She could sense him leaning into the cell to take a better look at her. She hung her head, letting her long, blonde hair fall over her face. The past half hour had been chaotic, and she’d forgotten to hide her face. She had nothing to cover it with; another thing they’d taken from her.
“The war has disfigured so many,” Bauer said.
Was it pity that Seraphina heard in his voice?
“Weber, take her boot laces.”
Weber tsked but did as he was told. Seraphina fought the urge to kick him when he crouched down to undo her laces. She knew it was standard practice to strip prisoners to the last layer of clothing and leave them barefoot, and she wasn’t going to be difficult when Bauer had decided to pretend like he was a sensible human being.
“Here, you can have this back. Don’t hang yourself with it.”
She caught the piece of fabric he’d thrown at her.
“You’re too good, Bauer,” Weber said, exiting the cell.
“Good?” The watchman scoffed. “The state of her face turns my stomach. This is a favor to the next shift, so they don’t get nightmares like I will when I close my eyes tonight.”
That made Weber laugh. As the turnkey closed the cell door and locked it, Seraphina heard the men bang on the door next to hers.
“Did you hear?” Weber said. “We brought you a neighbor. Just as ugly as you. Now you have someone to talk to about... what do I know? What do monsters talk about?”
For reasons that eluded Seraphina, everyone found that very funny and burst out laughing. She huddled against the wall and ran her fingers over the scarf Bauer had so generously returned to her. It was a strip of worn linen, soft from countless washings, and maybe she could hang herself with it, but she hadn’t had such thoughts in a while. It had taken her nearly two years to climb out of the dark pit of her own despair and self-loathingand stop wanting to punish herself for all the things that had been done to her through no fault of her own. She wouldn’t go back to that hell. The hell of her own mind, ruled by that awful, screeching voice that told her she was filthy, worthless, that they’d taken all which was human from her, and all that was left was a wretched animal who needed to be put down.
With trembling hands, she covered her face with the scarf and tied a knot at the back of her head. The fabric stopped above the tip of her nose, so she could breathe.
They banged on her door as well, making her heart jump, then moved down the corridor banging on others, earning themselves a continuous string of curses and obscenities. Once the prison had erupted, the yelling and swearing, banging and stomping went on for minutes on end, well after the watchmen were out of earshot, probably back at their posts, and the turnkey back in his office.
Seraphina pressed a hand to her heart and willed herself to calm down. The clamor made her feel jittery and frail. Without her daggers, she was naked. Vulnerable. She was trapped between three walls and a barred door, and some crude man had the key to the lock. A long time ago, she’d respected the city watch and trusted the porters and guards at Krähenstein Academy. They all kept Ingolstadt safe. Protected from the war raging outside. A lot had happened since then, and now she didn’t trust anyone, especially men with guns and power.
The noise died down, the prisoners exhausted. Her heart rate settled, but her mind raced, coming up with scenarios, one wilder than the other. She needed to focus on something tangible, ground herself, so she started exploring the cell, one inch at a time. She didn’t hurry, preferring to be careful and intent, so she could learn every nook and cranny, make sure she knew where everything was.
She crawled onto the floor, her hands sweeping in the darkness until they identified the tin bucket near the door, empty but smelling foul, with a lid on it – thank God it had a lid! – the straw that covered a quarter of the floor, the wooden cot against one of the walls with a thick blanket on it, and the barred window that let air and the rain in. She was too short to reach it, but she stood under it and let the cold draft lick at her fevered face. She felt hot now, from nerves and anxiety, but she knew that in a few hours, her thin dress and the blanket might be barely enough to keep her from freezing.
The cell once memorized, she had nothing to do but curl up on the cot and think about how she’d ended up here.
“Stupid,” she whispered to herself. “Weak. Coward. Stupid.”
She’d left the convent of Saint Vivia three days ago and traveled to Ingolstadt by foot and carriage. At the city gate, she showed a slip with the convent’s seal on it and wasn’t asked questions despite her odd appearance. Once on the narrow, muddy streets of the city she knew so well, she hesitated. Her destination was Krähenstein Academy, but instead of walking up the cliff to its wrought iron gates, she found herself descending the stone steps to the river. She hadn’t realized how much she’d missed the smell of the Danube – fish guts and human waste, wet wood and the sharp tang of pitch from the barges – until she breathed in a lungful and her chest seized. Home. But her real home wasn’t outside of the academy walls, it was inside, except she couldn’t make herself go to the porters and tell them her name.
She’d disappeared two years ago. Now, to return in the state she was in, looking the way she did, and tell them what had happened, confirm to them that Matteo da Siena was dead while she lived... It was too much. How was she supposed to do it? What words would she use? Matteo had been important to the academy; she’d just been his assistant who’d fallen in love withhim and often distracted him from his work. The work that the headmaster swore would help them win the war. She was certain that while she was presumed dead, the resistance had held hope that Matteo lived. His skills were too valuable, and if the enemy got him, then it meant they could get him back.
Seraphina couldn’t do it. Not yet. She needed a little more time to think, a day to walk the streets of Ingolstadt and get a sense of how much the city had changed since she’d left. That was how she’d randomly found herself in a tavern for a bowl of stew, a piece of black bread, and beer. She’d hardly dug in when she heard a voice carry from across the crowded room. She would’ve recognized it anywhere, anytime. Georg Hartmann. The scum of the earth who’d run with his tail between his legs when she and Matteo were attacked on the road, just two days away from Ingolstadt.
One year into the war, the headmaster had sent Matteo to visit his family in Tuscany, and Matteo had asked her to come with him, and her heart had leapt in her throat thinking they were finally making progress, since her man was ready to show her to his parents. They had been given two guards, loyal to the academy and the cause, and one of them had been Hartmann. The journey to Tuscany had been uneventful. But when they’d returned, after crossing the dangerous Alps, when they were so close to home they could smell it, on a mountain road through forested foothills, just southeast of the city, they’d been attacked by four men with pistols and sabers. Hartmann had run when the first round was fired. The other guard had fought to a quick death. And what had happened next... Seraphina didn’t like to dwell on it.
So, when she heard Hartmann’s booming voice in the smoke-filled tavern, her hand went for the knife tucked against the small of her back. The other one was strapped to her thigh. She waited, head held low, listening. When he proudly announced heneeded to take a leak, she stood up and followed him through the back door, down a piss-soaked alley. In a matter of minutes, she had him pinned, his pants around his ankles, cock and balls in the wind.
And she couldn’t do it. She couldn’t slit his throat.
Out of frustration, or maybe in hopes that if she drew a little blood, she’d get thirsty for it, she’d chopped off his dick. He screamed, his comrades came to his rescue, and she was immobilized, identified, and dragged to the watch house. Because of course Hartmann knew her and knew he deserved it.
And now she deserved to rot in a cell because she hadn’t had it in her to do what needed to be done.
The hours stretched long. When night fell, the relative quiet shattered. Men cried out in their sleep, a few were weeping openly, and someone was praying in a far cell. At the other end of the corridor, a man started screaming, and he screamed and screamed until a guard’s club silenced him.
Seraphina shook under her blanket. Every noise pierced through her, and every moan and cry of despair lodged into her gut. There was so much pain, so much misery, nightmares and broken lives, and rationally, she knew most of these men were guilty and exactly where they were supposed to be – rotting in jail for their sins – but when they wept and wailed, they sounded like abandoned beasts, and she couldn’t help but wonder if it was the beast’s fault that it had been born a beast.
She opened her mouth, and a sound akin to a croak came out at first. Her throat was parched. She tried again and produced a whimper. She halted it and bit her tongue before it evolved into a cry. She didn’t want to wail like the others. If she let herself fall apart, she’d never be able to pick up the pieces and glue herself back together.
