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Silence engulfs me as my words color the surrounding air in shades of a young girl’s despair.
“My father wouldn’t have let Rook live. Not given the bad blood between our families. Or the possibility that he would try to avenge his father,” Aeron says quietly, and my head snaps over to him, making me wince as it tugs on my sore patches.
“You promised Rook would be okay,” I say, my voice firm even as my stomach quivers with uncertainty.
“I know I did, Dove, and I swear to you again that I will do everything to convince my father to let him live.”
“But it might not be enough.” The words are heavy as they fall from my lips, sinking like a corpse thrown in a lake and weighed down with rocks in its pockets.
“But it might not be enough,” Aeron repeats, his deep blue eyes stormy and furrows etched into his forehead.
A hard truth. Another thing that may stand between us.
They may have forgiven my deception, but I’m not sure if I could forgive them if anything happened to Rook.
And that’s the hardest truth of all.
Lark
“Everything” by SMNM
The door at the end of the corridor opens later that day—luckily Aeron has his expensive Rolex watch on so we can at least tell how much time is passing. I’m not sure if that’s a blessing or a curse, although it makes me chuckle when Jude keeps asking him the time, and I can see the tic in Aeron’s jaw getting deeper.
Doc walks in, along with a couple of Soldiers. My heart picks up pace as I shift in my seated position on the floor, my back leaning against the side wall. It’s damp as fuck, but better than trying to hold myself upright, what with the agony my ribs are still in. I’m tired and aching from getting dressed and moving around after Tarl ordered me to, in order to keep my lungs clear of any mucus. Yeah, I’ve gone beyond gross at this point. Don’t even get me started on what passes for a toilet in the corner; this place gives the Tailor dungeon a run for its money in the worst TripAdvisor review of all time.
“Good afternoon, Lark,” Doc says in his calm voice. The guy is old, maybe in his fifties, and I must admit that he’s pretty distinguished looking and could even be considered a silver fox. “How are you feeling?”
There’s a tightness around his eyes that I can see through his round glasses, and he doesn’t waste time taking the key from his waistcoat pocket—this dude is seriously old school—and unlocking my door. He steps inside, not bothering to close the bars behind him, after all, where the fuck would I go? The Soldiers wait in the walkway, not hiding the fact that they’re staring at me. I can feel their lecherous gazes like something sticky sliding across my skin, and I’m doubly grateful for the clothes Doc left me yesterday.
“I’ve been better,” I tell him, wincing as I readjust my position, trying to avoid getting a numb ass. “My ribs hurt like a motherfucker and my cunt is pretty sore, but no signs of infection that I can tell.”
I know the drill and have done this with Doc before so I know what details he’s after and he doesn’t even bat an eyelid at my crude language. One of the peons sniggers and Doc cuts him a sharp look, as do my guys, so he shuts up pretty quickly. It’s then I notice the bags the Soldiers are carrying. Doc just has his usual brown medical bag, clutched in his hands.
“What’s in the bags?”
Doc’s face smoothes a little, a slight smile on his lips. “Ah, I told your father that you needed some things to help you recover fully if you’re to heal up properly.” He tilts his head and the two Soldiers step into the cell, dumping the bags and then stepping out once more. I don’t recognize either of them, so I assume they’re some of the new recruits.
Doc places his bag down, and takes one of the others, pulling out a pillow and blanket, both looking brand new and starkly clean against the grimy backdrop of my cage. My nose crinkles at the thought of how disgusting I am, and it’s only been two days.
“Thanks, Doc,” I say, not wanting to sound ungrateful as I reach for the items when he places them on the floor next to me.
“There are also some more clothes and some stew Maggie made,” he tells me, leaning in closer to whisper his next words. “There’s enough for the boys.”
Moisture stings my eyes, and I curse myself for being a weeper all of a sudden. I guess I should cut myself some slack given the shitshow of the last couple of days.
“Thank you, really.” My voice is thick, and I cough to clear my throat. He places a hand on my shoulder, squeezing gently as he pulls back again.
“I’ve also told Rufus that you need time to heal properly before—” he stops before finishing his sentence, but I know what he doesn’t say. Before my father gives me to the newest recruits who’ve made corporals. My stomach churns at the stark reminder of my future, but I just push it away along with all the other shit, to be dealt with by future Lark. It’s harder when my gaze snags on the two Soldiers standing outside my bars, leering at me like salivating fucking dogs. “He’s agreed until Friday. I’m sorry, that was the best I could do.” Poor Doc’s shoulders round in and his forehead is deeply creased.
“It’s more than most here would do, Doc. So, thank you again.”
“Well, for now, let’s check you over. And I’d like to look at your stitches, make sure there is nothing untoward,” he tells me, back to business as he always is. He spends the next several minutes checking me over, making sure that none of my other injuries are worse. He changes the bandage on my side, one that covers the shallow stab wound Rufus gave me. My sperm donor’s gifts have always been painful. “You boys can leave now. My patient needs privacy for her other check,” Doc informs the Soldiers, his tone unyielding as he looks up from where I’m now lying on top of the blanket. It’s a relief not to have the freezing concrete underneath me.
“But—'' one of them starts, but Doc cuts him off.
“Rufus put you under my charge, did he not? And he’ll be mighty annoyed if I go back not having checked her fully because you refused to follow orders.” Damn, this man is a little scary when he wants to be, and I can see the way he expertly manipulates the men.
“Let’s just go, Chad. It’s not worth our hides,” the other one says, grabbing his buddy and pulling him down the walkway.Yes, run along, Chad. Fucking douche name if ever I heard one.
