Page 50 of His Noble Ruin

My head sank, weakened by the weight on my heart. Would my father find out I was here? When the Immortals came to question me, they’d soon discover my secrets. The entire city would know. And so would Graham.

Graham. How long did he wait outside the church before giving up on me? And when would he finally read the news? I wondered if he’d care about my fate, or just hate me for my lies. The image of his shy smile and questioning eyes remained in my mind, tormenting me. I needed a distraction or I’d end up like one of those psychotic prisoners, repeating the same two words and banging my head against the wall.

To make things worse, Al started whistling an upbeat tune that didn’t belong in prison, or even Cambria. When he looked back at me, I made a slicing gesture across my neck. The shrill irritation wasn’t exactly the distraction I was hoping for.

His whistle died abruptly. “Aw, that was a beau’iful tune.”

I opened my hands in the shape of a book, then pointed at him.

He frowned. “You wanna know if I can read?”

I shook my head and did the gestures again, pointing to myself afterward.

“You want me to tell you a story?”

I nodded at the same time groans issued from the nearby cells.

He clapped his hands together. “Then you’ve come to the right place!”

Al’s story began at once, his animated voice keeping my thoughts within the borders of sanity. Eventually, I closed my eyes and fell asleep on the cold floor.

ChapterEighteen

“Get up!”

The shout startled me to my feet. The branks cut into my swollen tongue, drawing fresh blood. A guard paced the aisle, yelling at the prisoners. Al yawned lazily and stretched before he stood up as if this were any other gentle morning.

The guard lifted a key to the lock on my cell.

I wondered how long I’d slept, and if someone from the Academy had come to question me. My body ached from sleeping in an awkward position, and my neck was so stiff I could hardly turn my head. But neither compared to the fire in my mouth.

The guards led us out of the cells and down the aisle with the rest of the captives in line behind me. I searched every dark corner and barred window as we walked.

“Some new prisoners try to run,” said the guard behind me. “But that won’t get you anything but a good beating.”

Even with the branks on, I kept my chin high. I didn’t want them to think they’d taken anything from me. The act made me feel more like myself, and I felt my resolve rising.

We came to a room filled with tables and benches. One table held an enormous copper pot full of something that vaguely resembled food. The prisoners lifted a ladle to their bowls, pouring in a chunky brown liquid.

I thought I’d adjusted to the prison smells, but the odor of rancid seafood made my stomach churn.

A guard grabbed me by the arm and pulled me out of line. He took a tiny key from his pocket and put it up to the back of my head, releasing the brank’s spiky grip from my tongue. “Eat. You’ll need the energy for your interrogation.”

I swallowed and touched the tip of my tongue. It was swollen and raw, but not as damaged as I’d expected.

He pushed me back into the line of prisoners and walked away. I obediently followed the others and poured myself a bowl. A fish head floated to the surface, the cavities of its eyes hollow.

I gagged and looked away, clutching my stomach.

I was greeted with the same face I’d seen while being dragged to my cell. The young wild-haired woman stood behind me in line. She smiled, her brown eyes warm with sympathy. “I can tell you’re not hungry enough for this yet.”

“I won’t be tomorrow either,” I said, every word stinging my tongue.

“Nobodywantsto eat scraps,” she said, “but you’ll be surprised at what you can handle.”

I looked down at my bowl.

Nope. Couldn’t handle it.

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