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Just the thought of her now made him tremble with rage, a wracking motion that quickly devolved into a mess of dry sobs.
Oh come now, Amara the spider said. You’ve done more than your share of harm in your life. Wouldn’t you say you’ve earned this kind of treatment?
You’re as bad as they come, squeaked Jonas the fly. You’re a killer, remember? You don’t deserve a second chance.
“I’m not saying you’re wrong,” he replied. “But you two aren’t helping, you know that?”
He gingerly touched his face, feeling the thick, dried blood caked to his left cheek. His severed eye stared at him from the far side of the cell.
Amara had made him feel like he mattered to her—like he mattered at all—if only a little bit. And then she’d done this. Why? And why did the king so readily go along with it?
It didn’t make any sense.
Felix thought he’d earned the king’s forgiveness and trust, but perhaps that too had been a lie. Perhaps the king had only brought him along for this very reason—to have someone to blame, someone to punish.
He lay down on his side, shivering.
He’d felt lost and alone and hopeless before, plenty of times, whether or not he’d ever admitted it. But never like this.
“I’m going to die,” he whispered. “And no one in the entire world will miss me.”
Slowly, he faded into a semiconscious state—whether it was sleep or simply pure blackness, he wasn’t sure. But time passed. And then the rattling of a key in the door jarred him awake.
The demon-guard peered at him through the small window. “Did you miss me?”
Felix sat up quickly, his body screaming with pain. He scooted backward, as far as he could get from the iron door.
He didn’t think he could endure more torture. Any more and he was certain he’d lose his mind completely.
He was already naming insects and talking to them. What next?
The guard was about to open the door when, suddenly, a loud boom sounded out, roaring through the dungeon. The walls shook, dust falling from the ceiling in large clouds that made Felix cough and wheeze.
The guard turned around to look down the hallway, and then disappeared.
Felix pressed his head back against the slimy wall, momentarily relieved.
Another boom, even bigger than before, rocked the dungeon. A small crack started splintering along the wall and spread up to the ceiling, until a chunk of rock crashed to the ground only a few feet away from Felix.
This whole place was going to come crashing down on his head.
Felix supposed it was better to die this way than at the mercy of that sadistic guard.
He moistened his dry, cracked lips with the tip of his tongue, tasting sweat and his own coppery blood.
“I’m not afraid,” he whispered. “I’m not afraid of death. But I want it to come quickly. Please, goddess. No more pain. If that request makes me a coward, then so be it, I’m a coward. But please . . . please. I’ve had enough.”
He waited, straining his ears to hear anything out in the hallway. But after the second explosion, all had gone deadly silent.
Minutes passed, or was it hours? He didn’t know how long he waited. Time had no meaning here.
Then, he heard it. Shouts. Screams. The clash of metal on metal, the crash of iron doors against stone walls. He strained to break apart his chains, but the cuffs only bit deeper into his wrists, rebreaking the wounds they’d already inflicted.
Someone was trying to escape. And someone else was helping him.
“Here—I’m in here.” He tried to shout it, but he could barely manage more than a rasp.
He had no idea who might come to his door, if he were calling out to friend or foe. But he had to try.
