The man shoves something into the lock, twisting, and the clunking sound of my door unlocking beats against my ribs like a booted kick. I tuck myself into a tighter ball as he pulls the door open, filling the opening in a way it’s never been filled before.
Panic explodes in my chest.
There’s a clicking sound, and a lantern hanging from his clenched fist flares to life.
“No ...” I plead, the backs of my eyes stinging as he stalks forward and crouches before me. He sets the lantern on the ground between us and pushes back his hood.
I stare at him, eyes wide.
His face looks like sculpted stone—carved from the Gods my Lord speaks about. His hair is black like the tunnel with lighter bits threaded through, but he doesn’t look old. He looks big, strong, and scary.
He’s frowning, his silver eyes scraping across my face.
“Wh-who are you?” My voice wobbles free, scratchy and raw.
He grips my chin, his hand much warmer than the ground or the air or the blood in my veins that is maybe a little bit black. My Lord doesn’t like our blood black. He throws us away when it turns. That’s why my Lord needs to come back and give me time in the sun-beam.
The man turns my face, inspecting it, then lets out a low rumble that rattles my bones.
“Wh-where’s my Lord?” I squeak, eyes darting behind him. “My Lord?”
“Gone,” he booms, the word so heavy and deep it swallows my scream and bounces off the walls.
Slices through me.
No …
No, no, no …
My aching heart feels like it splits ten ways, the fractures spreading through to my very soul as my breaths come hard and sharp.
I rip my chin out of his grip as my upper lip peeks back. “What did you do to him?”
The words hiss out of me, jagged and raw and broken.
Condemning.
His silence is answer enough, and my insides flare with wild, tangled emotions.
“You killed my Lord … my Lord. No,no, no, no …” I twist my body into a tighter knot, clawing at my arms and back. Lowering my chin, I stare at him through a mess of matted hair. “You killed my Lord!”
He claps his hands on either side of my face, and I gasp. “You need to bury that weakness the same way I buriedhim,” he growls, the words a coarse grate against my skin and soul. “Cover that up. Shield it and move on or you’re better off dying down here with the rest of them.”
My face crumbles as he releases it.
He unclips his black cloak, dragging it off his shoulders, setting it in a pile beside me before sliding the lantern closer. “I’m leaving,” he rumbles, his deep voice filling my cell as he pushes to a stand, looking down on me still huddled in my pool of piss. “I have food in my saddlebags and a change of clothes. Come if you want, or don’t, but life doesn’t have to hurt like this.”
He turns and walks out, leaving the dooropen—his footsteps retreating.
All I can do is stare at that wide-open door.
His steps begin to fade, and I look through the dim lantern light to the cell on the opposite side of the tunnel. To the girl curled in a shrunken knot who lost her flame last night.
Omara.
I miss her soft words and smiles.
But now her face is twisted, her mouth caught in the shape it made when she screamed seconds before her light went out—the sound still sharp in my ears.
