Scorched Treachery (Imdalind, #3)(14)
I turned my head toward the sound but only saw darkness, my eyes squinted, but no shapes formed through the black.
"Excuse me?" I asked, not sure what the voice was talking about, my voice broken and muffled because of the swelling in my face.
"No talking!" The new voice was loud and powerful. The warning from what could only be a guard floated through the air toward me, and I shrank into the stone wishing I had a way to attack him.
No magic to heal my body, no magic to increase my sight, and not even the slightest of pulls to signal to me that Talon was alive. I clung to the hope that he was still alive as I leaned my head against the stone wall, wishing sleep would take me but knowing it wouldn't. Without wanting to, my eyes floated back toward the darkness where the rough male voice had come from. I could only assume it was the battered man Edmund had been dragging around with him.
I wished I knew who he was – or at least part of me did. The other part was not so sure. I didn’t want to know whose side he was on or what Edmund had done to him. I didn’t want to know what Edmund was capable of, what was in store for me.
For years, I had watched them drag Sk?íteks down to the pit of whatever house we lived in. I had heard the screams, seen the blood that they washed off their hands. Now I was on the receiving end. I didn’t want to know what was behind the screams. I didn’t want to see the blood being drawn.
Now I was going to. I had seen what they had done to the battered man, and to Talon. I didn’t want to think about him because the thoughts only brought fear, but part of me was rejoicing that I wasn't alone down here.
The minutes stretched into hours and thankfully, my arms began to go numb. My head swam as my blood flow got all muddled, my body calling for water, food, and above all, a bathroom – none of which, I knew, would be provided.
I shifted my weight for the millionth time, the chains rattling as my joints surged with pain before settling back into the burn of numbness that was becoming normal.
Still, sleep did not come, no matter how much I wished it would.
I jumped as steps sounded on the staircase, the loud thump of feet cutting through the icy silence that had been the only sound since Timothy had left. The heavy sound of feet, many feet, increased as they came closer. Tension built in my stomach, the flare of fear working its way up my spine. My eyes looked through the dark, toward the sound, desperate to make out anything in this utter blackness.
"This guy is heavy!" The thick voice of a man filtered down the stairs, his voice deepened by the echo of the stairway.
"Stop complaining and use your magic." Another one joined the first, my stomach twisting with uncertainty.
"This is ridiculous," the first man said, "Edmund is just going to kill them all anyway."
An impatient growl followed the first man’s comment and a loud rumble of something being dropped on stone echoed through the cold dark room.
"What is going on here?" A new voice, a voice I recognized at once, cut across the first two. Cail's voice was loud and angry as dozens of footsteps joined the first two who had clogged the stair well.
My eyes were drawn to the only light I had seen in hours, a gentle blue light that got stronger as the voices got closer. It shone through the blackness directly in front of me, the light dim but growing. I pulled toward it, like a moth, my desperation for sight rippling into my spine. Soon, the glow was enough to filter into the prison, letting me see what hell I had been trapped in.
The prison was a long wide hall, one half broken up with thick metal bars that segmented us into five-foot by five-foot squares, with not even enough space to lie flat and straight. There were no windows, and it was obvious that nothing had been cleaned for centuries. I had smelled the mildew smell before, but now I knew why. A glistening sheen of wet covered the stone, the bars, even the large padded stool where a lone guard had sat. My eyes burned a bit at the light as I looked around. All the cells were empty to my left, as well as all but one to my right – where the battered man I had seen before was chained by his hands against the wall. He caught my gaze as I looked at him, the bright green of his eyes startling even in the dark. He eyes pleaded with me from behind his unkempt beard and hair as he placed his finger to his lips. I only nodded; the need for silence was evident.
"Why aren't you two down there yet?" Cail continued, his voice rising.
"I'm sorry, sir," the first man said, his voice soft and pleading.
I couldn't help the twitch that moved through my spine as Timothy's voice joined the others. "Just get down there and do what you were asked."
"Yes, sir," the two men mumbled together, and the footsteps returned, the light increasing as they all moved into the prison.
The battered man’s warning was lost the moment I saw them. The two men I had heard arguing a moment before carried with them a hulking form with a mess of sandy brown hair I knew all too well.
"Talon!" I couldn't help it. I screamed, I yelled, and I fought against my chains. The small space filled with my voice as I yelled for him, the rattling of my chains almost loud enough to drown out my panic.
He didn't respond. He didn't even twitch as they dragged him into the cell right next to mine, dropping him to the ground and not even bothering to chain him before they closed the bars that trapped him in the tiny space.
My body was on fire as I fought against the chains, every muscle, every bone, pulling in agony. I barely registered the pain. My need to get to him was too strong. I needed to touch him, to feel his heartbeat, to prove that he was still alive. I screamed, battled, yelled and pleaded, knowing it was of little use, but still, I couldn't help myself.