Something that would make Clove doubt himself, and through his doubt, make him vulnerable.
He could not afford such softness.
Ithadbeen drugs, he decided.The things he had seen and experienced last night were impossible outside of hallucination.Not just the physical distortion of his body, but his own reactions.His own feelings.He wouldneverhave so willingly spread his legs and begged for it—would never have enjoyed such ravaging, such violation.
And when he found the beast who had tried to trick him into believing he’d enjoyed it, he would show no mercy.
The pleasure he’d felt—the satisfaction, the emotion—all of it had been nothing more than a chemically induced dream.
Resolved to uphold this revelation as the truth, Clove allowed himself to remain in bed in the hope the strange feeling in his head would lift so he would be more capable of fighting should he encounter his captor.The last vestiges of sleep clung stubbornly to him, urging him to close his eyes and indulge just a little longer, but he knew better.Despite the current peace and quiet, he was not safe.He had to keep his wits about him.Quiet recovery was one thing, but sleep was something else entirely.In the lair of the enemy, especially one so despicable, he couldn’t afford to take any more risks than were strictly necessary.
The feeling in his head did not go away, but it did somewhat fade, leaving him more aware of his body, and that awareness was what finally drove him out of bed—the sheets were soft, but they clung to his sweat-soaked skin like spiderwebs, and now that he had noticed it, he could not keep the unpleasantness out of his mind.
He rose, bare feet meeting cold stone floor, and flung the sheets from him.They crumpled messily on the bed, but did not leave him bare.
Clove looked down with a frown.
Sometime during the night, he had been dressed in a fine silk sleeping robe.It was embellished with an all-over golden pattern and hung open at the front, so long on him that both ends of its undone belt dragged on the floor like a train.He scooped them up and tugged the robe into place, then tied the belt into a large bow with loops that dropped well beyond his knees.
The silk was mortifying, but at the very least, he would not be naked if he crossed paths with the beast.
Armor in place, he looked out across the room.
What had been bathed in shadows the night before was now brought to light.
Beyond the island of the bed was a sea of empty, wasted space.Where the ceiling should have been there was instead a circular opening a good twenty feet across that overlooked the sky, its perimeter rimmed with smooth, seamless gold that shone in the morning sun.
The walls were a surprise.Arched, doming towards the ceiling, they were adorned with such a wide array of trophies and oddities that Clove could not help but stare.
Some items were obvious.He recognized the long, dragon-hunting spears of haebacks, winged half-men who lived in high and unreachable places.The spears had clever, cruel heads, the kind which punched between scales and flared open inside, allowing the great flying beasts to be staked and trapped.The sight made Clove’s skin creep as he wondered how they had come to be here.Idly collected?Or the proof of vanquished hunters?
There were a lot of those spears.
Among them were other weapons.Halberds, axes, maces.Some plain, some smoke-scorched, some glitteringly bejeweled.Accompanying those weapons were their matches in armor.Shields, helmets, war crests.Plain.Singed.Jeweled.Knitting together an uneasy narrative about their owners, and the circumstances that had led to their assembly.
One item caught Clove’s eye; spying it, he lit up and made for the wall, only to stop short and scowl.
A sword hungjustout of reach.
Almost as if to mock him.
It was a long blade, with a gilded pommel and no scabbard in sight.The metal reflected his own bitter expression back down at him.
Clove stood, hands on hips, looking up at the weapon.
He almost considered jumping up and down to try and reach it.
Ultimately, he decided not to, and turned away.The sword was immense, probably too heavy for his light frame.He wasn’t trained in swordcraft, anyway.What use would it have for him?
He scanned the great chamber again, feeling a sense of helplessness bubble up in him.Anxiety budded alongside it.At some point, he was sure,someonewould come.They would find him here, clad in naught but a mockingly pretty silk robe, and then what would he do?
Before his mind could fill in that terrible blank, his eyes fell upon potential salvation.
On the other side of the bed, at first having been obscured behind the enormous, extravagant posts and curtains, was a large arched entryway.
The space beyond it was shrouded in shadows, nothing but black from his point of view, but Clove didn’t hesitate.
He made straight for it, footfalls swift and silent.
