Sable
I can't believe it's all over.
I knew that shifting would expose me, but I had to risk it; I don’t have enough control over my flames, and I had to protect Cara.
The cell isn’t so bad. I've slept in worse places. But Cara’s rejection? That hurts more than any torture could.
Bit by bit, the Elders’ guards and soldiers bring more of Cara’s loyal followers to the dungeon. Her old nanny, Kiki, is among the captured, as are several others. From servants to generals to even children, it seems no one is safe. Cara tries to apologize to each one, to make amends, but most turn a deaf ear to her pleas. The heartache in Cara’s voice cuts me like a knife, and I retreat to the far corner of my cell, curling into a ball to make myself as small as possible.
The chains they have me in prevent me from shifting back to my human form. Part of me wishes I could speak to Cara, to explain myself, but a larger part is grateful that I don’t have to talk. It almost makes her rejection bearable. If I can’t explain everything, then it’s not my fault she's angry. It removes some of the blame from me and transfers it to my captors.
Waiting for my inevitable execution wears on me. I’d rather they get it over with sooner, but for some reason I’m spared for the moment. It’s not even until the second day that the Elder loyalists start throwing excrement and other foul things into my cell. Rather than allow myself to get angry and feed into their vicious hate, I simply turn my back to them and do my best to ignore them. The crap that makes its mark dries in my fur, and I know if I’m ever allowed to shift back I’ll be filthy.
On the morning of the third day, they take Cara away.
They’re gone with her for hours, and the halls of the dungeon echo with her screams. They’re hurting her, torturing her most likely, and there’s nothing I can do about it.
When the guards bring her back, they dump her in her cell and stride off, laughing and wiping her blood from their hands. I can tell by her ragged breathing that she’s alive, but only just.
Why did I shift when they ambushed us? I can’t use my flame powers in this form, and with this blasted collar around my neck, I can’t shift back to heal her.
Her friend Hugh reaches through the bars to try to comfort her, but it appears she’s not even conscious to appreciate the effort. She doesn’t move, save for the rise and fall of her chest. The scent of pain is strong, even with her passed out.
I can’t stand this! I move to the farthest spot in the cell that my chains will allow and start backing up, choking myself in the process. Harder and harder I tug, until the collar digs into my ears and jaw. The smell of my own blood fills my nostrils, but still I struggle to free myself from the collar. If I can just shift …
Finally, the collar pops off, nearly taking my ear with it. My roar of pain covers the rattle of the chains, and I freeze, waiting to see if the guards will return.
Luck, it seems, is on my side. The guards do not appear.
I shake my head to clear it, and a spattering of blood goes flying from my wounded ears. No matter. I can’t worry about that right now.
The shift is excruciating. It can be painful even on the best of days, but between the starvation and cramping from lying in the cell, I want to scream. Once I’m able, I bite my lip to keep quiet. If the guards hear me, they’ll come murder me before I can save Cara.
I collapse onto my hands and knees, exhausted. The other prisoners murmur at my transformation, but thankfully no one sounds an alarm.
As soon as I recover enough to focus, I crawl to the barred wall between our cells and summon my flames. While they stream from my hands, I concentrate on knitting bones and mending lacerations. Cara’s injuries are vast, and I pray to the Flame God Igni that I have enough strength to heal her fully.
I’ve almost finished when the guards return. A crossbow bolt lands in my shoulder with athump, and my flames extinguish. Cara lies still, with one arm still hanging at an odd angle, but her skin appears smooth. She may still have a broken arm, but I’ve stopped all the bleeding.
“Grab the Suntouched chains! We can’t let her do that crap again!”
As if I could! I’m drained, spent, with no reserves to go on. Add to that the bolt in my shoulder, and I’ll be lucky to have the energy to crawl back into my corner. I count myself fortunate that the bolt seems to have missed anything vital.
The guards swing open the door to my cell, and within seconds I’m chained again. They manhandle the bolt still lodged in my shoulder and kick my gut and my ribs until something cracks. Against my will, I scream. This draws derisive laughter from them, and they leave in stitches.
Cara wakens with a groan, and she pushes herself up with her good arm. She cradles the broken one and looks around, her expression a wide-eyed mix of shock and confusion. When she sees me in human form, realization crosses her face, and she crawls as close as her chains will allow.
“Sable, did you do this?”
I’d answer, but what’s the point? She hates me. I look away to avoid further heartache.
“Sable?”
I close my eyes and roll onto my side, facing away. The position alleviates some of the pain from the crossbow bolt. Blood drips down my shoulder and across my back, drying in caked and cracking streams as I lie there.
By the time they haul me out of my cell for my own torture, the blood has fully dried.
Words cannot describe the abject terror that seizes me as Corvin himself drags me away. I can only imagine what horrors await when he gets me alone. He grabs the shaft of the crossbow bolt and pulls me along. I grit my teeth against the pain, but a moan still escapes me as he manhandles me through the mazelike stone halls. I try to keep up, to scramble along beside him, but the bolt pulls me, tearing muscle and ripping skin. In my pained state, I almost imagine that Cara calls out my name.
