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I won’t last much longer like this, but it sounds like it doesn’t matter, anyway. It’s my big day, I think, unable to even cry any longer. My sight goes blurry anyway, but I blame it on the dust. I rub them, only making the burn worse.
Time drifts unnoticed in this place, and what I thought was minutes turns into hours in the blink of an eye, and the guards are back. With my ear pressed to the stone, I hear their footsteps long before they reach my private dungeon.
Their voices, however, are distant and muffled.
It’s only when the door opens that I can better hear them. “This is the one?”
“The Soz’garoth confirmed it.”
Three sets of eyes are on me. Two of them are the jackal headed demons—the trolvor, as they prefer to be called—and one is a gray skinned male with horns. They haven’t given me a name for these ones, but they more closely resemble the dark elves, with sharp eyes and ears.
It’s their horns and skin that give it away, though. As if the Thirteen decided they didn’t deserve color, and painted them in shades of gray. I haven’t seen many of these ones down here, but they seem to be in charge of all the others.
This one studies me with some disgust. “Open the cell.”
Despite his lack of color, he himself is wearing a bright red coat, finely crafted with golden stitching and a set of tails trailing behind him. He looks ridiculous, like he belongs in a circus. On his arm, he carries a cane to match, though it doesn’t appear he needs it for walking. For whipping, more like, I think miserably.
The trolvor do as they’re told and crack open my cell door.
They hesitate as if waiting for another order. “Well?” the demon barks, his handsome mouth turned down. “Get her out. The show’s about to begin.”
“Yes, Aggilas,” they murmur in union, the bigger one entering the cell first.
His nose curls as soon as he nears me, and drags me upright. “She’s filthy.”
“It won’t matter,” Aggilas says. “She’s a novelty. The crowd will love her. At least until the Gilak gets ahold of her.”
I don’t have the strength to remain upright, so they hoist me between them and carry me out. Their hands are secure, but I can tell they don’t want to touch me. I don’t blame them. I’d have crawled out of this body a long time ago if I could have.
Instead, the Gods decided I deserve a slow death in their arena.
Torchlight blinds my sensitive eyes as they drag me through a long hall. At the end, I think I see something brighter. Daylight, perhaps. But it’s not even, flickering wildly as if an electrical storm is brewing.
I let my head drop forward.
There was an electrical storm that first day, too. The day the demons came from the sky. The storm came first, swallowing the dawn. I felt my hairs rise on my arms, and up, to the little hairs on the nape of my neck.
I thought I knew what was coming.
I had no idea.
“Wash her down,” says Aggilas. “The soz’garoth said she had golden skin. I want to see it before the show begins.”
“What about these rags?”
“Leave them. There’s no point in dressing a corpse.”
I’m taken to a side room, where I can hear the distant pounding of feet. Not just a small army, but a massive crowd, no less than a thousand. I hardly have time to process before I’m dunked in tepid water, the dirt running off me in brown rivulets.
Some drip down from my hair and into my mouth.
It’s the first drink I’ve had since I arrived in this demon city, and I accept it.
“Disgusting,” one of them snarls, dunking my upper half into the water again. It’s only briefly that I can’t breathe, sucking in water and gulping it down. When he yanks me back out, the air feels fresh and clean. Or maybe that’s me.
They discard me on the red earth floor, and I hear Aggilas’ voice again. “Leave her for now. I’ll let you know when we’re ready for her.”
The trolvor mumble their assent and exit, locking the door behind them.
