Page 2 of Moon Raven Rising
The room falls silent as his body drops. First to his knees, then to his stomach. My chest is heaving, and blood drips from my hand and the tip of the blade. My arms hang loosely to my sides as my eyes track up from the man laid slain at my feet, and Igrowl with my teeth bared at the men who dared to laugh at my expense.
Exhaustion, dehydration, and the dizziness of my sudden blood rush have me dropping to my knees. Unable to keep the blade in my hand any longer, it slips from my grip and into the puddle of blood that now soaks my legs and the ground in front of me.
The guards rush in, but I’m in a daze.
They don’t touch me. Only take the blade and the dead man. Leaving me with the tarnish on my soul from taking another life, being given no other choice but to show cruel men that they won’t determine what brings me fear. The moment I left that cliffside was the moment I decided, I will be the monster to anyone who seeks to harm me or those I love—I will be the one who they will come to fear.
Chapter two
While I sit withmy back pressed against the stone wall, I keep my gaze fixed on where I know the door is, and I plot my revenge. My eyes have adjusted more as my days pass in captivity. I can see the faint outline, but for the most part, I see nothing. The stranger in the shadows has yet to say anything more or crawl out of the murky depths, but I catch myself looking at the corner he’s kept in more and more frequently.
“Why are you a prisoner here?” I ask for what is likely the tenth time. He never answers. Judging by the look of him when I did see him, he could be dead. The thought sends a chill down my spine.
“I chose to be.” The rattly voice finally responds. I stay silent, hoping that he says more. After a few moments of silence, I let out a long sigh.
“I guess we are the same in that decision then.” I say, then hear his chains clang together as he begins moving, and then warmth presses against my shoulder as he sits next to me. I didn’t realize his chain was so long. Much longer than my own, and the fact that he could have come to harm me at any moment while I’ve been down here brings a flip to my stomach. I swallow, and the sound is loud in the small space between us.
“I won’t hurt you.” He says calmly, and even though I can’t read him with my magic… I can sense that he is being honest. “When I was younger, I did many things in my life that I was proud of.” He is quiet for a second, thinking. Then continues, “many things that I was not so proud of also, but one thing that will remain until the day I die—if I am granted such a blessing.” He laughs, but it’s dry and only a whisper, as though it pains him. “It’s that one of the things I was able to be most proud of—is the decision to sacrifice myself for those who did not know what I was doing to help them. Sometimes the darkest battles we face bring the brightest of days.”
“Does it still hurt?” I don’t know where my question comes from other than the deep recesses of my heart. I don’t want the answer, not really… but I find myself searching the shadows between us. Hopeful that I can get a glimpse of his face. To read the emotion in his eyes, but I can’t do that either. His hand comes out shakily next to my knee and I bring my own hand up to set into his.
His breath catches, and then he squeezes my fingers in a tight but not painful grip before he takes a deep breath, blowing it out through his mouth loudly.
“With every. Single. Breath.” He squeezes again, “But them losing their lives would have hurt more. More than me, and more than them. I think you understand that burden.” With that, he drops my hand and leaves my side. His chains rattling ashe settles back into the darkness, and the prison door opens with a blinding light assaulting my eyes.
Osiris steps forward, his body casting me in shadow and shielding me from the onslaught. I can’t see his face, but the sheer size and the demanding presence he has in any room let me know it’s him. Just like every time he has come in—he says nothing, places a tray of food and water down on a bucket, and retreats. Day after day.
The words that the other prisoner said to me echo through my mind and twist in my gut. Deciding on a whim, I reach for his wrist as he moves to turn. He freezes as my hand wraps around his wrist.
“Wait. Please,” I whisper, and I can almost feel the eyes on me from the shadowed corner. Osiris says nothing but doesn’t move either, so I continue. “What can I do to get out of here? I—I didn’t mean to kill the guard. I was angry; he was going to rape me. He said—”
“He deserved the end he received…” He growls around clenched teeth. “And you will get out of here when Soren has decided you have been thoroughly scared into submission.” Looking down at my hand, where it wraps around his wrist, then back into my eyes, he continues, “Are you scared,Moon Raven?” The rough timbre of his voice vibrates through the space we share, sending a shrill cold through the connection I have on his arm. Whatever he read on my face had a glimmer of mirth playing in his eyes. Furrowing my brow I release him and he meets my gaze again. “Eat,” is all he says before leaving me once again in the dungeon.
Swallowing hard, my dry throat stings in protest to the water Osiris brings me with my daily meal. It’s been four meals.
Four days.
It’s all I have to judge the amount of time that I have been kept down here. I don’t have the fight in me that I had when they first brought me here, not with him anyway. Accepting the food and water with a silent hand. The dungeon is dank, and the scent of sulfur and mold hangs heavy in the air. I’ve become weak in the short time that has passed, physically diminished only on account of a lack of movement and nourishment. Tears burn in my eyes, but they have not tracked trails down my dirt and blood-laden face; it’s not something I will give today. Not only from the state of dehydration they keep me in, but because I still refuse to let them fall.
ThePrince of Dragonsdoesn’t say anything after giving me the food and drink. Just stands and watches for a moment, which I can only guess is to make sure I consume something. Then he leaves without a backward glance. His face stays a blank canvas of indifference. I don’t know what to think of him. Beyond the day they took me, and the one time I asked anything of him, he has not said a single word or touched me once.
I wish I could say the same about the others, though none of the other guards have aimed to defile me like the first. They are still rough when they come to do Soren’s questioning.
They wanted me broken, and they think they have it. If Soren won’t release me until he believes me to be pliant, I will become what he wishes. Only as a means to get what I want, then I will rip his world to shreds. Every time they enter, I make sure to appear more meek, more like a broken girl versus a scorned queen ready for vengeance. That time will come.
I’ve not felt my bond with Dax since the moment I left that cliffside. Possibly even the moment he projected, but I am not willing to think about that for too long. Mostly, I think of how I’ve failed as queen before I was even able to truly reign. My heart breaks when I think of Trent and all of the others left behind. The family I chose as my own after going through so much with them. I have no idea if Alaric and Kait made it away from Castenelle. Or if they know what became of me.
For them and the rest of the kingdom, I have to figure out a way to beat Soren at his own game.
His clicking steps echo through the chamber, but I don’t look up when he enters. I never do. It’s the last of the fight I have left in me and appears as though I have given up to anyone else. They have bruised and battered me physically, but when Soren comes in, I know it’s to break my mind. His snake-like tongue whispers my failures to me as he claims to care for me.
He stays silent as he enters; his presence alone is enough to bring my heart to race, though. The hunger for his death ramping up my pulse. I’ve never felt such an emotion in all my life. I’ve never been one to want the death of another, but for everything that Soren has cost me, my soul is all I have left to give.
The short stool that Soren pulls up scrapes across the stone ground, carving lines through the dust and filth, and he sets thebucket of water down next to me. Thoughts of shoving his head into the bucket flash through my mind, but I sit soundless as he appears to prepare to bathe me.
Dipping a scrap of cloth into the bucket, he lifts it toward me, and I flinch, both to tell him I’m afraid of his touch and because I want nothing more than to shove the rag down his throat and watch him choke.
The wet cloth is cold as he swipes it across my cheek, taking any evidence of my sorrow with it and sending a chill across my skin. I don’t make eye contact with him as he cleans me, but my heart pounds furiously in my chest with the anxiety of his touch. Keeping my vision filled with the gray stone ground—dirty and crumbling, just like he wants me. When his hand comes out cupping my cheek, almost gingerly, his skin on mine sears like a hot blade from the forge, and my eyes close on their own.
