What if my Lord doesn’t return?
I shake my head, pushing the thought away.
Of course he’ll come back …
Another blow of breath, another flicker, the sound of my teeth cracking against each other smothered by the rattling chorus of the other Irilak joining in.
I focus on that flame, make myself smaller, my sharp, bony arms wrapped around my empty body.
The food ran out days ago. The first four candles burned too fast.
Why would my Lord leave us like this? Does he notcareabout us anymore?
Does he not need me like I need him?
This foreign hurt feels worse than the shackles with their bladed metal teeth that he sometimes clamps around our necks. Feels worse than the times he bites so deep I’m certain he’s going to take a chunk of me with him when he lets go.
The shrinking knob of wax left on my remaining candle will burn off before the night is through. Before light shines down from the sky-holes and dashes away the monsters edging closer with every flickering sway of tiny light.
A whimper battles past my chattering teeth …
I don’t want to die this way.
My lower belly aches with the urge to burst, and I glance at my brimming chamber bowl in the corner of my cell.
If I shuffle toward it, my flame might blow out.
I release the aching burst, a tear dragging down my cheek as a warm puddle swells beneath me. My teeth clank together so hard I nip my tongue. Taste blood.
I’m not ready to go yet.
I don’t want to go.
My Lord might still come back.
Footsteps echo down the tunnel …
I pull a staggered breath, gaze flicking to the murky outline of my barred door, to the black of the tunnel beyond.
Has he come for me?
The Irilak waver, shriek, then flit through the bars of my door, disappearing into the darkness.
“M-My Lord?” I call, heart heavy in my throat, skin tingling with hope. My voice echoes off the walls, dashed by the weight of the approaching steps.
Thud …
Thud …
Thud …
No—too heavy. The gait too long. My Lord usuallyhurriesto me. As desperate for me as I am for his attention.
A broad, cloaked shadow stops at the bars of my cell, looking in, and I can feel that gaze rake across my quivering form. My torn and soiled clothes.
Across the bite marks on my neck and arm that have scabbed over in my Lord’s absence.
I sniff at the air, catching the hint of a strong, male scent.
