Inkmistress (Of Fire and Stars 0.5)(54)
Wind eddied in the tower room, leaving me always cold. During my wakeful moments alone, which were few, my head pounded from the peaceroot and anxiety prevailed. I feared Nismae would come back for more blood, or worse, with a way to make me write the future for her. I searched every crevice of the room one-handed for some sign of the door through which we had come in. No evidence of it existed. The room was completely empty except for the chamber pot in the corner. They’d taken my satchel and cloak, leaving me with nothing but the clothes I’d come in wearing—and Veric’s letter, still tucked between my bodice and skin.
My arm slowly healed but brought no function back to my hand. I mourned its loss, and in my coherent moments raged that if I’d been free, I might have been able to do something about it. There were stronger poultices for the wounds. Fire-flower tinctures that would have better dulled the pain.
The few times I was awake at sundown, I sang vespers to try and calm myself. If Hal was anywhere nearby, he had to hear them. At first I thought the songs might lead him to my prison, but it was a foolish hope.
Sometimes I dreamed of him. In those dreams he had golden wings, and we flew away from the tower, from everyone, all the way to the end of the earth. There I no longer had to worry about Atheon, the Fatestone, royal vendettas, or stolen blood. At the end of the world we lay on a bed of stardust in the empty black of the sky. He surrounded me with the light and magic of those golden wings and held me close, telling me this had all been a mistake, a bad dream, and he would never leave me again.
I woke up hating him for the lies my own mind told me, and angry with myself for longing for a fantasy that could never come true. The more time passed, the more furious I became. Why hadn’t he tried to listen from afar to discern Nismae’s latest plans instead of walking me right into the arms of the enemy? Perhaps he’d known all along what she was going to do or how quickly she’d turn on me if she saw a way to use me. I tried to fight the way the anger twisted my insides, begging me to turn into something as dark and vengeful as everyone who had hurt or abandoned me.
Some days the anger lost. Some days it won.
One morning in the pale light of dawn, I stood in the archway with my toes hanging over the edge. The scent of green and growing things came in on the breeze, and I knew spring had come without me. Below, the brume lay soft and white as a blanket. It almost looked as though it wouldn’t hurt to fall. I spent several long minutes there, weighing whether it would be better to let Nismae take more of my blood, or to jump. I didn’t want to die, but the thought of her using me as a weapon was worse. All life is precious, Miriel used to say. In the end, I went back to my pallet, turning to face the wall. My abilities were the only hope to change the mistake that had begun this story—the fall of Amalska. If I died, all hope of that would be lost.
When Nismae finally came, it was only to check on my wound and to declare me healed enough for her to take more blood. When she examined me, I struck at her with my other hand, succeeding only in leaving a long scratch down the soft flesh on the underside of her arm.
“I see what Hal appreciates in you,” she said.
Anger flared in my breast.
“You’re making a mistake,” I told her.
“No, I’m getting what I want and what this kingdom needs. You’ll be free to go as soon as my goal is achieved. Hal doesn’t seem to think you’ll be inclined to stay nearby.”
So Hal was on her side, was he? Why had I ever trusted him? Nismae stood up, indicating for the man accompanying her to bind my hands and feet so that I wouldn’t be able to attack when they returned for my blood.
No apology came for what she was doing to me.
With my meal the next morning, I received water instead of the drugged tea. With no use of my hands, I was forced to lap it from the cup like an animal. Over the course of the day my headache receded and my magic began to come back to me again, but so high in the tower and surrounded by stone, I couldn’t reach anything other than my own power. I only once made the mistake of trying to pull apart the enchantment concealing the door, but something made the threads of magic too slippery to hang on to. I tried everything I could think of until I had thoroughly exhausted myself—everything but pulling the life force out of the people who came to deliver my second meal. Even now, I couldn’t sink that low.
Poe was the one who came to take the second batch of blood. She took it more gently than last time, using a thin slit on my already wounded wrist, carefully delivered where it wouldn’t do any damage. Still, I trembled in the hands of the two warriors who held me—but this time it was with fury, not pain. How could these three look me in the eyes after I’d spent nearly a week before being imprisoned learning their names, hearing their stories, sharing with them pieces of my past? How could their loyalty to Nismae be stronger than empathy for someone who had never done them any harm?
By the time Poe moved to the fourth vial, my head had begun to swim. “Why are you taking so much?” I slurred.
“Nismae’s orders,” Poe said, her voice shaky.
“What is she doing with it?” I asked.
Poe shrugged, unable to meet my eyes. “Giving gifts to Invasya,” she murmured.
By the time I woke up, I was alone and unbound again, and then the next morning I was served another batch of tea thick with tranquilizers. I drank it, grateful for the oblivion. I didn’t want to remember Ina. I didn’t want to think about where I was or what would come next.