A Hand Weaving Chaos (Book 2 of The Fallen Gods Trilogy)

CHAPTER THREE

When the guards returned, Jill was ready. While two waited outside her door, two others manacled her wrists and ankles. No one spoke. Not surprising, and she had never felt less inclined to bother making idle chitchat. She bore it stoically, eyes averted as she held out her wrists. Both sets of chains were seamlessly connected together and rattled noisily every time Jill so much as blinked. Worse, they were ridiculously heavy. The muscles in her arms and back ached as she struggled to walk upright and bear their weight. Despite Rydorel's protection of extra bandages, the cuffs chaffed in no time. The ill-fitting blue dress also made managing the chains an awkward business. The long sleeves flopped over her hands. In places, the material looked worn thin to transparency and buttons were missing. The collar flapped open and gapped wide enough to bare most of her right shoulder. Goose-bumps immediately rose on her skin. It was painful and degrading. It was also terrifying. Tamas knew exactly how to manipulate her.

After a seemingly endless trudge, the guards brought her into the golden throne room. They stood at the back of the hall, framed in the enormous doorway. Jill stared, swallowing anxiously at the sight. The hall brimmed to capacity. Only the violet carpet—the same color as the guards' uniforms—remained visible, parting the crowd neatly in half.

Silence descended as they entered. Absurdly, the only noise came from the rattling of her chains. Then the crowd erupted into angry shouts. Jill flinched at the cacophony. The wall of sound seemed a physical thing. It beat against her and she huddled into herself. She gaped at the crush of people roped into an area of standing room only. A handful of violet and gold dressed guards stood between her and them. Their faces and clothes were dirty and unkempt. Many were missing teeth. They screamed and gestured wildly at her. Some pushed aside others in order to get a better look. So much anger. So much hatred she sensed in them. It left her utterly paralyzed.

Only when two of her guards seized her arms and physically dragged her forward did she move again. Dozens of steps further brought her to people better dressed, cleaner, more affluent looking. But their faces were just as incensed, their gestures as violent. Animosity rolled off them in the same sickening waves. Jill turned away, now striding forward briskly just to hurry on by them. She would have run had the chains not weighed her down. Anything to speed this up and bring the nightmare to an end.

Next, seated on benches and chairs were men and women extremely well-dressed and dripping with jewels. The women styled their hair in elaborate up-dos and waved delicate lace fans. The men wore swords with jewel-encrusted hilts and leather boots so shiny, Jill wondered if she could see her reflection in them. Their expressions were haughty and cold, and no less vindictive.

Above her, on balconies that ran the length of the hall were younger people—teenagers and those a few years older. They were a rowdy lot and they jeered at her and threw down insults, screaming at the top of their lungs.

Her walk continued and she approached the dais. She could see the thrones now and the beginning of the white marble stairs. She slowed and memory threatened to drown her. Tamas kicking over a throne. Rayna's scent and her hands touching her. Rydorel allowing himself to be humiliated. Aldar teres all around her. The darkness. The—

She stopped. Panic blossomed. I'm going to be sick! I'm going to throw up in the middle of everything! I can't do this— How can this be happening?

Wasn't there somewhere to run to? Could she somehow escape from this? She looked about wildly and saw, in the front and distinct from the rest, a handful of women dressed in robes of heavy red wool. Each bore a crescent moon tattoo at her right temple, near her eye. Priestesses. Incongruously, she remembered her visit to the Temple of the Rising Moon. That night, Arianie had raged through her for the first time and Brexten had suddenly felt closer than her own skin.