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Chapter twenty-seven

Sifa

It's Not Time Yet

I t makes absolutely no sense—because I’m in a hopeless situation—but for some reason, I have hope. Hope that I can survive and even get home.

I’m not sure if I would go, though. If Joralf’s right and dragons can’t pass through whatever portal between worlds brought me here, I’d have to leave Astarot behind. I don’t think I can do that. Even if it means I’ll age and die as a human would in this world.

And then there’s Fhord. Whatever he is to me. I don’t want to think about him.

I could find a way to send Toffer home. He doesn’t have to stay here just because I may choose to.

Of course, none of this matters if I can’t get out of here. Which seems impossible.

Five days pass while I wait for the guards to come back and get me. My wounds have closed, but they’re still pink and angry, not healed enough to give the Dróttning the unblemished skin she demands for some reason. I should have another day, perhaps more, before she takes her knife to me.

So I’m surprised when the guards show up early one morning and open my cell, the shrill squeal of little-used hinges waking me from a restless sleep.

“Stand.” The demand echoes around me as I roll over and look at the four guards she’s sent this time. My bones ache with the effort, days of sleeping on concrete amplifying the agony of the Dróttning’s abuse.

“It’s not time yet,” I whisper, dread coiling in my stomach. “The Dróttning wants unblemished skin.” The cold around me seeps deeper into my joints, triggering nerves up and down my spine that had calmed for a time. I’ve barely moved and I’m already miserable.

“We’re not gonna play with you yet,” the guard insists, his gaze turning toward Joralf’s cell. And then his door is screeching as another guard’s voice, low and menacing, floats toward me. “We’ll see how you like his punishment.”

Fuck. Images of Toffer rise in my thoughts. I’d come to hate his torture more than my own. Once we became friends—when our friendship turned into love—they started using us against each other. That’s why they put us close enough to talk. Captives form strong bonds, and they used everything they could to pressure us to comply.

“I don’t give a fuck what you do to him,” I declare, disdain in my voice as I hear Joralf stumble to his feet. “You’re just wasting your time.”

“Lucky for you we have nothing else to do.” His eyes narrow, and he takes a step into the cell. “I’m not allowed to mar your skin, but I have many other ways to hurt you. Stand up. Now.”

I bite back the groan that threatens to flow from my gut into my throat. Joralf stumbles toward the guards waiting outside my cell, his gaze meeting mine. He’s as broken down as I’d expected, but his back is straight, even after so many months of torture. He’d stand a full head taller than me, and hints of blonde hair lie hidden beneath the grunge and dirt that covers every part of him. With a narrow face, wide eyes and full lips, I can see the beautiful and alluring elf his mate fell in love with. It’s the color of his eyes, though, that draws me in. This place hasn’t dimmed their light. They’re as blue as the sea, warm and bright. Despite everything, they’re smiling at me.

I nod as the corners of my lips lift, just a touch. We had more of a reprieve than I’d hoped. The first time I was here, every day brought new and different pain.

Joralf and I have been through this before. We’ll survive today too.

We trudge toward the dungeon, our steps as slow as the guards will allow. I’m shoved twice, nearly toppling to the ground, with a snide remark about my pace. I can’t bring myself to go faster, though. I cling to every second of delay like it’s a lifeline.

Too soon, we step into the cavern I dread. My eyes grow wide as I glance around to find another rack facing the original. They are a dozen feet apart, giving both of us a clear view of the other. They didn’t do this when Toffer and I were here. Then, one of us just curled into a ball as far away as possible, trembling as we watched the other suffer, helpless to do anything to stop it. The guards soon forgot about us in their glee at finding new and different ways to cause pain to whoever was being tormented that day.

The Dróttning’s torture has grown more sophisticated. Lucky us.

They bind Joralf to the rack that’s absorbed so much blood it’s turned crimson. Unbidden, a shiver rumbles through me, my mind dragging up the feel of the wood on my bare skin. The dread that always settles in me when I’m stretched across its planks, deep and cold, finds its place again in my gut. My bones feel like ice that will never melt, holding me perpetually in a Helheim that’s somehow achingly frigid.

Like me, Joralf doesn’t fight the ropes that twist around his wrists and ankles, securing him in place.

And then I’m shackled across from him, his face all I let myself see. As I did with Toffer when he suffered, my eyes hold Joralf’s, mirroring his agony in my expression, never shrinking away from his pain. I make sure he knows I’m here with him, every step of the way.

“This one’s my favorite,” one of the men proclaims, his knife shaving off one of Joralf’s nipples and tossing it to the side.

My friend’s face twists as he fights to hold in the scream. I watch, impotent, as his body shudders through the anguish. For ten seconds, maybe more, he holds his breath, struggling to control his reaction. And then he smiles.

“Yup,” the guard says, a self-satisfied grin turning his face even more grotesque. “This is why I like this elf. It’s been, what”—he looks up at another guard—“five months since I made him scream. It’s a challenge. And I love a good challenge.”

The blade rips up from its place near Joralf’s groin, removing skin all along the path to Joralf’s other nipple, which is tossed aside too. Again, Joralf seems to battle the need to scream and cry and rage, every part of him shaking as if a gust of wind rushed into this room to dance around and with him. His eyes close and he sucks in a breath, and then another. A cruel smile follows as he lifts his lids and glares at his tormentor.

The abuse continues for what must be hours, although I have no way to judge the passage of time so deep in Vanatia’s bowels. Twice, I let my gaze drop from Joralf’s as his face reflects the torment they’re inflicting and he glances down at his maimed body. I can’t see a bit of skin, the blood and gore so thick it seems impossible that Joralf is the only source. When he looks up, I do the same. And I hold him the only way I can.

I’m numb, and I’m sure Joralf is too. We’ve both learned this lesson. Every emotion, save one, is dangerous. We can allow ourselves rage alone here. But that takes energy that drips from open wounds, red and black. The only thing to do at this point is shut down. Endure the pain. Wait.

Occasionally, the guard laughs, a wicked gurgle that erupts from his belly devoid of any joy. Hate drives him. “I fucking love this,” he bellows as he looks around the room, smirking at each of the guards in turn before he glances back at Joralf. Spinning to face me, he adds in a low voice, “You’re next. But I’ll be tasting those nipples—and the rest of you—before I take them as trophies. You’re as sweet as they come.”

“Fuck. You.” The anger that pours out of me is cleansing. I grasp onto it like a life raft, clinging to the knowledge that he and the rest of them will deserve every ounce of pain I can inflict. And then I spit, a measly amount of saliva all I can muster, but enough to reach him.

His finger rises to his cheek. He wipes off the spittle and then, with a leer, licks it clean. “Like I said. Fucking tasty. I can’t wait until the Dróttning gives you back to me.”

“But wait you will,” she says as she strides into the cavern. The guard backs away from us, and I spin my head, my thoughts scattering as I realize I didn’t even hear her approach. Glancing around, I can see that nobody else did either. They’re surprised, but they’ve experienced this before. She has some way to conceal the sound of the heels that now click-clack across the stone. She’s a snake, hiding when she wants to better attack her prey.

She stops just in front of Joralf, her hand lifting to drag a sharp nail around the mess of tissue that used to surround his belly button. “Such good work,” she purrs with a nod toward the guard. “He’ll feel your torment for days.” She straightens, licking the blood off her finger. “Take his cock next, then return him to his cell,” she demands in a dismissive tone, her hand waving as if Joralf’s presence offends her.

“No.” The word escapes before I can stop it. A tremor rolling through me, I straighten my spine and say it again. “No. It’s my turn. Just send him back to his cell.”

“Not yet, elf,” the Dróttning responds in a cold whisper. “We have much to do before you’ll be ready to share your secrets with me. You and I will have fun while we prepare.” Her hand snakes out to rub along my bare skin, skimming my thigh before lifting up to graze my stomach and ribs, landing on the swell of a breast. “So much fun,” she adds as her thumb caresses my nipple.

Revulsion ripples through me, my flesh crawling, desperate to escape her touch.

“Not yet, though,” she repeats, taking a step back. “Her skin is nearly ready. It must be clear, none of this pink remaining.” She lifts her arm, waving at me with a little grimace. “I don’t like to work with blemished skin.”

“We won’t touch her,” one of the women declares, her voice firm. “She’ll be ready for you.”

“Good. After you return the male to his cell, bring this one to my rooms.” Turning, she strides away, the sound of her steps echoing through the room as she goes. Before she walks out, she pauses and spins, her gaze meeting mine. “I’ll tell her what she can expect,” she adds before giving us her back and strutting out the door.

Silence hangs around us for a moment, broken by the lead guard’s laugh. “My favorite part,” he sneers, lifting his blade as he stalks toward Joralf.

This time, Joralf can’t hold in his scream. As the knife slices through the tissue and muscle hanging between his legs, his lips split and he emits the most anguished sound I’ve ever heard. He pants through the agony, his eyelids tight as he struggles to find his control. Finally, a minute or more after the guard attacked him, his breathing slows. And he smiles.

“It always grows back bigger,” he gasps out, his eyes hard as they focus on the man who’s caused both of us so much pain. “When I take yours, it won’t grow back. And mark my words. I will carve your cock from you and shove it directly into your gut before I leave this world. You will know every bit of the pain you’ve given me.”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” the guard responds, flicking Joralf’s penis toward the rest of the skin and tissue he’s stripped off while we’ve been in here. “Big fucking words from an elf who’ll never be free again.” He rubs his hand on his grimy pants. “Take them where the Dróttning wants,” he directs as he strides out of the cavern.

I can only watch as they free Joralf, their hands causing even more pain everywhere they touch. He collapses, sucking in breath until someone kicks him. “Stand up. We ain’t gonna carry you back to your cell.”

“I’ll stand when I’m ready.” Joralf’s voice is firmer and more controlled than mine would be. He waits a few more seconds before lifting himself to his feet. “Be strong, Sifa,” he murmurs before turning to walk away, his back straight and shoulders pushed back.

A male and a female remain, waiting by the entrance for someone to return to take me to the Dróttning’s rooms. I desperately want to let my mind wander—to search for Fhord, much as I hate to admit it to myself—but I can’t. Even if I weren’t wearing the manacle, the Dróttning could exploit any opening in the shield I’d create around my mind. I can only keep her out if I hold an impenetrable barrier whenever she’s around.

They finally come to retrieve me, laughing as I drop to my knees after so many hours stretched out on the rack. I want nothing more than to pause on the floor, let my body rest even for a minute. But before I’m ready, a hand grasps my hair to pull me to my feet.

“We can’t keep the Dróttning waiting,” a guard snarls in my ear as he pushes me forward.

They don’t give me clothes, but I hadn’t expected they would. This place stripped me of the shame of a naked body a decade ago. I lift my chin and take a deep breath before I stride into the caves. Anger swirls through me as leers and taunts follow me down the hall, but I refuse to let myself care. The disgrace they should bear for being part of this is so much greater than any I’ve ever known.

I’m surprised when we reach a door that must belong to the Dróttning. For some reason, I hadn’t thought they’d really bring me here, despite her command. I spent weeks in this place last time and never saw her, barely felt her presence. She’s apparently decided to take a special interest in me now.

The guard swings open the door, and I struggle to hide my disgust. The Dróttning wears the only color in the room, a robe as red as the blood she craves. Gray and black furniture is scattered throughout to create different sitting areas, but it all looks uncomfortable. Her rooms are as sterile and cold as her, weapons adorning the walls but nothing else. My gaze lands with surprise on shackles I wore when I came from Midgard. I’d nearly forgotten about them—although I’ll never forget which bones my captors broke to squeeze my hands through the cuffs they couldn’t unlock.

“Leave us,” she commands the guard who shoves me into the room. Her head cocks to the side as she looks at me, a puzzle she’s never been able to solve. “Sit,” she says after a moment, waving her hand at a couch in the center of the room.

I return her gaze, examining her as she just did me. And then I smile and stroll toward her, plopping down on the cushion. The material feels like burlap, rough and dry against my bare skin. I glance around and my smile grows more broad as I realize she’s placed me on the only piece of furniture covered with such an uncomfortable material. She’s petty and cruel even in the little things.

“Why am I here?”

The corners of her lips lift in a curious sneer. My heart beats a dozen times before she responds, while I focus on keeping my hands still. I won’t let them shake in her presence.

“We didn’t meet when you were here before,” she reminds me at last.

“We did not.”

“Do you know why I kept you here? Instead of sending you to one of the camps that holds your kind?”

“Camps? Is that what you call the prisons?”

Her expression shifts to frustration for a moment, a flicker of anger rising before she smothers it. “Answer me.”

I watch her in silence, wondering why a simple question would draw such ire. When she seems like she’s ready to ask again—or perhaps strike me—I respond. “I have no idea.”

“Let’s have no lies between us,” she snarls. “We both know you’ve been hiding something—or someone—since you landed in this world. I need to know where I’ll find it. Or her.”

The fear that trickles down my spine doesn’t surprise me. I hope she can’t hear my heart, which is growing frantic in my chest. For ten years, I’ve barely let myself even think about this secret. I may have been the one who broke out of this prison, but I’ve become convinced that something about her brought us here from our worlds, then carried her away from the Nest before the Dróttning could find and imprison her. If I’m right, she’ll be key to us returning when I find the path.

Nobody knows. Not even Toffer. It’s why I won’t let myself break now. The Dróttning can’t have her.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I declare, my voice as steady as I can make it.

The Dróttning shakes her head, adopting an expression that’s supposed to look like disappointment but doesn’t hide the anger in her eyes. “I already know more than you think,” she says, her voice growing low. “If you want to save her life—yes, I know it’s a girl,” she adds as she sees the reaction I can’t hide—“you’ll tell me where you’ve hidden her. Don’t make me take it from you.”

A knock interrupts whatever she’s about to say. Smiling again, she turns toward the door. “Come.”

And then Fhord walks in, a sneer on his perfect lips. My breath catches in my throat, my chest expanding as my body responds on its own to his presence. He’s so achingly beautiful. I can’t believe I thought for a moment he might be mine.

He turns his eyes directly toward me. I see something that looks like alarm or fear in them before he shutters that emotion. A leer emerges, his eyes softening as he looks over my naked body, pausing at my breasts and the tips of my thighs, then roving back up. Slowly.

And of course, my gods-damned nipples stand to alert like Fhord’s their fucking commander calling them to salute. My center grows hot, the flames spilling out in a wash of desire as Fhord fucks me with his eyes. Even here in one of the coldest rooms in these caves, my body responds to Fhord with a heat I’ve never felt before.

His gaze moves back to my nipples, still poking out like they’re saying “hello” to him, and stays there. “I’m happy to see you too, little elf,” he growls at me. His hand reaches down to caress his groin, which has bulged out of his pants in the few seconds since he saw me. “I’d hoped to be the one to remove your clothes the first time I saw you naked, but this’ll do. I’ll make sure we’re alone next time.”

“Fuck. You.” I spit out the words, struggling to stop the tremble threatening to consume me.

“Soon,” Fhord responds with a wink. Turning toward the Dróttning, he gestures at me, one eyebrow quirking up. “What is this?” he asks in a voice that holds curiosity but nothing else.

“A gift,” she purrs. “I heard you were interested in her. I thought you might like to finish what you started in the forest when you should have been capturing the dragon.”

He nods, grinning like the shit-eating bastard he is, and looks back at me. “A generous gift, indeed. To what do I owe this … pleasure?”

“Consider it a gesture of my goodwill. You may do with her what you want. When she’s returned, I expect her skin to look like this. As you know, I do not like to play with scarred skin.”

“I thank you,” Fhord declares as he drops into a deep bow. “I’ll have fun with her.” He spins toward the door, striding over to call in a guard before stalking toward me. “Take her back to her cell. Give her clothes and food and leave her alone. Let it be known she’s mine. Nobody else may see—or touch—what belongs to me.”

His hand reaches out to caress my cheek and despair flares inside me, only to be pushed out by humiliation. Fighting back tears as my throat constricts, I let myself glance at him, see the firm set of his jaw, his flat, empty eyes, and a cruel smirk. But the pain of his betrayal lasts just a moment. Anger takes its place, dragging me back to my time in the caves when I wanted nothing more than vengeance. With quivering muscles and a heartbeat that’s poised to fight, I lift my hand and smack his away.

Fhord smiles and stretches out his arm, beckoning me toward the guard.

“Go, little elf,” Fhord whispers when I don’t move. “Before I carry you back to the cell myself. Or maybe you’d like my arms wrapped around your naked body.”

The room blurs as reality sinks in. The shame I felt before is nothing compared to what I’ll feel in Fhord’s hold, knowing I’m just a toy for him to play with. Even though I’d wanted to be so much more to him.

But I won’t let Fhord see me cry. Standing, I stride out the door. Somehow, I hold back the tears through the caverns and corridors we follow back to the prison. Only when I’m in my cell, dressed and huddling in a corner, do I release the firm grip I’ve held on my emotions.

And I grieve.