by K. E. Blaski
“You and I need to reach an understanding,” she said through the bars of the cage as the hare howled back at her.
“I should remove it, Jennica. It’s turned into a lot of trouble.”
“Like me,” she said. “You told me earlier that he was like me. Well I’m not about to give up on him. He needs a name.”
Seeing her determination, Damen searched his memory for a name that would suit the ornery, mixed-up creature. “How about Furti? It means ‘stolen item.’ Because its soul was stolen and it seems pretty mad about it.”
“Yeah, we do tend to get like that . . . those of us with stolen souls. Furti it is, then.” She grabbed a roll from the basket, tore off a few hunks, and pushed them through the cage bars. Furti let them fall to the bottom of the cage and glowered.
“Furti will come around,” Damen offered.
“Can we be overheard in this room?” Her face tensed.
“There’s always a chance.” He was put off by her sudden change in mood. Worry seeped into her face, and all he wanted to do was ease her troubles, make things better for her.
“I have to ask you something,” she said in a hushed tone.
“Your room is as safe as any place in the castle, which is, of course, not saying much, but I’m here for you. Go ahead.”
“Kornelia.”
“Nyima’s aunt?”
“Do you know what happened to her?”
“There are rumors.” You could always count on the servants to talk—it filled the time and it was their way to spread news after Noble banned letter writing. “Some think she took her daughters and went back to her village.”
“What do the rest say?”
Damen didn’t want to tell her the rumors, but she was getting better at phrasing her questions to make him tell her what she wanted to know. “They say Nyima’s family is in the dungeons.”
Her reaction showed him that this was not the news she was expecting.
“They’ve seen Kornelia in the dungeons? Who’s seen her? Do you know?”
That was the problem with rumors: they was a nebulous word, always changing, depending on whom you asked.
“I don’t know for sure. I can go look for you.”
“The rebels are there too, aren’t they?”
“Yes, they are. But how do you know about them?”
She shook her head. “I tried to stop them, but a hawk got in the way. Like the creature wanted a rebellion, to give it an excuse to slaughter people.”
“Wouldn’t surprise me. Noble gains power every time he takes a soul.” Wouldn’t it be just like Noble to allow, or even encourage, a small attack to take place, so he could crush it with ease and feed his power?
“Take me to see them.”
“You want to go to the dungeons? No. That is not a good idea. Absolutely not.”
DAMEN
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
THE DUNGEONS
“This will not be easy,” Damen said to himself as much as to Jennica. If only he’d been more persuasive. But she was as stubborn as a bos, and now he was leading her directly into his world’s worst nightmare: Noble’s dungeons.
They were dank, biuri-infested, disease-ridden catacombs carved from the bowels of the castle. The walls leaked, leaving behind black and stagnant pools of water to mix with the blood from Noble’s victims.
Logan had access to the dungeon key, and he swept the dungeons for soldiers and then guarded the entrance while Damen and Jennica descended the stairs. Increase the reek from Jennica’s pet Furti tenfold, and it wouldn’t even approach the stench down here.
At the bottom of the stairs, Damen waved the travel lantern over his head to signal the wall lanterns to shine. They glowed sleepily, brightening as he moved closer. He brushed Jennica’s sleeve, seeking her hand. She grabbed his, and he squeezed gently to reassure her as he led her through the dungeon’s labyrinth. Something skittered on top of his foot, and he kicked it aside.
“Stay close. And don’t let go of my hand—it’s easy to get lost down here.”
Jennica moved in closer, wrapping her other hand around the crook of his elbow. Her metal feet scraped along the stones, the sound echoing through the caverns like a sword dragged across a sharpening wheel.
In the flickering lanternlight, the hollows of her cheeks deepened and her eyes appeared huge. She glanced at each lantern, darting her gaze back and forth along the passageway.
“You’re not thinking about letting them out down here?”
She shook her head no, but he sensed she was considering it.
“Please don’t, Jennica—they’ll leave us in the darkest dark you’ve ever known. Besides, it wouldn’t be fair to the prisoners down here to leave them without even the small amount of light they get now.”
“I won’t,” she said, and he knew he’d convinced her.
The passageway opened through a stone arch into a circular room. Chains and cuffs hung from the walls, stone slabs with leather straps sat like perverse dining tables, and a selection of tarnished and crusted blades, metal rods, saws, and spears packed a frame in the center of the room. The smell was sour: blood mixed with sweat and urine. If fear had a smell, it would be this.
“What is this place?”
“A torture room,” he had to tell her. “Come on. Let’s go.”
Her mouth agape, she followed him across the room and out the opposite archway.
“You okay?” he asked. The moment she gave him the word she wanted to leave, he was ready to scoop her into his arms and rush her away from this place.
She nodded; not quite a lie, but her hand was clammy, her grip tight.
“We’re coming up to the cages.”
The passageway opened again into a larger room than the first. This time cages lines the walls, cages filled with crumpled people. As the two of them entered, huddled bodies unfurled, faces turned, and recognition spread. The voices were quiet at first, and then the murmurs grew into pleas.
“Nobless.”
“It’s her.”
“Come to save us.”
“Thank Aprica, Nobless is here.”
“Release me!”
“Gracious girl, save me!”
Their noise was going to attract attention from upstairs. “Be quiet. Or she’ll leave,” Damen raised his voice above the clamor, which quickly died.
“Oh, Damen. There are so many.” She pressed against his side and he put his arm around her, pleased that she was relying on him, pleased to have her close. “Are they all captured rebels?”
“No. Many offenses can get you put down here. Noble gets offended easily. There’s another section where he keeps the relatives of some of the leaders he’s controlling. They have individual cells instead of cages.” He didn’t give too many details. As long as she didn’t ask questions, he could protect her from the full truth of what went on down here.
“Oh no! Is that Amada?” She pulled away from him and stepped over to the gray-haired woman kneeling on the floor of her cage.
Head bowed, bruised fingers clutching at the bars, Amada whimpered.
“Amada. Amada, look at me.” Jennica crouched beside her and clasped her hands around the woman’s.
“Don’t touch her, Jennica—no one down here’s taken any inhibitor. Your skin, your touch, could start a frenzy.”
She pulled her hands away and clasped them together in her lap. “Amada, why are you down here? Talk to me, please.”
Amada lifted her head and stared with red-streaked eyes, a bruise ripe on her cheek. Her lips were sewn closed with black thread.
“Oh my God! What has he done to you?” Jennica ignored Damen’s warning and reached through the bars to stroke Amada’s face. The woman leaned into Jennica’s hand and closed her eyes. “I’m going to get you out of here. Don’t you worry—whatever it takes.”
A man from the neighboring cage thrust his arms through the bars and seized Jennica’s wrist. She screamed.
“Let her go!” Damen yanked on
him, but his hands were thick and strong. He pried at the man’s fingers.
“Get him off me!” Jennica shouted as Damen let go of the man and fumbled in his robes. He drew out the kitchen knife and slashed at the man’s arm.
The man cried out and stumbled backward. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you. I’m sorry, Nobless.”
Damen knew the voice. From where? He peered into the cage, but the man stooped against the far side in the shadows. “You can’t touch her. Do you understand? Never touch her.”
“I know. I’m truly sorry. I don’t know what came over me. It’s not like me.”
Jennica sat on the ground rubbing her wrist. Damen handed her a cloth pulled from his robe.
“What’s this for?” she asked, taking it from him.
“Tears.”
“Oh,” she said, and dabbed at her face with the cloth.
Damen turned his attention back to the man. “Do I know you?”
“You don’t want to know me. Everyone who knows me dies.”
“Your voice is familiar. Come into the light. Let me see your face.”
The man moved into the pool of light at the front of his cage.
“Fausto? I was in your shop! You gave me the bindings. For Jennica. For Nobless,” he corrected himself. “Don’t you remember?” he asked when the man looked at him blankly.
“You made my books?” Jennica stood by Damen’s side again.
Fausto didn’t answer. He hung his head. The once-jovial shopkeeper was now beaten. Not physically. Besides looking filthy and smelling of soot, he didn’t have a mark on him. But he acted as if his spirit had been knocked right out of him.
“What happened?” Jennica asked him. “Maybe I can help.”
“There’s no help for me, Nobless. It’s too late. Nothing left for me. Noble took it all. Burned my shop to the ground. My wife and children locked inside. Made me listen to them die.” He covered his ears, remembering. “It took a long time for them to die.” His face twisted, and his voice slid to high-pitched, on the verge of hysteria. “I keep hearing them. Even now.”
Jennica trembled. “Why would Noble do that to you?”
Fausto reached into the back of his breeches and pulled out a balled-up piece of paper. Damen smoothed it in his hands. The word “NO” was printed on it in clean script. Jennica gasped.
“I printed the fliers. Spread them through Durand.” Fausto clasped his elbows and began to rock.
“No, no,” Jennica echoed the word on the page.
“Your family was murdered for this? The word NO?” Damen shook the paper. He didn’t understand how one word could wreak such havoc.
“It was my word, Damen,” Jennica said quietly. “To stop the rebellion.” And she told him about the bedsheet she’d used to send a message to the rebels in the city. “Noble tortured these people because they were trying to do what I asked. Trying to stop the rebellion. And it’s all my fault.” She clutched her arms.
His heart broke with the break in her voice. “Stop it. It’s not your fault. Noble would’ve killed those people anyway. Do you think he needs an excuse? Rebels, not rebels, it doesn’t matter.” Damen’s attempt to make her feel better didn’t work. Her face sagged with her misery.
“Here. Breathe this.” He handed her a bereket cloth. He wished he could do more for her.
Instead of bringing the cloth to her face, she held it out and stared at it, turning it over and over in her hands. She then pulled his dagger from one of the pockets in her robe. He watched as she nicked the cloth in several places before putting the knife away.
“What?” Damen still didn’t understand.
She used the cuts to tear the cloth into smaller pieces until the one cloth became twenty. “Hand them out. They’ll have to share.” She gave him the pieces, saving one, which she pressed into the palm of Amada’s hand, whispering words only Amada could hear.
Damen distributed the bereket pieces to the groping hands of the prisoners. There weren’t enough, and as soon as they realized the nature of the gift, the begging began.
“That’s all I have. There’s not enough for all of you. You’ll have to share,” Damen said firmly. Fingers reached for him, faces pressed against the bars, and Damen’s heart pounded, his stomach churned. The need . . . good Aprica, it was overwhelming. “Jennica, we have to go.”
“Wait,” she said. “I have something to say.”
The prisoners quieted. A woman in the cell next to Damen sucked in her breath and held it. Even down in Noble’s horrid abyss these people looked up to Jennica. He didn’t understand how she’d captured their loyalty. Nyima could captivate a crowd with her skin, but they’d never wanted to hear what she had to say.
“You believe I have power because I’m Noble’s wife and I’ve survived. But you’re wrong. I don’t have any power over him. I’m subject to his whims, just like you.”
Her small face glowed in the flickering light of the vast dungeon. Just a girl, Damen thought. But with a spirit that fills this place. Maybe that was it. The people saw what he saw: her spirit.
“I know who you are,” Jennica went on. “And I know you don’t belong here. None of us do.” She paused, struggling to say more. “I’ll do what I can.”
Footsteps scraped down the passageway toward them. “Jennica,” Damen whispered. He peered around the corner. Two soldiers, not Logan or Marcis, were bringing more prisoners. “Jennica,” he whispered, but louder this time. “We have to leave. Soldiers.”
There was only one way out, the way they’d come in—the same way the soldiers were coming now. Sweat broke out on his shoulders and back.
“Over here,” a prisoner whispered. Jennica moved in the direction of the voice. Damen wasn’t so sure.
“Damen. Come on.” Jennica waved him over.
He followed. A prisoner extended his arm through the bars, pointing to some empty cages at the end of the row, their doors ajar. Jennica opened the farthest one and crawled inside. Damen joined her, and together they crouched in the shadows, scarcely breathing.
The soldiers dragged in three prisoners: a man and two girls, collars on their necks, cuffs on their ankles, strung together with a chain. The lamplight revealed them to be Nyima’s father, Jemiah, and her cousins, Abelinda and Maartje.
Jennica recognized them too, and wrapped her hands over her mouth, barely covering a squeak.
“Get in.” A soldier shoved Jemiah into an empty cage with a thump on his back. The girls were pushed into a different cage holding several other women. Maartje’s robes were torn, her hair matted, and her eyes vacant. Abelinda had a fat lip. Dried blood was caked at the corner of her mouth.
The soldiers left without another word—impatient to leave the smell behind, Damen imagined. He and Jennica waited for the sounds of trampling feet to fade, and then they waited a few minutes more to make sure the soldiers didn’t change their minds and return. Damen rose from the shadows, taking Jennica’s hand, and helped her out of the cage.
She rushed directly to Jemiah’s cage. “Why are you down here? You’re supposed to be living the easy life. You’re a . . . a Granden. Why’d Noble put you down here?”
“Nyima? Oh, daughter, let me out. I’ve missed you so. Thank Aprica you’re alive. Come, Nyima, open the cage.”
“I don’t have a key,” she said. “You didn’t answer my question—why are you here?”
“I don’t know. Noble’s soldiers seized me, and your cousins, and here we are. I’m as confused as you.”
“You’re lying,” she said.
“He’s not, Jennica, not about any of it,” Damen told her.
She glared at Jemiah. “Then I’ll ask Noble myself. Come on, Damen. Let’s go.”
“Nyima, don’t leave me. You can’t do this to your father. Jen-ne-ca.” He stumbled over her real name. “Please. You’re still my daughter.”
Jennica left without looking back, and Damen followed.
“What was that about? You were so cold to him—lik
e you hate him. He’s Nyima’s father—what did he ever do to you?” It wasn’t like her at all. At least, not what he thought she was like.
She faced him, the lanterns illuminating her scowl. “It’s not about me. It’s about what he did to Nyima—and to you. You should hate him too, Damen.”
“Why? Why would I hate Jemiah?”
“For selling Nyima to Noble Tortare.”
Damen let the truth of her words sink into his heart.
“Oh, you didn’t know.” She took his hands; her eyes found his. “Jemiah was the one who told the soldiers where to find her. He traded his own daughter for Noble’s wealth and a life as a Granden. He’s the reason she was captured.”
DAMEN
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
SIGN SONG
Logan guarded the door to Jennica’s room. Marcis was somewhere in the castle trying to find more information about Nyima’s relatives and why they were in the dungeons. What had set Noble against them? Damen sat on the edge of Jennica’s bed, reeling from the news. It wasn’t my fault. The words flitted in and out of his mind, finally settling inside the part of him that recognized truth. “It wasn’t my fault.”
“I would’ve told you sooner if I‘d known you were carrying around so much guilt.” Jennica rested her hand on his shoulder for a moment and then pulled it back. He wished she would’ve left it there. He needed her to, and his need was just as great as any prisoner’s.
“It wasn’t my fault,” he said again, because the more he said the words, the lighter he felt.
“No. It wasn’t.”
She told him about Nyima’s Aunt Kornelia falling to her death. He told her about Abelinda questioning him in his room. They decided that Nyima’s family was no better than their own messed-up families.
“If Noble knows Kornelia tried to kill you, he probably assumes the rest of the relatives were in on it. That’s why he put Jemiah and the girls in the dungeons. You know how protective he is of you. If anyone gets to kill you—”
“It’ll be him. I know.” She sighed. “How am I going to get all those people out of the dungeons? It’s not like I can ask my husband, ‘By the way, would you mind emptying your prison for me?’ He’ll do the opposite and eat their souls—right in front of me.”
