“The lantern is full of kerosene so it shouldn’t burn out tonight.” He moves the light closer to me until I can feel the slight warmth it gives off.
“There’s plenty of foul people in this world, but you won’t need to worry about me. At least not in the way you should worry about Lord Velroy.”
I can’t help but snicker at this, which grabs his attention and I’m once again being assessed.
“My curse may be the kiss of death but I’m too tired to deal with you right now.”
The kiss of death. Odd as I hadn’t ever heard it called that before and surely I must be delirious to only have caught interest in that part.
“That makes two of us,” I manage a whisper even though my vocal cords scream at me.
He simply nods and turns his back.
“There’s clean water and rags by the door. It’ll be locked and guarded by my men,” he says indifferently and gestures to a small round stool where the items are set.
My throat, raw and aching, screams at me for respite. I cautiously raise to my feet and hesitantly walk towards where he beckoned.
Before shutting the door, he turns to me. “Please for goddess sake just rest. You won’t leave here without me knowing, and you won’t be fortunate enough to be saved again.”
I simply stare at him as the door latches with a hard lock.
Chapter 4
Alora
The tips of my fingers have turned angry and sore. The skin has even ripped in some places as I’ve thoroughly scoured every rough granite stone that makes up these walls. If it was possible to wear the stone into a smooth surface by touch alone, they would be polished by my desperation already.
My eyes have adjusted to the bleak lighting, thank the gods, but the shadows still linger in the far corners of the room. Their presence makes me feel more enclosed than I am. I inhale deeply, trying to ease the discomfort that constricts like a vine tightening around my chest.
Though the room is easily large enough to host a small gathering, with the looming darkness, it feels too close. Too dark.
I shake my tangled hair out of my face, the brown curls matted with sweat and grime, and throw them behind my shoulders. If only I had a piece of leather strip or a clip to get the heavy length off my neck, perhaps then I could breathe better. I wouldn’t feel so overwhelmed by the sensation and the darkness might not feel as thick.
Focusing on the plaster that’s slowly begun to chip away, I take a wooden shard I’d broken off of the table, leg and scrape it back and forth furiously.
My fingers ache and sting in protest as I continue the motion. I know it’s pointless. I know I can’t escape from here, but I’m not ready to succumb to that reality. I’d rather float in my delusions.
Little bits of the sand and clay begin to crumble to the floor as I press harder on the homemade shiv. The sharpened point digs into the plaster and eats away at the filling with each swipe.
With a puff of breath, I blow off the rubble and assess the hole I’ve chiseled into the plasterwork.
I step back to look at the wall again and my heart sinks. It’s small. Really small. Too insignificant for how long I’ve stood here digging at it.
Frustration tugs at my heart and I slam my hand against the wall.
A yell tears from my throat and I hit the wall again and again.
Hopelessness wiggles an ember of my magic, tapping it awake. The fibers of their essence strain under my skin, eager to unleash.
It’s uncomfortable as my flesh screams against the culling bands nullifying my magic. The manacles have been crafted by ancient spells to inhibit one’s ability to use their gifts. They’re perverse and painstakingly effective.
The irony isn’t lost on me as glare at the cuffs. The magic they cancel isn’t even able to be effectively used. Gods know I’ve tried.
In a fit of desperation I lift the wooden shiv and thrust it against the stones as hard as I can.
Blinding pain seizes my palm as the shiv slices through my grasp, my flesh tearing open as jagged slivers mar the meat of my hand.
“Fucking depths of Haldir!” The profanity huffs out of my mouth and I quickly bring my injured hand to my chest.
