CHAPTER
13
KORI
Isleep fitfully in the sightless cage. Without proper light in the Shadowlands, even my dreams lack images, but every other sensation is heightened.
Gloved hands, latex, pinning back my hair, prying at my forehead. My mother’s voice, a shudder of heat against my face. “Can you hear me?”
My eyelids feel sticky, my mouth full of tar. I think my lips are moving, but every movement rattles like a rusted door hinge. Who am I? Who am I? Who am I?
“She’s not ready,” someone says—Ednit—and sensation recedes like a tide, lulling me back into a most unnatural sleep.
The remainder of my rest is dreamless.
Eventually, I wake gasping, my throat raw as if from screaming. Frantic and choking, I reach to remove my mask before abruptly remembering where I am. I’m still encased in darkness. Somewhere close by, if I listen closely, I can just barely hear the sibilant hiss of the freezeshot wall that keeps me here.
If I remove even one piece of my protective gear while aboveground, Pagomènos’s radiation will immediately begin to break or mutate mybody—and here in the Shadowlands, that radiation is even stronger than in the light. I force myself to breathe through my nose until the rhythm of inhales and exhales steadies.
Not real. Just another dream. I’ve been having these inane visions for ages at this point, so I should really be used to it by now, but every time I think I’ve made my peace with them, something new arises. More poking and prodding. A fresh wave of confusion. I’ve never known where I was in my nightmares, but this time, I’m not even sure if I knew my own name.
Maybe it’s worse because Aspect isn’t here. I have no idea how long I’ve been imprisoned, but I have no doubt this is the longest we’ve been apart since I first started modifying their programming. Their absence feels like a thousand pounds on my back, dragging me down to the floor.
The only indication of how long I’ve been here has been the periodic delivery of tasteless rations, identical to the most budget-conscious ones of the dayfolk military back home. It seems the nightfolk were always prepared for another dayfolk trespasser, and for potentially having to hold them for trial or otherwise.
There’s also a metal cylinder in the corner of my cell, a simple waste chute whose top slides open and shut at the touch of a button. My suit uses a series of chambers to ensure I can evacuate without directly encountering the atmosphere. It’s similar to how I’ve been able to eat and hydrate without removing my helmet.
But food, water, and their resulting waste are weak indicators of time. I feel completely lost to it in this prison. And without Aspect, every passing instant feels infinite.
My anti-radiation gear stabilizes its wearer’s internal temperature against the planet’s extremes, but as indeterminate time passes, it’s increasingly obvious that the suit is optimized for the Daylands’ heat, not the Shadowlands’ bitter, boundless winter. The tech’s warming abilities are rapidly showing their limitations. Shivers twist between my ribs. I pull my knees to my chest with gloved hands, rocking senselessly, soundlessly, back and forth in the dark.
The floor shifts beneath me, loose stones leaping, and for an instant, I’m afraid that I’m still dreaming. Then I recognize the steady, deliberate thumps, growing louder. Closer.
Footsteps.
My captor has returned, maybe to bring me home, maybe just to toy with her prey.
“Adria,” I say, forcing volume into my voice. “You came back.”
One clawed hand ignites with supernatural blue light, illuminating the monster. The bags beneath her purple eyes have softened, and there’s a renewed lightness in her wings, which lightly and idly flap as she approaches. Her harsh line of mouth arches into what could almost be called a smile. While most of her skin, even her visage, maintains that eerie blue-white sheen, there’s more blood in her lips, full and red, a contrast that immediately draws attention to her mouth.
“I’ve determined the going market price for a runaway heiress,” she says. “Your life will buy the Shadowlands a new era of peace.”
Her shadow stretches out and swallows me, even taller than her impressive height. Her outline is all horns and claws. None of her smile. None of her gaze that makes my heart stagger between beats.
I swallow. “Why do you need the money?”
“Who’s to say I brokered a deal for money?”
“Well, why do you need whatever you’re trading me for?”
Again, that ghost of a grin, present and then gone. Her brow tenses. “You’ve never been to the Shadowlands before, have you?”
“No.”
“I would’ve expected at least a weak denial.”
“I don’t see a point in lying. We’ve established you need me alive.”
