Suddenly Elloven was no longer huddled under the sign but watching herself from a short distance away. It was the same as she’d done when in Whitechurch, when the only way to survive the night was to disconnect from it and become someone else, someone it wasn’t happening to. As the other Elloven’s gown melted away like liquid, Fabrien grinned and narrowed in. In a last spurt of desperation, she tried to crawl away, but his hand caught her foot, sending her splaying onto her face, giving him the opportunity he’d been after. He crawled over the back of her, spreading her legs with one cold, rotting hand, organ in the other, and?—
Elloven snapped back to herself and did the most dangerous thing she could possibly do.
She screamed and screamed and screamed.
Let them all come and fight over her, but she would never be his plaything ever again.
Fabrien floated back a step as shrieks from vigils and simulcra closed in. They flashed across the dark courtyard in spasmodic, unnatural fits and starts, like they were dancing.
No, not dancing.
Playing with their supper.
Fabrien’s rotted eyes traveled to her chest and the pulsing light there. Of course he wanted it as well, and of course he would take it, but not before he’d whittled her into nothing. Whatever remained of his depraved soul, the only thing that sated it was her misery, and he would settle for nothing less than everything she had.
“I will walk into the hands of every vigil here before I let you touch me ever again,” Elloven said. She used the sign to stand. Now she could see them all, the gathered brutes, their glowing faces filled with unrealized havoc. There was nothing she could do. Jesstin would say there was always a way out, but Elloven had never had that privilege, had never been able to do anything but retreat into herself until the horrors ended. If only she could tell him to go home, that there was no longer any Elloven worth finding.
Elloven channeled Jesstin and ran anyway. She didn’t pick a direction. She just went, heading farther into the grounds, farther from any possible safety of the havre, which was now only a dream.
The desperate screeches followed her but at a distance. Even Fabrien held back, which was stranger still, but overthinking would only slow her down, and whatever time she had left, she wouldn’t waste it thinking about him.
Completely lost, Elloven raced past smaller buildings. She smacked into a tree on a blind turn and then found herself staring at a tall brick wall.
Dread choked her. She’d played her part right to the end, another game she hadn’t chosen to participate in but could only lose. She closed her eyes and prayed to the Guardians in breathless whispers, something she had not done in many years, for when had they ever answered? But there was no one listening. She was alone, and soon, she wouldn’t even be she. She’d be whatever they were.
The shrieks disappeared in abrupt cessation. The path ahead of her was... clear. It was obviously another tactic of their sordid sport, but she didn’t sense any fiends near either. In fact, she hadn’t sensed them since before she’d nearly knocked herself senseless against the tree.
She squinted, just making out three figures wearing heavy, flowing robes, like crimson waves. Atop each of their heads was some sort of hat, from which stuck a long, glowing object. Only as they neared closer did she make it out: the same symbol on the havres and cloisters, except these spun in the air, casting a pale glow in all directions.
They weren’t vigils... or simulcra.
Whoever they were, they’d driven away the fiends, and even if they were another kind of foe, their normal, pale faces were a relief just the same.
“Aelloven of Nightwood, daughter of Laxius of the Twilight Falcons, Progeny of the Forsaken, you will come with us.”
Elloven peeled herself away from the wall. “And who is ‘us’?” Gold shackles materialized around her hands. She tugged, but they were as solid as the brick at her back. “What is this?”
“You are now a hostage of the Imperators, who will determine the manner of your future in the Infinitum.”
“A hostage? Why? What is this about?” she asked, but she may as well have been speaking to the air, for her captors started in the direction they’d materialized from, and she, against her will, moved with them.
Chapter 6
Cleansed in the Waters
Elloven squinted against the harsh light when her kidnappers uncovered her face. Her body-wide clench slowly released. If there was light, there couldn’t be fiends.
But her glimmer of hope didn’t last as she spun around the small, circular room.
She was alone, and she was a prisoner.
Whoever had arranged for her imprisonment had also left her a change of clothing, which was a relief after having held what remained of her gown together with a hope and a prayer. She glanced around, verifying she was alone, and slipped into the replacement dress, a modest garment of emerald and black.
Elloven moved to the lone window, the only reason there was light at all in the cramped space. There was no pane, nothing to keep her in except good sense. She took an unintended step backward at the dizzying sight below. She was in a tower high above the world, so high she couldn’t even be sure she was still in the same area she’d been abducted from.
What, she wondered, happened to the dead when faced with another death? She knew what happened when a flame was stolen, but what would be the outcome if she raced toward the unblocked opening and hurled herself to the ground below? Would she wake in the same place, same predicament? Or were there more levels to the netherworld, places more cursed, more disturbing?
“Aelloven.” A protracted exhalation flowed from a soft, deep voice. “How, dear one, has it come to this?”
