Meals are served at random times, but the uncertainty doesn’t matter much when the food is infested. I ate the first tray I was served, and I was sick for days after. The ten skulls lining the ledge at the top of this cell watched as I retched and nearly soiled myself. I stick to the stale bread and water now. My stomach twists and growls in constant hunger, but I won’t touch the other food again.
The walls around me suddenly shake. It happens from time to time as moaning causes tremors. The moaning is not human, though; it’s from the iku calling to each other in the lake. Sometimes it’s mournful. Sometimes it’s excited. I suspect the higher-pitched, sharp sounds occur when they hunt. I always hope it’s an animal and not a person, but there’s no way for me to know for certain.
Still, I tell myself stories. About the iku, about anything to keep my mind occupied. I’m twenty-two and have lived a full life with a variety of memories to recall, but I wonder how long I can hold on to sanity. There are no books. No ink and paper with which to write and not enough light to do so. Being alone isn’t new because my father felt friends were a liability, but I always had my studies. Here, I don’t even have that.
All I’m left with is wondering how long I’ll ultimately be in here. By now, my father must know his plan failed. How many days will they keep me hostage? How long before they no longer need me as leverage and execute me?
As the thought enters my head, noises resound outside of my cell—murmuring and footsteps. The metal cranks turn on my door, and I scurry to my feet. The room spins; the sudden movement makes me dizzy. I shake my head and try to stay alert.
The hinges creak, and I back up, my heart frantically racing as the door opens. I put my hands up, my mind filled with both fear and hope. Maybe my father has ransomed me and I will get to leave. Or maybe it’s time to die.
Either way, it seems my time is up.
A flaming torch enters the darkness. The light sears my eyes. I fall backward onto the stone floor and scramble away as I put my hands over my face. There’s a sigh and some mumbling before the door slams shut again.
But I’m not alone. Someone is in here with me. I can hear them breathing.
When the pain subsides, I slowly move my fingers so I can try to adjust to the bright light. It takes longer than expected for my vision to return at all, but then I can see again…somewhat.
Instead of the fire torch, there’s now a small oil lantern on the ground, as far from me as possible. Before I was in this cell, I would have called the light dim, but now it seems like broad daylight.
Once my eyes fully adjust, I get a look at the person next to the lamp. I shake my head. So much for clinging to sanity. Standing there, in my cell, is Hana—one of the girls my father trained as a poison maiden.
And Hana died years ago.
Chapter Eight
Aeri
City of Quu, Khitan
I race out of Euyn’s suite and back to my room. For the past week, I’ve thought about how my father knew his brother, Prince Omin, was assaulting and murdering young girls and he did nothing to stop it. No one did.
And I was almost one of his victims.
Mikail mentioned it as just another scandal. Another in a long line of Baejkin misdeeds. The thing that has haunted my nightmares for years. The invisible scars I bear. The stealing of lives from countless girls who had the misfortune to be powerless in the presence of someone like Omin. Just another character flaw.
My stomach turns and my throat burns, the meal threatening to come back up. Innocence is a cheap flower to be plucked and torn apart by powerful men.
Before I can get my room unlocked, Sora comes up behind me in the hall. Because of course she’d follow and check on me. Of course she cares. She’sSora.
“Are you all right?” she asks.
Tears sting my eyes. I try to blink them back, but I know my face is red. My nose and mouth feel hot and flushed, my throat tight.
“I… I’m sorry. I’m sorry for all of it—for lying, for trying to bring you in—but I amnotthe same as my father or my…family.”
Sora remains quiet for a moment. She has a way of listening, not just hearing people.
“No, I don’t think you are,” she says plainly.
I stop trying to unlock the door. My hands shake too much to get the key in, anyhow. I look over my shoulder at her. She stares at me, sympathy etched across her beautiful face.
“Are you really this good of a person?” I sigh, slouching.
She utters a single laugh. “No, I don’t think so.”
It’s an honest answer. She moves to take the key from me, and I let her. She opens the door. I step inside and wave her in.
