Chapter IX
The dungeon is what I expected. The heavy scent of human excrement, blood, and foulness corrupts the stone walls. I’m afraid to touch the bars of my cell. They are icy cold and covered in some sort of black grime I only hope is rust. A chill hangs over the room, latching onto my skin, making my whole body ache, but I don’t sit. In the darkness, the ground squelches beneath my shoes when I walk. Bile rises in my throat, burning. I swallow it.
I try to draw my thoughts elsewhere. But all I can focus on is my cell or the impending trial tomorrow. The High Lords will cast their votes, guilty or not guilty. Once, when there were twenty lords instead of twelve, I might have had better chances. Now, with Celectate Wood’s claws sunk into more than half of the Community elders, I can see my future flashing before my eyes. Every ghastly story, every monstrous tale, every horrific legend swirls before me in bright colors of death. I see swirling shadowy hands reaching for me, clawing at my skin. Smoky fog rises from the cell floor and engulfs me in vapor and heat. Fire latches at my ankles. Poison eats my skin.
My neck throbs. Pulses. Pounds against my throat. I should scream. I should cry out. But I don’t. I won’t.
Lifting heavy arms to my head, I stroke fingertips over my temples. Rub the wildly beating scars on my neck embedded in my flesh so long ago. The dizziness and nausea slowly fades.
But they will return. They always return.
I lean against the wall. The hard stone gouges my backside. I pay no mind to the pain as the rock cuts my flesh.
Father’s screams echo in my head. I wish I had been able to hold his hand. To say “goodbye” in a less shocking manner.
I spare a glance for the red dress, now turning an ugly brown and black color from the grime in the cell. The skirt is in tatters, baring occasional views of my thighs, legs, and reddened knees. The bodice is ripped, showing cleavage in a far greater amount than I prefer.
Mother worked so hard creating this gown. To see it defamed in such a way is almost more than I can bare. Her efforts seem so wasted.
Nevertheless, she’d smiled at me on that balcony. She’d known what I was going to do – somehow. I remember her gentle hands on my forehead a full month ago when I’d been so tipsy I’d lost the reins to my emotions. I’d told her I was tired. That I didn’t want it.
“I know.” She knew and she let me decide what I would do about it.
The echoing sound of heavy feet on the endless halls of the dungeons ring in my ears. The guard is making another round. I have counted his footsteps twenty times throughout the night – each one followed by the screams of some unfortunate prisoner as he deals out his “justice.” So far, I have evaded such treatment. Perhaps I am to be unlucky. But there are two sets of footsteps – one heavy, the other light and graceful to my ears. The steps stop before the prison door.
The sweet scent of lily perfume in my nose and – oh, gods, why does it have to be her?
Selena peers through the bars, her eyes slanting as she tries to pick out my shadowy form in the darkness. When they find me, she purses her lips in a pleased little smile and waves the guard away. He bows and disappears.
“Well . . .” She calmly plucks at one of her delicate fingernails. “It’s a bit damp down here, don’t you think?”
“I’ve no time for your games.”
“On the contrary, you have all the time in the world. For now. I mean, after tomorrow, we’ll never see one another again. It won’t be much of a blow to you; I’m sure, but me . . .” She rests a hand over her heart in a mocking gesture of pain. “You were always one of my favorite pastimes. I’m afraid I’m going to be a bit bored with no sullied rumors to listen to. I rather enjoyed the beautiful tales of your wild escapades.”
I push off the wall and step into the middle of my cell so she can see the full, reviled form I’ve taken. Her nose twitches the slightest bit and I see a small spark of surprise in her eyes. She masks it quickly, but it was there just the same.
“You know what he wanted, Selena.” My tone is brittle.
“I’m not sure what you . . .”
“Oh, save your damned lies! You know what he would have done to my family . . . to me . . . to Kelba!” I take a step closer, hot rage balling my hands into fists. “So you listen well, Selena Griff, whose father is in the same precarious position as mine . . . what would you have done? Would you have wed a man you don’t love, don’t respect – in fact, despise and loathe – because of what Celectate Wood would do to you if you didn’t? Would you have allowed yourself to become a pawn and kiss his ass? Would you have allowed him to take the intelligent man you know as a father and turn him into a sniveling, groveling pup to run circles before his excellence and slave his life away? If you would have . . . if you could endure such torment, such slavery . . . then you’re nothing more than a cowardly, spiteful, uncaring bitch who would rather live and let Kelba suffer for it than die and save a thousand lives!” My chest rises and falls furiously and I can’t breathe fast enough.
Selena’s hands are white. Her eyes are wide. Her mouth – a mouth bred for insults – stutters uselessly. She manages to squeak: “Just what are you inferring by such a statement?”
“Celectate Wood . . .” I take a step forward. She is educated. She will know my meaning. She will understand, despite the brat she is. “Ve si Gasan. Ve si Calaisar. Ve si e dravar.”
She blinks. “W-what . . . How dare you, Kyla?”
“How dare I?”
“He is our ruler. He is your ruler. He is Kelba’s ruler.”
“Ve civi ravar ti.”
Selena’s breath comes in ragged bursts of emotion – of fear, wonder, or rage I cannot tell. But my words have struck their mark. “Celectate Wood is the ruler of Kelba. He has made us strong. He will continue to make us strong. He will continue to strengthen us.”
“And what do you think his understanding of ‘strength’ means?”
“I beg your pardon?”
“What does Celectate Wood observe as strength?” I answer for her. “Power.”
She shakes her head – but her eyes are no longer full of spite. Instead, there’s a new glint in her eye. A glint of fear. Of realization.
I repeat myself. “Ve si Gasan. Ve si Calaisar. Ve si e dravar. Ve civi ravar Kelba.”
He is Gasan. He is Calaisar. He is a devil. He will destroy Kelba.
“Go back to your home – to your family, Selena. I will not be the last to fall to his never-ending thirst. Eventually, you – and your father – will face the flames. And when they come . . . then we’ll see if your are Freya or fire. If you protect or bow. If you rebel or cower.” I grip the bars, ignoring the grime that crumbles beneath my fingers and stare her full in the face, fire facing fire. “And being completely honest, Selena, you may be a bitch but you’re no coward.”
I call for the guard. Selena remains silent as he approaches. I speak for her. “We’re done here.”
The guard looks at Selena, questions in his gaze.
Selena turns and starts to walk away, but she pauses, her shoulders tensing. When her eyes find mine for the last time, the battle is warring deep. She’s deciding if she should say something or not. She licks her lips, losing the stern, commanding facade she keeps around herself. For a moment, we’re just two girls – two innocent, harmless girls without worry, fear, or duty.
“You won’t die,” she says.
She leaves, and I ponder the lie.
The guard approaches my cell again. Footsteps chime with his. Another visitor. I’m popular tonight. This time the guard unlocks the door of my cell and it creaks open on hinges long overdue for oiling. I cringe at the sound.
“You have five minutes!” the guard snaps. He walks away.
I run to Landor, throwing my arms around him. He is warm and hard – his heat cascades over me and relieves the aching chill in my bones.
“Lan. Lan.” I say his name repeatedly, hardly believing he is standing there. It must have cost him a pretty penny to vi
sit me. Seeing relatives before a trial is forbidden – for fear they will offer escape. Landor is not so foolish.
He speaks first. “Drink! Drink quickly. They won’t give you anything to quench your thirst and if they do, it’s most likely been pissed in.” He removes a leather pouch from his belt, half-hidden by his cape.
I swallow the contents, the faint hint of spice and lemon mingling in the water.
When I hand the pouch back he takes it without a word and runs his eyes over my apparel, lips pursed tightly when they fall upon the torn holes. He grabs me by the shoulders earnestly, hands shaking. “I’d get you out, Kyla. I swear by the gods, I’d get you out . . . I’d help you escape from this. But Celectate Wood came to me . . . he . . . he . . .” Landor stops and tears glisten in his eyes.
“Go on,” I whisper, my voice firm.
He hesitates, lips trembling. Hands shaking so bad he has to release me. “He said he’d do something to Mother . . . to Craig and Asher . . . to you if he even caught wind that I’d entertained the notion of assisting a prisoner.” His words stumble over each other. “The things he told me he’d do . . . the thoughts he put in my head . . .” His teeth grind together. “I wanted to rip his damn throat out!”
“I understand, Landor. Honest, I do.”
“You don’t understand, Kyla!” He walks to the back of the cell and slams a fist against the stone. I hear bone crack. Blood drip. However, I don’t dare stop him. “Do you know how many High Lords tremble right now? Do you know how many Celectate Wood spoke with after he ordered you to the dungeons? Do you know I could feel the fear outside the doors of the Court? You don’t stand a chance. They will all vote against you. They will all condemn you.” He looks at me. “You’ll be ostracized.”
My stomach churns, but I don’t stay silent. “I know.”
He spins around and his hand catches the faint light of the torch in the dungeon hall. His knuckles are bloody and gouged. “You know? Do you? Do you really know, Kyla? You spent years in that library, in those books, searching for something. Searching those legends. Those myths. You know? I don’t think you’ve ever known – every really known what you were looking for. For peace? Hope? Answers?”
All of them. Because I have seen the monsters of that land – but I had also seen more. I had seen a small spark of humanity that may remain in the Wilds. Cannibal or no, the boy had saved my life. The Wilds are not completely horrible.
I can’t think of anything to say. My refusal is going to be so much more than mere words. Father and Mother will be scarred. Landor will be alone and under the Celectate’s thumb once more, his dreams of being a sailor forever stolen.
“I’m sorry, Landor.” It sounds weak and pathetic and my heart aches as I say it. I blink back tears.
His hands grip my shoulders and his eyes are ablaze. “No!” he snaps. He jerks my chin up so we are eye-to-eye. “You don’t need to be sorry, Kyla. You hear me? Never, ever, ever be sorry! We . . . Kelbans . . . should all be sorry for allowing that bastard to put a leash on us – to use us – to command our lives. We are fools! Cowardly fools! All of us! If any of us had the slightest bit of courage we’d slit that bastard’s throat!”
He speaks treason. I don’t warn him. Don’t stop him. He’s been aching to say those words for years. Ever since he was robbed of his choice – of his decision. Ever since he let his cowardice become his master.
“Maybe one of us will gain that courage someday,” I say, a smile curling over my lips.
Landor doesn’t say anything but he squeezes my hand in agreement. A silent pact – a promise for the future.
We both hear the guard approaching. Landor pulls me in for one more tight hug, and I clutch him like a lifeline.
He dips his head low to my ear and whispers, “I can’t give you a weapon now. They’ll surely find it on you before your departure to the Wall. But . . . I’ll try to get you a knife before . . . before you’re ostracized.”
I smile. He will make sure I have a way to defend myself. He would never allow me to walk to my death without some means of protection at my disposal.
The jailer grunts impatiently from the prison door, his belt jingling with the weight of keys.
Landor leans closer, looking at me earnestly. “If you could go back . . . would you do anything differently?”
His eyes search mine, looking for the slightest bit of hesitance – fear – regret. He let Celectate Wood frighten him. Let him enslave him. Let him rule him.
I press my forehead to his. “No. I would not.”
And I mean it.
The jailer unlocks the cell door. Landor exits and lets the rusty iron swing shut.
“Keep father out of trouble, Lan,” I whisper.
He nods. “I’ll try. And you don’t get eaten.”
“I’ll try.”
He smiles, looking every bit the brother I’ve always known. Strong. Protective. Determined. He’s not completely broken. If there’s anyone who possesses the fire to protect the Bone heritage, it’s him. “Good luck, Ky.” He winks.
He backs away, following the guard, but does not turn. He will not show me his back. He will not turn his back on family, traitor or no. The guard frowns disapprovingly but ignores the outright favoritism.
I struggle to hold back the tears once he’s gone. I’ve come this far without allowing myself to break apart. I can’t now – not when I’ve yet to face the devil himself.
An hour later footsteps approach my cell yet again. Instinctively, I crouch into a corner, willing whatever hell the jailer wishes to unleash far away. The door grates open. Closes. Someone walks back down the hall – the jailer.
The heavy rhythm of someone’s low, controlled breathing joins with mine. Someone’s in the cell with me!
I raise my eyes, balled fists prepared to crunch into flesh and bone if need be.
The face – the form – is not that of whom I expected. He should be up in the palace, reveling like his father, drinking wine and threatening lords over the decimation of another of his father’s enemies. Aspen Wood stares at me, still dressed in his bonding apparel, excepting three buttons torn off the top of his shirt as if he’d been struggling for breath.
I lurch to my feet, nearly slipping on the tattered scraps of my skirts. Aspen doesn’t move. Every feature of him is cold and distant, like he’s carved from marble instead of flesh. Maybe he is. His father certainly is.
“Your highness,” I manage to say firmly. I’ve never cowered before this boy. This boy I used to dance and chase and hunt alongside. The boy I now despise.
“So now you respect me?” His voice is cold.
There is no right answer to his question.
“Why did you refuse?” His tone changes from bitterness to complete anger. He fixates me with a dreadful stare. “Am I really so unattractive?”
The question is so absurd I nearly laugh aloud. Unattractive? Of all the things I could have refused to bond with him for he thinks it’s his looks? The vain bastard! “It is not that, your highness. I concur it is not that.”
“What? What then?” He throws his hands out at his sides, eyes boggled.
“I just don’t want to.”
There’s a silence that can be felt.
“Who said you had a choice in the matter?”
Pure rage runs the river of my body. Because it’s the very thing I asked myself when I’d been preparing for the damn thing. Why was I doing it? Did I have a choice? Foolish, stupid questions! Because I was a fool. A cowardly fool!
“It’s my life. I make my own choices.” I don’t bother to hide the pride in my voice as I look him straight in the eye. “And you weren’t one of them.”
“The Celectate makes your choices!” he snaps, eyes ablaze.
“Not this time,” I whisper, determined to keep the rage bottled up inside of me.
For a moment, he says nothing and stares me. And stares. Like he can never look away.
“You’d really rather be dead than marry me?�
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Rather be dead than marry the son of the devil . . . yes. But I can’t say it like that.
He takes my hesitation for fear. “I could change his mind, you know? He is my father. He’d grant me a request. Just recant, Kyla. Please?” He steps close and presses his hands on either side of my face, palming it gently. It’s a lover’s touch. One I can’t – won’t – return. I keep my hands at my sides. His eyes yearn for me.
“Please, Kyla? I love you. You’d make a good Celecta. When I played with you as a child . . . when we read in the libraries together . . . when you taught me to dance . . . I loved you. You are the only companion I’ve ever wanted. Kyla.” He says my name with passion. With ache. “Kyla. I love you.”
If I recant, not only will I be bonded to a man I don’t love, don’t even respect, but I will be his father’s tool. A weapon meant to use against my father. My father would be a pawn. A shell of a man meant to do great things for Kelba. I won’t have that. Celectate Wood will have won if I repent and ask for his forgiveness. I will not let the devil win!
“I’ve made my choice, your highness.”
His hands move – one slides down my neck and rests there, the other tightens at the back of my head. He tilts my chin up. “Allow me to change your mind.”
His lips cover mine. Whatever I’d been expecting him to do – punch, hit, kick me – this was not it! His mouth is warm and frightfully slow. Teasing me. Caressing me. Loving me. And it feels wrong.
Something inside me jolts at the connection. A line of fire blazes its way through my spine and down my toes. I’m burning from the inside! A pulse pounds in my neck and the scars sting painfully. He pulls me in tighter, molding himself against me, sweeping an arm down my backside to press me closer. My hands grab at his shoulders, fumbling with the red lapels of his tunic. He deepens the kiss, igniting another stream of hell-fire inside of me.
This is wrong. This is wrong. Wrong. Wrong!
The pain is too great. Summoning every ounce of strength, I shove Aspen away from me. His warmth disappears. Immediately, my neck stops beating. Like a reflex. But it leaves me weak. By something short of a miracle, I manage to stay standing. To look Aspen in the eye.
Ostracized (The Ostracized Saga Book 1) Page 11
