Scorn and Devotion

Chapter 23

warnings - talks of torture and losing souls

I felt like I had been out for decades and seconds at the same time. When I awoke, I had no clue where I was. I was on a cloth cot, my body aching all over.

Wherever I was, it was underground. The walls were rock, the color of umber and teak. The room was lit with the warm light from several lanterns that were floating in the air.

Suddenly, my memory raced to the front of my mind. Timothée, he'd been injured, they were going to kill him, where was he. I looked around in a panic.

On a cot a couple feet away from me, there was a long bundle. I forced myself to get off my bed. My body screamed in protest, especially my shoulder. I felt nauseous, my vision nearly tunneling, but I crashed to my knees before the cot. I pawed at the blankets. I could feel the ringing in my ears that signaled I was close to fainting, but I had to know, I had to know if he was alive.

Pink lips, brown curls, sharp cheekbones, there he was. He was not blue or a deathly shade of white. His cheeks were dusted with pink from the room. He looked tired and a bit battered, but nothing more. Suddenly, green eyes.

"Y/n," he croaked, managing a small smile.

"You're okay," it was all I could say as I threw my arms around him. I held him tighter than I should, it hurt my shoulder, but I couldn't make myself care. I felt like I might cry as I bunched my hands in his shirt.

"Hey, hey, I'm fine. It is okay. I'm glad you're okay too," He ran his hand over my hair. I backed away.

"What is this place," I demanded, changing the subject because I didn't want to cry. "Where are we."

"What on earth are you doing!" a voice demanded. I turned to see a Fae female. I noted the lack of wings, and searched around for a weapon of some sort. Timothée had a glass beside his cot. I threw it on the ground.

"Y/n, what the Hell," Timothée demanded. My hand was bleeding, but I held up a shard, moving myself to guard Timothée's cot.

"Take one step closer, and I'll slice you into pieces," I growled. I doubted I looked threatening. I felt like death, I was somehow in a nightgown and not the clothes I had been wearing when I left the castle. My hair was down and bedraggled, and now I was bleeding from my palm.

The Fae's brows were pulled together, and her eyes examined me. She looked at me like I was an art piece whose shading hadn't come out quite right.

"Are you sure you didn't grow up here, you seem practically feral," the female finally commented and crossed the room to get something.

"Where are we?" I demanded. I tried to stand, and hide the fact that I was so shaky on my feet.

"Of all the people to be afraid of here, I'm not one of them."

"Maybe if you would explain," I still held the glass, choosing to hold a wide stance, to protect as much of Timothée as I could.

"You are in the Court of Torment."

A feeling of absolute terror washed over me. How did we end up here? This was the worst place we could have been. We were dead for certain.

"How did we get here?" I demanded.

"Those Fae," Timothée groaned. I whipped around to look at him.

"How do you know?"

"He awoke quite a few hours before you, his wounds weren't quite as bad. I explained your situation to him as I helped him warm up, he nearly had frostbite the poor boy."