Blood Oath (Darkest Drae #1)(27)

I just hoped Arnik and Dyter weren’t captured. My heart ached with the thought, and I hoped against hope they were safe. No one deserved to be in here, except Irdelron and Irrik. And Jotun. I shivered.

I imagine seeing Arnik’s expression when he realized I was gone. He’d be worried sick about me. I probably would have married Arnik when I was eighteen. Not because he had ever kissed me, but because he was the obvious choice. I wouldn’t marry now. I wouldn’t have children. I wouldn’t need to worry about my lack of skill. I wouldn’t live a life outside this place.

In these walls, I would die.

Dyter, he’d be beside himself.

I winced as I thought of him finding out what befell me. Did he know Mum was dead? Had he seen her . . . like that? I hoped not. This was all assuming Dyter still roamed free. I had no way of knowing if the soldiers captured him, too.

Heat sparked in my chest, and the warmth was so stark against the cold inside me that I couldn’t help noticing the emotion.

Defiance.

The urge to protect Arnik and Dyter rose within, the only emotion other than despair I’d had since Mum died.

Madeline’s words about survivors clicked in my mind, and I realized I’d found my corner of necessity.

My corner was my people, Arnik and Dyter. That was where my strength came from. I’d do anything to save my friends. Now, more so, after seeing what would happen to them if they were caught. Jotun’s torture hadn’t dragged their names from my lips, and I was determined to keep it that way, no matter what.

I’d waited too long outside my window the night Mum died. I hadn’t joined the rebels, nor fought the Drae or the king. I’d done nothing. Now, all I could do was keep my lips sealed and not betray Arnik and Dyter. I still had control over that.

The king’s face swam in front of my mind’s eye, my throat tightening as the sensation of bugs scuttled over me, and I saw my earlier error.

Spitting in the king’s face was unnecessary. I’d felt the need to show him what I thought of him, but doing so hadn’t helped me protect anyone or myself. It made him hurt me more, making me less able to protect myself later.

As I lay here, this new world separated into an altered list of what I would and wouldn’t do. I understood what Madeline meant by necessary.

I wouldn’t laugh in his face.

I would bow, even grovel, if required to.

I wouldn’t tell them what happened between Mum and Irrik.

I would lie.

I wouldn’t betray my friends.

I would let the king and Jotun hurt me.

I wanted to be brave, but here, in this damp cell with smatterings of moss, I wasn’t. Bravery was for stronger people, or people ignorant of the things I’d been put through. Being brave was easier before I’d known the depravity in the world.

I pulled the blanket tight, rolling on my side.

Bravery was for someone other than me.

I’d do what was necessary to protect my friends from this fate.





12





Time passed. My food and drink were gone. My strength had improved from careful rationing, at least enough that my legs didn’t tremble when I stood, but if I didn’t get more food soon, it would be over. I’d accept dying of many things, but dying of starvation felt too personal, too much like giving up, too much like acceptance of what the king could do to his subjects.

Ironically, I cared more about the ideals of rebellion now than ever before. If I could go back to Harvest Zone Seven with this knowledge, my input would be much different. All-consuming.

Should have, could have, would have.

This was the trap my mind went to in the dank fetidness of my cell.

The uneven ground poked at my tender feet as I paced. I’d learned which areas of the dark stone were the sharpest and avoided them.

I hadn’t seen or heard from anyone down here after that single time when the man in the cell next to me spoke, and after a while I couldn’t be sure the voice wasn’t a desperate attempt of my mind to alleviate my isolation.

My stomach gave a loud rumble, and I wrapped both arms around my middle over the filthy tunic that displayed the recent events of my life in splatters and splotches and stains. My hair was stiff and matted, and my smell bothered me—not the lavender soap scent I smelled like before.

How I’d run through the freshly overturned dirt of the Harvest Zones beside Arnik, avoiding new crops, and laughing as farmers shouted after us.

How I’d made jokes of my future to Mother while gazing at the clear blue sky, bird song floating down from the roof to where we sat in the garden.

My chest tightened . . . I had to survive.

“I need food,” I said as loudly as I dared.

When no one answered, I raised my voice. “I need food.”

With increasing volume, I yelled my need for water, but only silence met my pleas. Perhaps this was a different type of torture meant to break me. Perhaps I’d been left here to die, useless and wasted. The king thought I possessed information crucial to taking the rebellion down, and he’d confessed I was a pawn in his power play against the Drae. I had no idea what the king saw in Lord Irrik to be convinced the Drae favored me, but I knew the king was irrevocably wrong.

The Drae was the bane of my existence.

I rested my head on the bars, closing my eyes. A trickle of scent wafted past. Something less offensive than the rest of the air down here, and fear and hope warred within.