Page 8 of A Kingdom of Monsters

I held my breath and forced myself to put one foot in front of the other, descending the stairs. Quill let out a mournful cry on my shoulder and dug his talons into my flesh. I glanced up at him, and without knowing how I knew, I was sure he hated being this far from fresh air. “Wait for me on the stairs,” I told the raven.

He made a chattering sound that felt suspiciously like “Thank you,” and leapt off my shoulder.

At the bottom of the long stairs was a curved wooden door. Once a guard had been stationed here, but now it seemed that the diminished staff saw no reason to waste someone standing outside a closed door all day. I was grateful at least that no one saw me struggling to contain the panic that threatened to overwhelm me.

My hand shaking, I reached for the cool metal knob and pulled the door open. As I’d expected, the smell was 100X worse. The stench of death and despair overwhelmed me, and I struggled to remain standing as I let the door swing closed behind me.

As if I were a puppet on strings, and someone else was guiding my movements, I made my way down the long row of cells. The echo of screams and rattling bars rang in my ears.

“I’m sorry,” I whispered to each prisoner as I passed. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry.”

I was familiar with how it felt to be kept behind bars, and I felt a large dose of guilt and pity at every single face. I had no idea what these creatures had done to be kept here–many had likely been here for many years since before I was born, but I couldn’t help but wonder if that was a mistake. Had they really deserved to be imprisoned, or were they like Idris? Who had been trapped for so long he no longer remembered how or why he’d been placed there.

Tears pricked at my eyes as I ventured deeper into the prison.

Before I’d seen the prison in Underneath, I never would have realized how the cells were organized. Now I understood that more dangerous captives were held in the back where the magic was strongest. Strangely, my mother’s cell was at the very back of the long line of cages, only one over from where I’d been held last year.

I stopped in front of her cell and peered inside, guilt overwhelming me.

I hadn’t wanted to put her here–I’d argued heavily against it, but had ultimately been outvoted. Even Bael, who usually took my side in everything, thought my mother was potentially too dangerous to roam freely. At least, until she was willing to explain what she’d been doing for the last seven years and how she’d ended up in Underneath.

I still wasn’t sure we’d made the right choice. My mother might have tried to kill me, but she was still my mother…at least, I hoped she was.

Mother sat on the cold ground, leaning against the unyielding iron bars of her cell. Her knees were pulled up to her chest and her head bowed down in defeat. She was still dressed in the long, flowing crimson gown she wore in Underneath, but she had discarded the veil that once hid her face. Her once lustrous red hair now sported streaks of gray and hung over her face like a mop.

I let go of the breath I’d been holding. “Mother?”

My mother turned her head, her hair falling to the side, and looked up at me. There was no feeling behind her expression—hardly even any recognition. It was as if I were a stranger. “What do you want?”

I swallowed the lump that immediately rose to my throat, and pushed down the hurt that threatened to consume me. Instead, I reached for one of the lessons my mother had once spent hours hammering into me: Hide your feelings, and don’t draw attention to yourself.

I forced my face into a benign, calm expression, and held out the plate of dried fruit and cheese I’d brought for her. “Are you hungry?”

Her eyes narrowed, and I could practically see her wrestling with herself. Finally, a stubborn arrogance took over her features. “Not for your filthy Fae food.”

I sighed. Either she’d changed her mind upon seeing me, or Ambrose had a warped opinion of how “ready” Mother was to speak with me. This was going to be unpleasant.

“Suit yourself,” I said as lightly as I could manage. “I have nowhere else to be. I can wait. But I imagine you’ll change your mind before long. In my experience, one stops caring where the food comes from after several months in prison.”

She looked sideways at me again, her eyes narrowing. “How would you know?”

I smiled grimly. “Because I spent a year in the palace dungeon.”

She blanched, and for a moment the mother I remembered showed through her angry expression. “A year? How did you survive?”

Another pang of guilt hit me. Humans didn’t typically survive this dungeon. I’d promised myself that if my mother didn’t give in and answer our questions soon I’d take her out of here. Maybe she knew she was running out of time.

“It seems we both have questions for each other,” I said. “I know you must be hungry, no matter what you say. Take the food, and let us talk.”

After a moment of consideration, she nodded once. “Fine. Sit.”

A tiny spark of triumph lit in my chest. Carefully, I set the tray of food down on the floor, close enough that she could reach it through the bars. Then, I walked back down the hall and retrieved the bench where the guards usually sat. I returned, placed the bench against the wall facing my mother’s cell, and sat.

Mother reached a thin wrist through the bars of her cell and selected a husk of bread, all the while watching me carefully. I couldn’t help but wonder what she saw–if it was as strange for her as it was for me to see each other after all this time.

Except for a brief glimpse in Underneath and when we were disembarking the ship, I’d hardly seen my mother in almost a decade. The last time we’d sat face to face I’d been barely more than a child. Now, as I assessed her, she looked smaller and shorter than I remembered. Standing, she was probably no more than an inch taller than I. Her face was pale and similar to my own, but more angular. She had lines around her eyes that I did not remember being there before, and her freckles had almost entirely faded.

I sucked in a deep breath. I’d carefully weighed how to begin this conversation, and had decided that the best way was to lay out my expectations beforehand. “I need to ask you some questions. I’m sure you also have questions for me. I will answer whatever you like, in exchange for your honesty.”

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