Iopened my eyes to darkness. Pure this-must-be-death darkness.
My back felt as if someone had systematically removed skin from bone. Oh, wait, they had. This much pain meant I wasn’t dead. It also meant I hadn’t had time to heal. Wherever I was—the pit, I remembered now—I hadn’t been here long.
They’d thrown me in here to die. Alone. In the dark. Anger swirled through me. I would make them pay for every lash, every drop of blood.
But for now, I had to survive.
I cupped my hand and called on a bit of Flynn’s power. If he’d realized that every time he threw flames at my shield, he enhanced my ability to control fire, he might have held himself back. I was glad he hadn’t. I formed an orb of orange light in my hand and gently released it into the darkness. Then I created another.
Soon, six lights hung around the room, and I could see my prison.
It was stone. Stone walls, a low stone ceiling, and a stone floor that sloped toward a stone drain. A tall man would be unable to stand or stretch out across the floor. I didn’t have that problem.
There was no furniture. No faucet. Not even a bucket to pee in. There was nothing in my stone prison but a canteen.
I twisted the cap and sniffed. The contents smelled like water laced with blessroot.
They’d left me something to ease my pain?
Too little, too late. Still, I drank. When the canteen was empty, I called on Pierce’s magic and refilled the container with delicious, cool water.
When I had my fill, I considered what else I’d need.
Food, I’d need food.
And being trapped in a pit for a week with only my thoughts and the radiating misery from my back might drive me mad.
The floor was ridiculously hard. A blanket and some pillows wouldn’t be amiss.
I closed my eyes and tried to focus past the pain. I imagined my bed at home. Imagined the softness of the old blue quilt that covered the mattress. Imagined the lumpiness of my pillow.
The items I wanted were familiar. In the case of the quilt, beloved. I could see them, smell them, feel them.
Nothing happened.
One failed attempt didn’t make me a failure. I just needed to try harder.
I took another long sip of water and rested my head against the stone wall. The blessroot was working—the sharp edge of pain had dulled to a manageable throb. Maybe that was the problem. I’d been trying to focus through agony instead of working with my body.
Again, I closed my eyes and imagined I was wrapped in the quilt and that the pillow was on the floor waiting for my head.
When I opened my eyes, the items from my bed were with me.
“Yes!” My small fist pump pulled at the healing skin on my back, and I squeaked in pain. Lesson learned. No fist pumps. No sudden movements.
My stomach rumbled. How long had it been since I ate?
I knew our larder well, the stores of crackers, the loaves of brown bread, the icebox that held leftovers from last night’s dinner. But food wasn’t easy to come by in Grimswood, and I hated to take from Grandmother and the girls.
Instead, I pictured the guards’ dining room and the buffet table.
This was harder. I didn’t know what was available.
Meat. There was sure to be some kind of meat.
I closed my eyes and imagined sinking my teeth into pure protein, and a slice of ham appeared in my lap.
Using my fingers, I lifted the ham to my mouth and gobbled it in a few bites. Honestly, nothing had ever tasted so good.
