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But I can tell by the fatigue in my body that I’ve been working longer than ten hours. Without the comfort of good shoes, I’m limping by the time I’m allowed a small bowl of a tasteless, thick stew and then ushered back to my cell.
A man takes me back to the prison, and I waste no time in asking for information. He’s in his early thirties, I’d estimate, wearing the same type of clothing as me. His dark hair is long and greasy, his pale face smudged with dirt, and he smells. I’m guessing bathing isn’t something that’s offered.
“What’s your name?” I ask as we leave the kitchen.
He walks slowly so I can keep up, given the way I’m hobbling. “Will Goble.”
“Are you human?”
He nods, glancing over his shoulder at me. “The non-dead variety.”
“What does that even mean?” I ask.
“It means that I’m very much alive, whereas you’re dead.”
“How does that happen? How did you end up here?”
Will gives a mirthless laugh. “I was dating a woman who said she was into Wicca. I thought it was cool and all. Turns out she was into a little darker stuff, and I was a sacrifice.”
“Oh my fucking God,” I mutter as I amble along. “So you weren’t killed but… sent down here to what…?”
“It was an exchange. She got power, I got sent here.” Will’s voice is flat. I guess that’s the only way to be when all your joy has been stolen. “I’m the guy in the cell next to yours.”
“I’m Nyssa, by the way.”
“I know. Word spread quickly that King Amell kept you. It’s not really done anymore.”
“Anymore?” I prod.
We head down the spiral staircase that leads to our cells. “When Queen Kymaris ruled, she kept the worst of the souls and forged them into demons. I’ve heard that’s not being done anymore, and the castle does seem to be purged of them, from what I can tell.”
A shudder ripples up my spine. I absolutely don’t want to know what those demons might have been created to do.
“So, Amell is like a benevolent ruler?”
Will turns around on me as we reach the bottom of the stairs. “Listen to me, Nyssa. No one here is benevolent. Everyone here is evil. Don’t undertake a single action or utter one word before you remind yourself of that fact. If you keep that in mind, temper your behavior, you can live relatively easy under the radar. And by easy, I mean working your body to the bone every day, and sleeping on a hard floor at night. That’s the best your life—or rather, your dead life—will ever be.”
I’m stunned by his words. Despite how fantastical all of this has been so far—the Underworld, the Crimson River, a crazy king who might throw me in it on a whim, the monsters I’ve seen—none of it truly seemed real until right now.
“I understand,” I murmur.
Will leads us down the corridor to our cells. I take the time to scan left and right. Most of the cells are empty, but a few hold people. Everyone sits or lies on the hard stone floor looking bored and defeated.
When we reach our prison abodes, I glance around for a guard. The iron-bar doors are open, and Will walks through his, pulling it shut behind him.
“When do they lock us in?” I ask before heading into mine.
“They don’t,” he says, sitting on the floor and leaning against the wall.
“Aren’t they afraid we’ll escape?” I ask in disbelief, looking around again as my mind churns with a potential plan to get out of here.
“Where would you go, Nyssa? The Underworld doesn’t have a front door you can come in and out of. It’s sealed off. The most you can hope for is to escape into Otaxis, but the first fae or daemon who finds you will either turn you back over to Amell, or worse, keep you for themselves to brutalize and torture. Humans—dead or alive—are hated and lowest on the food chain. It’s safer to stay here.”
For the first time in years, I feel like crying. I suck it up, though, moving to my cell and pulling the door shut. I see my new home has been furnished in my absence. A single bucket sits in the corner, apparently a place to relieve myself.
I feel so defeated, I can’t even bother to be horrified. Placing my back against the stone wall that separates my cell from Will’s, I slide down with a heavy sigh. Leaning my head back, I try to reconcile this as my life.
Or rather, my undead life.
