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It takes every ounce of strength I can muster to sit up, and my muscles scream in protest, but I grit my teeth and push through the pain. Even then, I only make it halfway before he's helping me.
“Careful. You’re still healing.” His voice is thick with emotion, it’s hard to tell if he’s pissed at me for trying to kill the king or more worried about my current condition. Perhaps it’s a mix of both.
Asmo grips my chin, just enough to turn my face so he can see my eyes. I’m still too groggy to fight it, and after a moment his hand drops, as if he’s satisfied or found what he was searching for.
“Thank the gods… You might actually live. What were you thinking?”
He probably shouldn’t get his hopes up just yet. Everything hurts, and I'm not sure how much longer that'll be true,considering what I just attempted. I thought for sure the king would kill me in the white room, that he would’ve made true on his promise to dig until he got the answers he craves.
“He…” I swallow, trying to wet the sandpaper in my throat. “He let me live…”
“For now. He said if you survived, he wanted you executed to the riff by the end of the week.” Dipping his head, I watch him twirl his thumbs in his lap. The fact he couldn’t look me in the eye as he said it tells me everything I need to know. I’m not making it out of this. And if the king wants me sacrificed to the riff, that’s worse than death.
The riff is a crack so deep, nothing dropped inside of it ever gets out. Well, besides the king’s first born. It’s a monster so deadly, even my father is scared of it. The dungeon master is responsible for keeping it fed, shoving prisoners inside the riff every so often to ensure it stays deep within the darkness. It’s Asmo’s job and not even he has witnessed its entire face, just the slew of fluorescent eyes that stare up at him at mealtime.
"Is this… Is this what happened to Meg?" The words tumble out before I can stop them. Asmo's gaze darkens, but he doesn’t answer. “Please. If I’m going to die, I want to know what happened to her.”
He nods solemnly. "In a way. The day you showed the king your gift, he decided he didn’t need her anymore. He stopped being careful and couldn’t care less if his tests killed her. She died in the white room. Unlike you, she didn’t survive long enough to be thrown in the riff. The creature he feeds down there prefers its food alive.”
I got her killed…All I wanted was for my father to be proud of me, to show him I’d finally figured out what my gift was. If I’d kept my magic to myself, Meg might’ve never gone missing. She’d still be alive.
“It’s not your fault, Calamity.” Asmo smoothes my hair with a scarred hand, brushing it out of my face. “You didn’t know. Meg didn’t blame you, either. The king learned a lot that day, but it wasn’t enough. Now, after studying you, he has everything he needs. He got his answers and you’ll never have to go back in that room.”
My eyes water, and I do my best to blink the tears away, to keep them from falling. “It’ll just be the riff I go to instead. I’m not sure getting eaten alive sounds much better.”
“I have a plan. It’s a long shot, but in the days you’ve been asleep, I’ve had plenty of time to think.” He stares down at me, running his fingers through the dark strands of my hair. “I can’t promise it’ll work, but we have to try right?”
"Tell me," I demand, knowing I don't have any other options.
"I have a friend from the outer realm who owes me a debt. I've reached out to him and—”
Sucking in a breath, I push up to my elbows, ignoring the searing pain that stabs through my middle the moment my muscles flex. “Do you have any idea how dangerous it is for you to go there? And since when do you have friends there? What if the king finds out? You’d be lucky if he didn’t display your bones as a warning to others.”
“I was quick, and I went straight to him. The king was too busy in the white room to care where I was.” Asmo's eyes flicker with uncertainty. "He’s on his way here, well to the mountains, anyway. I’ve arranged for him to get you out of Solaria.”
“That’ll never work. We’ve talked about this. Running away isn’t an option. The king’s shadow shrouds will find me on the mainland and if they can’t, he’ll command you. You won’t be able to defy him without dying.”
“And I'd be happy to do so if I knew you were safe, but if things go to plan, he won’t know to look. He’ll see someone executed. It just won’t be you.”
"What living person in their right mind would volunteer to go into the riff?" I ask, skeptical. “You can’t pretend to be me and push someone in. The king is going to want to be there.”
“The king never risks getting close to the riff. He always watches from a distance, and I didn’t say it was a living person.” Asmo arches a brow at me, leaning back in his chair with his arms folded over his chest.
“What do you mean?” My brow furrows as I try to make sense of his plan. How could he possibly convince the king I’m dead without someone walking into the riff? They won’t kill me first. The creature inside it prefers its food alive.
He drags in a deep breath, letting out little by little as his eyes meet mine. “I’m going to raise someone from the crypt.”
“One of my sisters? That won’t work. Even the dead have hair, Asmo. The king is going to know it’s not me when the person walking off the ledge has white hair and not black.” I’m the only one of my sisters who didn’t get the Midicious family trait. My father never understood why, since the mutations he makes to give us our unique gifts causes it. Just like his mimicking ability, the magic didn’t work on me.
“Not one of your sisters. I’m not even sure there’s an intact body for me to use in there.”
Asmo has told me about them, that he’s responsible for placing my kin in the crypt. Most die the moment they’re married off to monsters. Had I not been trapped down here, I might’ve shared their fate on my twenty-third birthday.
“If not one of them, then who?”
The lump in his throat bobs. “Meg. The king asked me to place her in the crypt. I don’t know why. Maybe she’s sentimental to him because of what he discovered. Maybe it was to know where to find her should he have more postmortem tests. Her hair is just as dark as yours, and if I put her in a cloak, the king would never see her face. He’ll think it’s you.”
I shake my head, feeling the sharp pain take hold between my shoulders, like my spine has been stretched too far. “Not her… No.”
