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Chapter twenty-two

Sifa

Trapped in My Cell

“W hat the fuck are you doing here?”

This questioner is different, more familiar, than the last guard we found. The man behind me knows him.

“Fuck if I didn’t find the dragon and the female—a gods-damned female—who stole him.” These words are full of defiant pride. I’m quite the catch, it seems.

“Are you shitting me? Can I see her?”

The blindfold rips away, dragging a good chunk of my hair with it. But I hold back my yelp of pain. These males won’t get that satisfaction from me. Four soldiers on horses stare, different emotions on every face. One is amused; the others are varying degrees of curious and skeptical.

The Nest is behind them. I’ve only seen it from the outside a few times and never from the road we’re on now. But there’s no mistaking it—an enormous mountain cleaved by caverns large enough for dragons to pass. The range is remarkable for its size, but more remarkable for the desolation that surrounds these caves. Even the trees and grasses that blanket other peaks refuse to provide cover for the horrors that occur within this pile of rock.

Dread wraps around me as I acknowledge what I’ve known since I escaped a decade ago. It’s always been my destiny to return here for my death.

“Gods-damned looker, that one,” the new guard says, his gaze roaming up and down me before it rests on my chest. He’s a large man, but that’s not what catches my attention. It’s the undertone of yellow flesh peeking out from his uniform. When he finally looks up, I see his eyes are the same. I wonder how much longer he has to live. “Can I have a go at her before you take her into the Nest?”

And just like that, he’s joined the list of males I intend to kill. If he survives long enough for my vengeance.

“She’s tricky,” the guard behind me responds as one hand reaches out to grab my tit. Just because he can, the bastard. My skin crawls, and it’s all I can do to keep myself from flinging my head back. But I’m badly outnumbered, and they’d as soon kill as capture me. He tweaks a nipple before dropping both hands to rest high on my thighs.

He’s near the top of my list of males to kill. Fucker.

“What’s she gonna do? There’s five of us. It’s not like she could get away.”

“She killed a trainer and captured the dragon. And she seduced a gods-damned dragon rider who found her first, probably about to kill him. She’s fuckin’ tricky, and I’m not untying her until she’s in the Nest.” His voice is firm, threatening. He’s not taking any chances with me. “This is my capture,” he adds for good measure.

“Fine,” the other guard grumbles. “Let ‘em pass,” he adds as he tugs on his reins to back his horse out of the way. The others do the same, opening a path for us to follow. Everyone spouts off the obligatory “For the Dróttning” and we’re moving again in the wrong fucking direction.

I’m struggling to hold myself together as we approach the Nest. The dread that began when the guard took me from Astarot has grown into an invasive blight, roaming through my system to corrupt every part of me. Any hope I felt when we started is gone, forced out by the dread that I won’t survive this torture again. My only prayer is being sent to one of the elven prisons right away. Where I’ll wish I was dead.

“Maybe I should have fucked you when I had the chance,” the guard whispers into my ear.

His breath is laden with the stench of rotten teeth, and I have no idea how I didn’t notice it earlier. As I look around, though, I realize all my senses are more alert. The pommel under my hands is rougher, my fingers finding the ridges and grooves they’d missed this entire ride. The landscape around us is more defined, the hues richer, with emerald in the bushes and trees, and periwinkle and ruby in the flowers.

When I feel Tindera’s touch, I understand. My eyes water and I fight to hold back the tears that want to roll down my cheeks. Regardless of Fhord’s feelings, Tindera is here for me. Her bond to Astarot is strong, even from this distance, and his love for me radiates through her. She’s helping me in her own way, giving me the advantage of her dragon senses as I enter the Nest and examine the cage they’ll send me to.

The blindfold drops back into place as he ties it around my head. “Don’t try anything,” he snarls. “I’ve done my part and got you to the Nest alive. If you die here, it’s not on me.” He pauses a moment, his hands wrapping around my breasts again, my skin tightening everywhere he touches, trying to shrink away from him. “I just wish I could be the one to do it,” he adds as he drops his hands and lifts himself from the saddle before untying and yanking me down with him.

“This one took the dragon,” he declares, shoving me forward. “The beast was injured and needed to be sewn up. If he survives, they’ll bring him here.”

“The wound was deep,” a strange voice responds. “The dragon probably won’t live. You’re lucky you weren’t the one wielding the bolt. We’ve already dispatched of the man who took it upon himself to attack.”

I crumple to the ground as my knees give out. My chest is caving in, holding on to each breath like it’ll be my last. And maybe it will be. I’ve barely bonded with Astarot, but I know I won’t survive his death. I wouldn’t want to try. If my dragon goes, I’ll follow him.

Alive . Tindera drops that single word into my mind. Unlike with Astarot, it doesn’t carry a wealth of meaning with it. We don’t have the kind of bond necessary for that. But it’s something. I cling to it like a life raft. It may be the thing that salvages my sanity while I’m here.

“Take her below.” An unknown voice orders me to the dungeon. “Wait,” he adds after a moment. “Put the band on her first.”

A knife slices through the thick cords Fhord used to bind my wrists and I feel them drop to the ground. Metal wraps around my neck, tight and cold, but I barely notice. My mind is trapped in my cell, ten years ago. It’s dredging up every horror I’ll soon be reliving. My skin itches, and for a moment, I can almost feel the knife slicing off parts of me, blood oozing out for hours after they were done.

Without warning, the guard yanks at something attached to the collar on my neck and starts to haul me … somewhere. Twice, I stumble and lurch forward, prompting cursing. Finally, he rips away my blindfold, pulling out even more of my hair, then tugs on the chain he’s using to lead me through the tunnels. Bastard . My kill list is growing by the minute.

“Keep up,” he demands as he continues dragging me along. I can only scramble behind him, hoping he’s taking me to a cell. I’m not ready yet for the other rooms they have down here.

“Where the fuck is she?” Fhord’s voice rings through the hallway, and my treacherous, treasonous body responds before I can stop it. I literally get weak in the knees—to my eternal disgust—as a shiver rolls down my spine.

And then my heart skips a fucking beat. Because it forgot for a moment that he betrayed us. We hate him.

The guard doesn’t stop. He may not even realize Fhord’s after me. He’ll know soon enough. Fhord must be terrified I’ll betray his secrets to have gotten here so fast. I just hope he did all he could to help Astarot before he left. I’ll kill him in this life or haunt him in the next if he didn’t.

“You! Stop!” Fhord’s voice rings down the corridor, echoing off the walls, and the guard finally realizes he’s after us.

Turning, he eyes Fhord, who’s nearly running down the hall. “Who are you?”

“I’m the dragon rider who captured that prisoner,” Fhord explains in the voice that demands compliance, “and I’m here to make sure she’s still alive when the Dróttning arrives.”

“The Dróttning? Why would she come here? Or want to see this prisoner?”

“How fucking stupid are you?” Fhord demands, his tone dripping with derision. “This prisoner killed a guard and subdued a dragon. She may have been responsible for the freed prisoner. Of course the Dróttning will need to interrogate her. And this prisoner sure as fuck better be alive when she gets here.”

The guard’s eyes widen as the truth of Fhord’s words settle into him.

And my stomach flips as they settle into me. I’ll take the blame for everything. If I tried to point the finger at Fhord, it wouldn’t matter. It would look like vengeance against the man who caught me. The Dróttning will do everything in her power to wring the truth out of me, even if it’s really a lie. Because as much as I hate him, exposing Fhord means exposing Tindera. I can’t do that.

The guard’s throat expands and settles twice as he thinks about his choices. “I am commanded to take her to the rack,” he says after a moment.

Fhord’s eyes flash to mine as what looks like … fear, or maybe worry … erupts in them. In a beat, though, it’s gone, replaced by a cold disgust. “She deserves the rack,” he utters, his fists curling into balls as anger breaks through his emotions. Turning back to the guard, he wrests back control, his features dropping into a menacing calm as he releases his fingers to splay them across his thighs. “But that must wait. Hold her in a cell, ensure she’s fed and kept safe until the Dróttning arrives.”

“Those aren’t my orders,” the guard croaks. He’s terrified of the position Fhord’s placing him in.

“They are now.” Fhord watches him for a moment, then strides forward to wrest the chain from the guard’s hands. “I’ll take her. If anyone asks, tell them to take it up with Tindera’s rider.”

Without waiting for a response, Fhord turns back toward the entrance, pulling me with him. His pace slows when we’re out of the guard’s sight and he walks close enough to whisper to me.

“I need you to trust me, Sifa,” he breathes, sending a tingle down my unfaithful spine. It’s supposed to toe the line. We hate Fhord. Instead, it’s melting as it searches for the touch every part of me craves, even after what he did. A flicker of hope erupts in my gut, but I smother it. I won’t let him destroy me with the betrayal I know is coming. “I can’t get you out now, but I will. I promise.”

“Where are you taking her?” A commander I don’t recognize approaches from a corridor to the left. He wears his authority like a shield and a sword, protecting him as he attacks anyone who stands in his way.

“Did you order her to the racks?” Fhord’s tone is belittling, dismissive.

“I did. You have no authority to belay my demand.”

“Perhaps you don’t know who I am.” Fhord drops the chain as he adopts his warrior stance. He’s all threats and intimidation as he stalks forward. “I ride Tindera. I hold authority where dragon matters are concerned. This prisoner killed a trainer and stole a dragon. She will be held until the Dróttning can get here to question her.”

“This prisoner appears to have helped another prisoner escape, and killed many of our guards. She belongs to me. She goes to the rack where we can find out who helped her.”

“Would you challenge the Dróttning?” Fhord’s voice is low and dangerous. The tension in this narrow passageway feels thick, like it’s wrapped around me, draining the heat from my body. Few humans can stand up to Fhord when he’s in this mood.

This commander, though, doesn’t give up easily. He straightens his back and takes one step, placing himself in Fhord’s space. “I don’t believe the Dróttning would give one little shit about this prisoner,” he proclaims, his arm gesturing toward me in a move that nearly smacks Fhord.

Fhord’s eyes flick down to the errant limb, and I wonder how hard he’s fighting to keep himself from killing the man. “Then you’re just as stupid as your guard. The Dróttning controls the dragons and this prison. Nobody threatens or challenges that control. I will say it again. This female”—with an angry, contemptuous glare toward me—“was able to kill a trainer and then take control of a powerful dragon. She may have done what nobody has for years, breaking into the Nest to help a prisoner escape.”

Fhord pauses for a moment before leaning in to snarl his next words. “The Dróttning will need to know how. She will come here herself to question the prisoner. And the prisoner sure as fuck better be alive and healthy enough to withstand the Dróttning’s interrogation when she gets here.”

At last, a hint of doubt sneaks into the commander’s stance. Because I do sound pretty powerful when you put it that way. His shoulders drop, and he takes a step back as he glances at me. “Where would you take her?”

“Where the fuck do you think?” Fhord demands. “She needs to go to a prison cell. A secure one that can’t be compromised.”

The man watches Fhord for another moment and then dips his chin sharply. “I agree,” he declares, claiming Fhord’s order as his own. “She must be held for the Dróttning. Follow me.”

Spinning, he turns toward a hallway to the left. Fhord stalks back to grab my chain and drag me along behind him. He doesn’t speak to me again, but I hadn’t expected him to. He’s said what he could to try to earn my trust back—as if I would believe he plans to help me—and can’t risk talking to me in front of the commander.

We walk for a long time, entering a part of the prison I don’t recognize. And I’d know. The memories of my time here are engraved on my psyche, an ever-present etching through which every part of my life must pass. But while I can’t see anything I recall, the stench already has wriggled inside me to drag out emotions I never wanted to experience again. My insides crawl with every hint of rot and shit that slithers up my nostrils, and I struggle to hold back the retch that plays in my throat.

I’m almost relieved when we reach my cell. Almost. While I’m ready to get away from these males and try to find some semblance of calm amidst the horror that is the Nest, I’m overwhelmed by the realization that I’ll suffer as I wait for the Dróttning. The smell here is somehow worse than I remember—dominated by the sulfur I’d grown to despise—and the cell itself is nothing more than an empty space with a hole in the ground. No cot or blankets or water source. But I shouldn’t have expected any of that.

“Key.” Fhord drags me closer and holds out his hand.

The commander watches for a moment then gestures toward my new abode. “She’ll keep the band. She may have magic and that’ll help control it.”

I realize with his pronouncement what I’ve been missing since they wrapped the metal around my throat. I hadn’t felt Fhord, but he’s gotten good at shielding against me so that wasn’t surprising.

I don’t feel Tindera at all. I haven’t heard anything, although she comforted me before.

Worse, I can’t cast out my psyche to find any other mind. The splattering of thoughts that always sieges me is quiet. No fears respond to my own. No thirst for vengeance. No despair. No hope. No desire.

Nothing I can manipulate and control.

Nobody I can shape into my unwilling ally.

No way to escape.

And that’s what finally breaks me. I stumble into the cell and slump to the ground, my fingers holding on to the shackle that will spell my doom. They’ve found a way to hold my mind. I have no idea how I’ll get past this barrier they’ve created.

“Make sure she’s fed and kept safe.” Fhord’s words echo through me, but I don’t look up. I can’t see his face again. His betrayal cuts me more sharply than the knowledge I have no way to escape. He won’t see me collapse. He won’t see what he’s done to me.

The lock clanks, echoing through the corridor, and I hear them stride away, boots pounding on the stone floor.

Silence surrounds me, heavy like a thick cloak, and I lift my gaze and stop fighting. The tears start as a trickle, soon growing into an inferno as the grief burns through every bit of my skin and muscle and blood and sinew. For an hour, I let myself be consumed by fear and despair. But just for an hour.

Those emotions won’t help me survive.

When I feel like my broken parts have started to mend again—and I can let go of Fhord and the ache of his treachery—I straighten my back, sucking in a deep breath.

Grief won’t get me out of here. Anger. Resolve. Retribution. They are my most potent weapons. My need for vengeance—against Fhord, the Dróttning, and every single being who helped create this fucked up world—will be my salvation. Those are the emotions I’ll need to escape and exact my revenge.

So those are the emotions I nurture.

I meditate on Fhord’s betrayal, letting myself remember the game he played and how effectively he fooled me. I can’t deny it any longer. He drew those guards to Astarot and me in the cave. My dragon must have been healthier than he expected, so he pretended to help us escape, only to ensure more guards would find and capture us.

He deserves to die, but I don’t know if I can do that to Tindera. I’ll find some way to hurt him as badly as he hurt me.

Then my fury turns toward the Dróttning and everything I’ve learned about her. The words of the dead king in the grove come back to me, and I wonder how I can use his information against her. Because she must pay. She’s created a horrific world to feed her vast ego. Elves and dragons suffer the most, but they’re not the only ones.

Maybe I’m here to tear it down.

And I’ll need every bit of my strength if I’m going to do that.