato
s.”

  There was an intake of breath and I wasn’t sure where it came from. I didn’t care. Pulling my arm from Damon's grasp, I hobbled forward to the chair to help Grigori from it. He groaned as I gripped his arm in an attempt to help him stand, and draped it over my shoulder before I turned toward the door. My arm was around his waist, supporting him the best I could. He was heavier than I'd anticipated, and my legs buckled slightly, but I dug deep to find the strength I needed. When Damon stepped forward, I backed us up from him.

  “I've got this,” I gritted through my teeth.

  “Do you trust him that much?” Damon asked, his eyes on the arm I had wrapped around Grigori's waist. I looked up at Grigori before turning my eyes to Damon, fatigue suddenly drowning me until I was scrambling to tread water.

  “With my life,” I admitted, knowing it was the truth.

  Damon nodded and stepped out of my path, as did every other guard in the room. I walked us forward, and Grigori tried to keep himself upright as we moved, but I could feel the effort it cost him.

  I would have to talk to them eventually, but for now I was too disgusted to look at them. It wasn’t the homecoming I’d anticipated, and after everything I'd been through, discovering that the people I trusted most in the world were capable of the same thing I'd just been through made me want to walk away from everything. The lines between right and wrong were blurring so much I just couldn’t wrap my head around any of it.

  “Thank you, dorogaya moya.” The quiet voice drew me from my seething thoughts and I glanced up at him again.

  “I'm so sorry, Grigori. I told you they were good people and they proved me wrong.”