Before She Ignites (Fallen Isles Trilogy #1)(6)

And this dread and doom was real, wasn’t it? I was in the Pit. Trapped. Far from Ilina and Hristo. Far from the only people who knew the truth.

I pried my fingers from the iron grille. Ugly ruddy marks circled my wrists where the metal shackles had bitten into my skin. Mother would have been furious. What if it scarred?

The thought of Mother made me stagger back, deeper into my cell, as the crushing terror descended again, harder than before. My heart battered the inside of my chest, too hard, too fast, growing thunderous in my ears.

On Damina, prisoners were given time to wash and a change of sturdy clothes before they were locked away, but I’d received no such decency. My possessions had been taken from me upon my arrest. Hairpins, jewelry, and anything else that could be used as a weapon—everything was confiscated.

In the holding cell on Damina, I had nothing but what I was wearing—a once-beautiful wrap dress and matching slippers—and that was all I was permitted. I’d padded into the interrogation room in my wrinkled clothes, my hair wild, and a rank odor coming off me.

I knew why I’d been left there, though, sitting in my own stink for two days. It made me look deranged. Like a liar. Because of course filth and lies went hand in hand, and if I was a liar then I needed to look the part. Mother had surely protested, but when one’s enemies included the entire Luminary Council, certain dignities were stripped away. Like bathing. Like looking human.

Like a trial, though I’d begged and insisted and demanded one.

Another sob exploded out, and I crumpled to the floor, palms flat on the stone, my forehead resting on my knuckles. The knot of horror grew until it filled every part of me. Fingers and toes and the tips of my hair. It swarmed around me. There was no escape. No respite. No calming pills. No hot bath with soothing oils.

Alone. Abandoned. Apart from everyone I loved. All because of one act of trust. One truth. One horrible mistake.

My head throbbed as the tears fell and fell.

Maybe they would drown me.





BEFORE





Nine Days Ago


AFTER THE SENTENCING, ILINA AND HRISTO WERE permitted to visit.

The room we’d been given had three noorestones and one window that took up most of one wall. Luminary Guards wearing off-white linen uniforms strode through the hall on the other side, not paying attention to us. At least, I didn’t think they were. Masks covered the lower parts of their faces, while deep hoods shadowed their eyes.

I wished I had something to hide my eyes, too. They burned with hot tears, and my face felt puffy from hours spent crying in my cell.

“We don’t have long.” Ilina’s voice was tight as she placed her bag on the table and began removing combs and bands and moisturizers, but this hardly seemed like the time. “They said we could say good-bye, and I thought . . .” She lifted a comb.

“You’re not my maid. That isn’t your job.”

“Let me,” she said. “As a friend.” She was trying not to cry, so obediently I sat and swallowed back my own sobs as she combed and pinned and spread passionflower-scented cream through my hair.

Hristo stood nearby, his arms crossed over his chest while he watched.

“I don’t think I’ve ever done your hair before.” She began twisting strands into flat ropes that would stay put for days—longer, if I was careful. “I wish I had. I just—I don’t understand.”

I couldn’t bring myself to speak.

“How can the Luminary Council do this?” Ilina twisted and twisted my hair so tight it hurt. “I thought they would listen to you. How could they let—”

Hristo held up a hand and shook his head. “Someone could overhear.”

Ilina kept working until my head had twenty-five tiny, flat twists and one of the Luminary Guards banged on the door to signal their time was up. “Can’t we make some kind of appeal?”

“There wasn’t even a trial.” I stood to look at my friend and memorize her features: her warm brown skin, bronzed from so much time in the sun; her small nose, which she joked had been stunted from her parents poking it so much when she was a child; and her long black hair, usually in practical braids, but loose and straight today. My ache for her would be immeasurable. “An appeal is pointless. Besides, if you go to the council on my behalf, they’ll wonder how much you know.” And I’d worked too hard to keep Ilina and Hristo’s names out of all this.

“I hate them,” she whispered. “They’re traitors. Every one of them.”

I reached, and then she was hugging me tight enough that I couldn’t breathe. But I didn’t stop her or ask her to ease up, because this might be the last time we held each other.

“This isn’t good-bye,” she whispered by my ear. “You are my wingsister and I will come for you.”

“How?” The word felt hollow. Hot.

“I will drain the seas and march there if I must.”

The guard banged on the door again. Thud thud.

I wanted to sob with gratitude. “Bring LaLa and Crystal when you do.”

Ilina pulled back, her hands resting softly on my shoulders. “Mira . . .”

“Now isn’t the time.” Hristo’s face twisted with concern.

“Tell me.”

Thud thud.

“They’re gone,” Ilina said. “They’re not in the drakarium. They’re gone.”