Daughter of Ice and Fire

Eight

Hell. This had to be Hell. Nobody could be in so much pain and still be breathing. If breathing was what it could be called. More like tiny sips of breath.

Agony. The agony was all-consuming. Claws sinking deep into the bones and tearing at the marrow. Skull filled with a thousand hammers, all beating on the inside at the same time. Cramps tightening the muscles so tight Lihleih thought they would snap.

Overlaying all this was heat. A dry, searing heat that sucked every bit of moisture from one's body. Burning that raced across her skin, then back again. Yes, this was definitely Hell.

But where were the screams? The hiss of flames? Wasn't Hell supposed to be full of fire and the sounds of torment? Here, wherever here was, was quiet. Not silent, but definitely not full of the sounds of the Underworld.

Shifting slightly, she stifled the scream as her back erupted in a blaze of fire. Tears streaming down her face, she blacked out. Again.

When she next came around, it was cooler. Not cold, like her previous accommodations, but cooler than when she last awoke. She still hurt enough that remaining still seemed a much better option than trying to move. Instead, she took inventory of her injuries and began to wonder where she was. And why she was still alive.

Unwilling to move, she instead tried to remember what had happened after she defied the King. She vaguely remembered him beating her almost senseless, then being dragged from the hall by her two new friends. Hissing as the memories returned, she made a silent vow and added them to the list of those she was determined to kill. Everything had then gone black for a bit so she figured she must have passed out because the next thing she recalled was being chained to a pole, her hands over her head and her ribs singing in pain. But that music soon ceased. What followed was a nightmare her mind kept trying to pull away from.

Lashes. Gods knew how many. They must have ripped her shirt and the bindings off at some point, although she didn't remember it happening. She had tried to remain strong. Oh, had she tried. She managed to make it to the eleventh lash before she uttered a sound. Even then, she gritted her teeth, only grunting. Until number fourteen. Then, despite her best efforts, she screamed. And screamed as every lash after found its mark, until number eighteen or so. After that, things became hazy. She remembered ice-cold water being thrown on her, then the pain starting again. She remembered the smell of urine and the realization it had been hers. And the smell of blood, also hers. Then, blissfully, nothing. Until now.

Taking stock of her multitude of aches and pains, she wasn't all that surprised to find her head was still pounding. But from what? She didn't remember being hit on the head. Unfortunately, the slightest movement sent deep spikes of pain through her skull, so she figured she must have been hit at least once. Moving on, she discovered a deep throb had settled in her left side. That she remembered. The King had kicked her, hard enough to send her flying. And she distinctly remembered hearing a snap. That meant her ribs were either fractured or broken. Tentatively running her tongue over her lips, she discovered the bottom one was still swollen and tender. Another memory surfaced. The guard had hit her in the cell, then the King had struck the same spot in his rage. The tenderness told her it had been split not once but several times. She felt one eye throbbing and when she opened it, she saw nothing but black. Something else she didn't remember.

Continuing to catalog the hurts, she discovered pain around her wrists and ankles. Manacles most likely. The tops of her feet and several of her toes burned. Unknown why. Nausea and deep ache in her stomach. Probably a kick or two, although she barely remembered that as well. And over everything was a deep ache that seemed to drag her down, almost as if her limbs weighed thousands of stone each.

Gingerly lifting one arm, she was surprised to find she wasn't shackled. The arm felt like it was weighted and she struggled to make it respond to her commands. Touching her face gently, she discovered a piece of cloth over her bad eye. She decided it had either been destroyed or someone was making sure it healed.