“Eventually they’ll take my head,” he explains, a note of hope entering his voice. “They must know by now that I won’t give them anything they seek. I don’t know why they haven’t done it yet.”
“What do they hope to get from you?”
“The identities of the rebels in Revalle.” His tone is matter-of-fact, as if he long ago gave up trying to hide his connection to the rebellion. An unexpected thrill rolls through me as I realize this connection might be even more important than the link to the Dróttning I’ve been pursuing. They’re my best hope for finding a place for Astarot and me to hide. If we can get out of this place.
“Yes, that’s something the Dróttning would desperately want,” I agree. “You’re strong, to deny them information that might give you the death you crave.”
He sighs again, the weariness sneaking back into his exhale. “I have no choice. My mate joined me in the rebellion. If I gave up any of them, he would suffer, and it would be worse than anything I’ve experienced here. I would spend a thousand days on the rack before I would do that to him.”
“You have a mate? I didn’t think those bonds really existed.” I’ve heard references to mates in this world but only in whispers. I saw these bonds between elves in my worlds, but here, it feels like myth. Stories told long ago that have evolved over the years to describe an unattainable love.
“Our mating bond snapped into place when we saw each other. For more than two hundred years, it has been the reason we live. Dragging him into my misery would cause me more pain than the Dróttning could ever inflict.”
We sit in silence for a moment, my thoughts whirling. “Is that what it means to be mated to someone?” I ask at last. I don’t know why, but I need to better understand the mating bond. Maybe it will help me in my connection with Astarot.
“That is part of it,” he responds, his words trembling with emotion. “We are fortunate. With most of the elves trapped in the Dróttning’s prisons, few mates find each other. We somehow both evaded the Dróttning’s personal Helheim in the prisons, and then landed in each other’s arms. We’ve had more than most.”
“How many elves live freely here?” I’ve never met any, other than Bevin, if I’m right that he’s an elf. But I wouldn’t know if I had. I’d need to develop a friendship with another elf that would last long enough to break through the shields that protect our minds. Only then could I discern their nature.
It’s part of the reason my connection with Fhord is so confusing. Even if he were part elf—although he doesn’tfeellike an elf—my mind seemed to recognize his when I first encountered him. I’ve never experienced that kind of link with someone I didn’t know.
“A few dozen,” he says. “But not freely. Their location is another secret the Dróttning would like to wring from me but hasn’t.” His voice is layered with pride.
“What’s your name?” I ask at last. “I suspect we’ll be good friends before our time here is done.”
“I am Joralf. And what is your name?”
“Sifa. I’m an elf too—which I’ve now admitted twice in a week, more than in all of the years I’ve lived in Revalle. Not a good sign,” I add with a laugh.
“I suspected you might be,” Joralf tells me. “The air shifted when you arrived. Your power must be great, to occupy so much space in these caves.”
“Maybe,” I concede. “I have no idea how to measure it here.”
The boots slapping on the floor in our direction draw our attention, ending any conversation. In a few seconds, two guards stop in front of my cell.
“The Dróttning requires your presence,” one snarls as my stomach drops. He pauses, a key just shy of the lock on my door, to sneer at me. “I’m not allowed to kill you, but I can cause you pain. As much as I need to get you to her alive. You don’t plan to fight me, do you?”
I drop my head and then hold still for a moment, letting the emotions wash through me. The dread I felt when they stopped at my cell has tempered, a flash of thrill taking its place. My pulse quickens, and I have to hold back a smile as their words settle.
I’m going to meet the Dróttning. Whatever I may suffer at her hands will be worth it because she holds all the answers in this place. Every bit of knowledge I can gather about or from her will help me find my way home. Or at least help me find a way home for Toffer, if I can’t bring myself to leave Astarot behind.
But they can’t know I want to meet her, so I don’t move right away, forcing them to speak again. “Are you gonna come willingly?”
I grasp on to sorrow and fear, pulling up my memories of Astarot being shot, to make sure that when I lift my eyes, they’ll reflect those emotions. “I will,” I tell them, dragging myself to my feet. When I shuffle toward the door, shoulders drooping and back curved, my gaze drops to the floor. They scrape open the door, grasp the chain still attached to my throat, and drag me out of my cell and down the hall.
The corridors wind endlessly and dread returns with the realization that we’re going deeper into the caves—toward the rooms they use to punish prisoners. After a dozen turns, I abandon any hope of remembering our path. I’ll never escape from the rack anyway. They’ll lead my broken body back to my cell when they’re done with it. Instead, memories of my weeks here fill my thoughts. It feels like my throat will close completely, the bile that’s started to rise from my stomach the only thing that will pass.
Fuck me. We turn into a hallway I recognize, right outside the room that holds the rack, and I’m deep in my dread. My emotions whip through me as I come to terms with what comes next. My stomach is tied in knots and I wonder if I’ll be able to keep myself from vomiting.
I don’t want them to hurt me again.
I know the cave they take me to, too well. The rack that waits for me. I fought them the first few times they tied me to its frame, thinking I could change or avoid anything they tried to do to me. It only made it worse. I always ended up trapped here—every single time—but when I fought, I did it with broken bones. Forcing myself to move, aligning my bones to make sure they healed properly while I hung here, was the most painful thing I’ve ever experienced. I won’t do it again.
When they lead me in, I let them strip me naked, spread my arms and legs, and tie me to the cold wood. Then I wait for the Dróttning to arrive. For the punishment to begin.
And I wait. And wait. And fucking wait.
Bitch.
