Vivian’s Point of View
Rule thirty-one:Stop pissing off boss-level creatures.
Terror floods my veins as I’m jolted awake by the sound of a cell door opening.
Oh fuck, Leon is back.
But no, the guards are standing in front of the cell beside mine. I can just see the back of one guard’s armor, while another mutters about traitorous bitches. Chains rattle, followed by the thump of a body being shoved to the floor. Then the door slams shut again.
Have they caught Nymara?
Guilt floods me. I never even considered what she must be suffering. There’s no doubt Need discovered it was Nymara who brought me the beaded dress.
The guard closest to my cell takes a step back. His helm is up, and I catch the obvious fear in his eyes.
Why would one of the brutal, seasoned guards be afraid?
“You’re sure the cuffs can hold her?” He asks.
His fear is masked by the time the other guard turns to him, laughing, “Those cuffs are made by Lilanthara. No one has ever broken out of them. I heard they’re using these to keep the Destroyer whore under control.”
The nervous guard’s shoulders visibly relax, and they start back up the path toward the exit. One of them occasionally smacks a baton against the metal bar, and Cerberus never makes a peep.
I’m assuming he’s been trained to avoid that sound, but maybe he’ll come if I call him. He could eat the guards.
The thought is tempting until I remember I’d still be stuck in here afterward. I’ll save asking Cerberus for help until Leon returns.
A few minutes later, the heavy door at the top of the prison slams shut. But instead of more suffocating silence, an angry childlike voice rings out from the cell beside mine. “Would you care to tell me why you’re still rotting down here?”
I’m momentarily stunned by the vehemence in her tone.
Low growls rise from the shadows below, as Cerberus reacts to the noise.
“Pipe down, Cerberus,” the girl in the next cell snaps.
The growling immediately cuts off.
Shock – I am in shock.
Who the hell would also be able to command the death-puppy?
I peek over at my other chatty neighbor, wondering if he’s seeing this. I only have a second to take in his horrified expression before he sinks back into his cell, looking like he might throw up.
“Uhm… sorry, who exactly are you?” I ask, not bothering to give excuses for the obvious fact that I am shackled to the floor. If she knows who I am, then she definitely saw me on her way in.
My neighbor across the way starts shaking his head at me in a panic.
I shrug back, so he knows I have no idea what he’s worried about.
There’s an annoyed sigh, and it’s almost dainty. “I’m the being who’s been trying to keep your moronic ass out of a grave for far too long.”
I scour my brain for someone who fits that description.
When I don’t immediately answer, my new neighbor loses her patience. “Seriously? I’m Clotho, the Fate responsible for your very existence, which by the way, you are doing a horrible job of preserving.”
Fate.
There is a literal Fate in the cell beside mine – and she is mad at me.
