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“Stay strong, Cynthia,” Faith whispers as I look across at her.
Tears tremble on her lashes but she brushes them away, forcing her gaze ahead. I take her lead, and blow out a long breath, allowing my gaze to take in the rest of the details of the hall, if only to distract myself from the true horror about to unfold.
Running along both sides of the room are long tables filled with plates of steaming food, platters of cold meats, and bowls of cooked vegetables and stewed fruit. There's even a hog roast turning on a spit over an open fire, its skin sizzling, fat dripping from the carcass. Warmth spreads out from the flames but my stomach churns uneasily as my gaze is drawn to the top of the assembly hall.
Sitting upon a throne made of human bones, wearing nothing but his tattooed skin, is Soren. He's flanked by two rows of hooded figures which make up the Skull Brotherhood. Vomit rises up my throat, and I press my hand against my mouth, choking back the acrid taste.
"Cynthia?" Faith whispers.
"I'm okay," I mutter, feeling far from it.
Half-skull looks over his shoulder at us. "Shut the fuck up," he snarls. "You speak when given permission to speak, and not before."
I meet his gaze, glaring at him, a sudden, overwhelming anger overriding any dizziness I feel.
"You really are begging for it, aren't you?" he asks, lip curling up into a cruel smile as he steps towards me.
"Bring them in!" Soren booms, his voice laced with anger and impatience.
Half-skull reluctantly drags his attention away from me and motions for us to step further inside.
"Sir," Half-skull replies, circling behind us, his large hands shoving us both in the back, aggravating bruises already inflicted by Soren's fists.
We stumble past the naked women strapped to the tables, their whimpers a desperate plea for someone, anyone to save them. I want to tell them it's going to be okay, but right now all I can do is focus on placing one foot in front of the other.
As we pass by the tables piled high with food, I notice another five women standing in the shadows just behind them, their bodies covered in a patchwork of scars and bruises, naked except for thick iron chains strapped around their ankles. They must be the other women who’ve been kept in the bowels of this building, the ones whose screams and cries of distress were carried through the thick brick walls to my cell.
"On your knees before your master," Half-skull orders, forcing us both to kneel before Soren the second we reach him. My teeth clack from the vibration of my knees hitting the hard stone, but the pain shooting up my spine barely registers as Half-skull grips my hair and forces me to look upon the monster responsible for so much abuse and cruelty.
"You’ve been brought here to serve me," Soren declares, his voice booming so that it echoes off the walls and high ceiling. "Tonight thewitchis mine to fuck. She’s off-limits to anyone else in this room."
I swallow hard, refusing to cower from his glare, boldly meeting his gaze whilst cursing his existence with every last cell in my body. I’d sooner die then let him fuck me.
Shifting his focus to Faith, his lips curl up in a grimace as he grabs her face and digs his fingers into her cheeks. "My bitch will serve us theDrink of Deathas she has done each year previously. She too is off-limits. No one touches her. Understood?"
"Yes, Sir!" the men reply in unison.
"However, the women at your tables are my gift to you all. Sit, eat and drink. Once your bellies are full, and your cocks are hard, then we’ll feast on the flesh."
Soren waves his hand in the air, and his men file past, filling up each seat surrounding the five tables. Now it's just me and Faith left kneeling before him.
"Rise," he commands, gesturing to Faith. "Do your duty,bitch."
Out of the corner of my eye, I watch Faith slowly rise to her feet, her expression blank, her green eyes dull, and without emotion. I daren’t watch her as she heads towards the table of pitchers for fear of giving away our plan. Instead, I stare at the ground beneath Soren's feet and wait. Behind me I hear the sounds of food being served and men talking and eating, raucous laughter fills the air pitted with the muffled sounds of the women sobbing. I feel their fear and humiliation as though it's my own.
"Look at me," Soren orders, his fingers pinching my chin as he forces my head up.
My gaze meets the darkness of his. His usually green eyes are swallowed up by the blackness of his pupils. My throat tightens. I recognise that look. He's under the influence of diamonds.
"I want you to observe what happens when those bitches are given your drug, and my men consume the Drink of Death," he says, an evil smile stretching the skull that's tattooed onto his face.
I shake my head, my last act of defiance. “No.”
"TURN AROUND AND SIT AT MY FEET, WITCH!" he roars, spittle flying from my mouth as he throws a punch that smashes against my eye and cheek and sends me crashing to the floor.
My head rings, my brain sloshes around inside my skull from the impact. I blink back the pain, retching. When he stands and kicks me in the side right where he already bruised my ribs, my stomach empties, nothing more than bile splattering across the stone floor.
“Next time I won’t be so lenient,” Soren says, grasping my hair and forcefully turning me around to face the scene unfolding.
