AllFreeNovel
Share Us
At the end of the tunnel, I put the candleholder on a shelf I’d dug out for it. On the ground beside me rested a picnic basket attached to a long rope, both of which one of the servants had risked their lives to give me. I bashed the soil with my rock, causing dirt to pile on the floor. When enough had accumulated by my knees, I scooped it into the basket, crawled out of the tunnel, and carried it to the window. The basket had a hinged handle, which I bent and was able to push through the cell’s bars. From there, I lowered the basket and emptied it, usually by furious jiggling, and the rest, I would tip out. Because the dungeons were located on the edge of a cliff leading down into the salt mines, no one ever ventured there, and so, I was able to conceal the debris produced as a result of my efforts.
The creak of a door opening echoed down the hallway running between the row of cells. Firelight drifted down the corridor. Boots scraped against the floor, followed by the sound of shuffling, grunting, and a few thumps, as if someone struggled to pry open the dungeon’s main door.
My muscles tensed, and I hauled the basket up, stuffing it back inside my hole.
“Trap her in the mirror,” Kelvin repeated over and over, rocking back and forth, slamming his fist on the wall.
“Shhh, Kelvin,” I told him. “Listen to my voice.”
Visitors always set him off, and he’d begin raving. I think it was the stress from his memories of being tortured. No matter what I did, I couldn’t calm him down.
Despite trying to remain calm for him, I backed away from the cell door. My ass hit the wall, and I slid down to the floor, hugging my knees to my chest, huddled in a tight, protective ball.
Visions of the man in the black hood flashed in my mind. He carried burning-hot pokers, which he used to scald my arms, sharp blades, which he used to carve into my skin, and a whip he used to lash me. Each week, the torturer came for me…came to deliver fresh blows to bruise me, scar me, and add to my ever-growing well of horror. She sent him, I knew, hoping to force a confession out of me. But I would never admit to a crime I had not committed.
An incapacitating fear arose inside me. Every muscle in my body tightened in preparation to run. Invisible hands wrapped around my chest, squeezing so tight, my lungs hurt and I gasped for breath. All feeling in my hands and feet left me, replaced with a tingling.
“No,” I wailed, my entire body shaking. “Not again.”
It had only been three days since he’d last come. Had the guards heard me digging and alerted my stepmother? Had they discovered my plans to escape? Whatever the reason for this visit, it wasn’t good, and I was in deep shit.
More noises sounded, this time coming from somewhere above. A shout for help. The clash of metal. A thump, as if someone had fallen to the ground.
My heart pounded like roaring thunder. I felt the schism start in my mind. The same kind of psychotic break that had turned Kelvin mad. Except mine had broken me into two halves—the old Snow and the new Snow. The new me was created to protect the old me from all the pain and suffering I’d have to endure with every beating, burn, strike, punch, and slice. Afterward, the old Snow would awaken to dried blood and bruises and feelings of confusion. The two of us—the old me and the new me—shared everything except the darkness brought on by the man in the black hood.
Upstairs, a door scraped. Boots scuffed on the tile floor. Metal clattered and someone cried out.
I tightened my grasp around my knees. What was going on? My throat felt as if it had been set on fire.
Firelight bounced down the passage as someone approached. With each footfall, my stomach crackled with nerves, spawning a nausea that made me want to heave.
Three visitors, all wearing cloaks concealing their faces, appeared outside my cell. Had someone come to rescue me? I doubted it. Poseidon had forsaken me a long time ago.
Blood drained from my face all the way to my toes when the shortest caped person removed her hood. My maid, Rumi, who had nursed me, had schooled me in the crafts and in cooking, stood outside my cell. The woman had raised me when my father had had to attend to business.
Bless the mighty sea god!
“Rumi.” I gasped, crawling over to the bars, grabbing them and squeezing to brace myself. “What are you doing here? I thought that witch fired you.”
“Oh, child.” Rumi tilted her head, staring at me the way she used to when I was younger. “I was abducted, transported to a banana plantation down south, and forced to work as her slave.”
Every single word rattled through my bones. “Is that what happened to all the loyal servants?”
“Yes, child.” Rumi’s voice was low and urgent, telling me she didn’t have much time. “But some friends liberated me and hundreds of other trapped slaves. Now, I’ve come to release you. Before that witch executes you tomorrow.”
