Page 7 of Ashes of Gold
Jhamal’s head doesn’t lift, his focus as rigid as the iron holding us in this cell. How long have we been in here? How long have I been out? Questions are a cloud in my mind, but my tongue is heavy. My head lulls sideways and there are other faces peering through their own cell bars, heads tilted in curiosity. I try to speak, but my throat is a useless lump. The world ripples like water and I am heavy. So much heavier than before.
“The Ancestors have not brought you this far to leave you here, my Queen.” Tears pour down his cheeks. “Stay with me.”
I reach for his hand, but mine is clumsy on his. His skin is warm and I relish its closeness. The world is a haze, but at least I’m not in here alone.I’m here,I try to say, but the world fades away.
Drips from the rocky ceiling of my cell are cold on my nose.Where am I? Where is everyone?I listen for sounds of the battle but hear only the plop of water. Jhamal sewing my wounds back together, my hand touching his, people shoving food through the bars… wisps of memories nudge me.
The battle was a long time ago.
I close my eyes and see an unfamiliar face with long eyelashes hovering over me. I search for more meaning, what happened, when and how exactly I got in here, but find nothing. Last I remember, I was fighting the Chancellor and then I wasn’t. I blink and see long eyelashes again, but the image is void of any meaning I can latch on to.
I blink again, and try to make more sense of my surroundings.Thick lead bars hold us in the craggy cell and fire torches bob just outside. I know we’re beneath the Central District because of the smell, the walls, and the people who bring us food wear the Chancellor’s pin with his profile in the center, Yiyo, sunrays, and a jpango tree etched around the design. I’d know the symbol anywhere. It’s minted on the money, emblazoned on the buildings, carved into the naked cover of every book. The Chancellor stamped his seal on everything in Ghizon like a dog marking a tree.
How long have we been in here? I tug at the fuzzy purple strand on my neck, its charm still missing. Tasha. She’s probably worried sick. I try again to sit up on shaky elbows, but my insides feel like they’ve been smashed with a hammer. A smooth hand caresses my cheek and I flinch.
Jhamal’s face solidifies in focus, his brows knit.
“What have they done to me?” I try to say, but it comes out a wheezing rasp.
“My Queen,” he says. “Can you hear me?”
“I can,” I try to say, but again, nothing, so I nod instead.
“You can hear me! I’m here.” He reaches for my hand, but I run my fingers across my stitches, searching for some meaning, a better sense of what happened between the battle and here.
“Thank you.” That time it comes out raspy but audible. I try to lift my arms, but the familiar weight of the armor is as heavy as lead.
“Eaaasy.”Jhamal’s arm is sturdy under me, helping me sit upright. He’s wrapped in a dingy set of robes. He holds a bowl to my lips and warm garlicky liquid fills me. The warmth coats my insides and they twist in a cramp. I hurl over and he holds my hair back. The bile is salty when it comes out and I spit until I can hardly catch my breath.I press against the cold wall, panting. Weak. Why am I so weak?
“What have they done to me?” I mutter.
“They tried to remove your cuffs, my Queen.”
I gasp and the puffy skin around where my cuffs meet my skin makes sense. But why can’t I remember? The walls of our cage suddenly feel smaller. My pulse ticks faster. “We’re in prison, so the Chancellor, he—”
But the blood rushing through me so suddenly makes the world swim.
He swipes cold sweat from my clammy forehead before making me drink more. It gurgles right back up, but I gulp it down. Bile and all.
I grunt. He holds the bowl to my lips again.
“More. For strength. Come on, you need it.”
I take another sip and this one goes down. But my words trail off. Eating soup has completely exhausted me.
“Rest,” he says, laying me back on my pallet on the hard cell floor. I’m cold all over, hugging around myself, and he scoots closer to me. Under his warmth my eyes are as heavy as my gilded arms. Sleep tugs at me.
I give in.
“Up.” Jhamal tugs me and my body cooperates. The wall of our confinement cell is at my back. The tiny strings between puckered spots on my arms are gone, and only slightly swollen skin remains. How long has it been? I blink and see the same unfamiliar face with long eyelashes in my head.
Questions are a haze in my mind, but as I try to form them on my lips, a woman with a limpy gait slides a tray between the grates of our prison cell. I recognize her face. She’s one of the ones who brings us meals. The same one who gave Jhamal the needle and thread.She always comes this time of day. I blow out a breath in relief that at least some of my memories are coming back to me. I search for more. Jhamal holding stone bowls to my lips, clanging metal bars, the slap of the food tray on the cold stone floor. And sleep. Lots of sleep. I still can’t remember being brought in here.
“Food,” the woman says.
Jhamal thanks her and I do too… in my head, my tongue still chalky. She glances over her shoulder before pulling a book from under her robe. “Remember, the matches. Burn it if they come back before I do.”
Books… for what?I turn to look for Jhamal and my neck doesn’t ache as much as it once did. I scoop a bite from my tray and am able to sit up a little more. The more I chew, the more bits of the world makes sense.
