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No one answered, and I put my ear to the wood, listening. Nothing. I crouched on the ground and scanned the gap between the door and floor. Still nothing.
Fuck.
I stood up and kept banging, hoping someone would hear me and attend to my cries. By the time I stopped, my fists were raw and aching, my voice hoarse from yelling.
Where was everybody? Why was no one coming? They must have thought my cries a cheap ploy to beg for my freedom.
***
Later that evening,boots thumped down the hallway—two distinct footfalls, one heavy and loud, another hurried and softer—and I jumped to my feet.
I thumped my fist on the door again. “Hello. Don’t ignore me. I need to speak with Grimm.”
The footsteps ended outside my door. Keys jingled and inserted into the lock, twisting, clicking, and the door handle turned.
I stepped backward, letting the door open, and a redhaired guard entered, carrying a plate of food.
“Where’s Grimm?” I asked. “I need to speak with him.”
“He’s in a planning meeting,” the guard replied, placing the delivery on my side table. “Won’t be available until dinner.”
The aroma of roasted meat with vegetables and a serving of rhubarb pie filled the air. Cinnamon and sugar dotted the mixture, toying with my nostrils, even though my mind was sick with worry.
“I have something I think he’ll want to see,” I said.
“I’ll let him know.” The way the guard spoke to me told me he had more important things to do than pass on messages from captives.
I jammed my boot in the doorway. “Please. You must tell him. It’s important.”
The guard kicked at my boot, shoving it backward inch by inch. I pressed with all my strength to keep it there, but in the end, his superior strength won out, and he pushed my foot aside.
“Damn it,” I said, kicking the door, spinning around and sliding down it.
My gaze swung back to the food. Hungry and underfed since our escape, I put a hand to my gurgling stomach. I would eat. My body needed all the strength the food would provide.
As I took small bites of the roast, my mind kept drifting to the panthers. How were they being treated? Were they locked up? In the cells or in private chambers like mine? Did they need more medicine? Had they been offered food as well? I hoped they were being afforded the same treatment as I was. Otherwise, the panthers and I were leaving at our first opportunity. I hadn’t escaped from one cell to be kept prisoner in another.
Part of me really missed the company of the panthers. I missed Phantom for his youthful charm and uplifting spirit, and Shadow, for his strength and steadiness. I even longed to experience Flare’s dry humor and tell-it-like-it-is attitude again.
The food tasted like sand, and I pushed it aside, choosing the pie, instead, hoping its creamy sauce might go down smoother. I sank my spoon into the crust, and a fresh wave of cinnamon and sugar hit me. My mouth watered in anticipation.
The dresser rattled from the rocking of my mirror.
Starving, I ignored it and took a bite of the dessert. There was something off about the flavor. A strange, sickeningly sweet taste, as if someone had put in a wrong ingredient and masked it with way too much syrup. Picking at it with my spoon, I removed the crust to examine the contents—it had a mushy consistency similar to a long, stringy stalk of rhubarb. Except this wasn’t rhubarb. It was apple.
At that thought, my mirror droned on the wood. My gaze swept between the plate and the glass. The apples. The potion. The carts.
No, no, no. I glanced down at the remains of my desert. Was this the apple the mirror had warned me of?
Screams carrying down the corridor broke me from my thoughts, and I shot to my feet. What was that? Was someone being attacked? Had hunters broken into the resistance? Or worse? Maybe my stepmother’s soldiers had arrived, as the mirror had predicted.
Body tensing with anxiety, I snatched my mirror, ready in case they busted my door down to slay me.
A stampede of people rushed down the hallway. Voices shouted a mess of orders. Guards? Healers? I couldn’t tell.
The earthen walls in front of me began to pulse. I blinked, thinking I was seeing things. But when they continued to ripple, I reached out to touch them, finding solid dirt.
“What’s going on?” I asked, rubbing my fingers then my forehead.
