Daughter of Ice and Fire

Eleven

Lihleih stared at her upturned hands, her thumbs running over the callouses. "I'm never going to leave here," she said softly.

"Nonsense," Hoci replied, running a fine-toothed comb through Lihleih's hair. "Almost time for a dye."

"Be realistic, Hoci," she said, turning her gaze to the window. "Even if I survive the next two years, there is no way the King will let me leave."

"Then you need to find a way out yourself." Hoci never hesitated and the statement was delivered in such an off-hand way that she at first thought she had misheard.

"Are you telling me to escape?"

"Not I. That would be aiding a criminal."

She tried to turn her head, but Hoci held it in place, leaning down and whispering in her ear. "I am merely suggesting you explore all your options."

"I'm lucky to have made it this far." Lihleih looked at her hands again, wincing at the memory.

The pain had been unbelievable. Before Midday of her first day in the mines, her hands were a bloody mess. Within an hour of her first swing, they had started blistering. Then the blisters popped, sending sharp daggers of pain through them. But the guard had struck her again when she paused, forcing her to continue despite the pain. By the time Midday rolled around, the skin was chafed and raw, and blood ran down her palms, making the pickaxe handle slick. When it slid out of her hands, the whip landed across her shoulders, causing her to scream in pain. Fighting the upsurge of rage, she wrapped the cloth around one hand and hefted the pickaxe, swinging it again and biting her cheek raw as fire raced through her palms.

The Midday meal brought a slight reprieve but returning to the mines proved even worse. Before an hour had passed, her hands were once again streaming blood, her arms had gone numb, and the pickaxe felt like it weighed a thousand stone. Every strike took monumental effort and even now, she wasn't sure how she made it through the first day.

Returning to her cell, she collapsed on her bunk, sleeping through the evening meal. The following day was even worse. Her muscles had stiffened, and they screamed when she first began the day's work. Even the singing by the men failed to cheer her and she seriously considered trying to escape just so the guard would kill her and end her misery.

The days following blurred together; one unending nightmare followed by another. But gradually, her hands began to heal, her muscles became accustomed to the constant swing of the ax, and the tool no longer felt like a dead weight.

In addition, the men had come to accept her, although they called her names like pretty boy and sweet thing. She had been forced to break a few more noses and blacken a few more eyes when several men had become a little too friendly. Word had soon gotten around that despite Belwyn's almost feminine looks, he was not to be messed with. Even the stoic prisoner she was shackled to in the mines had become slightly friendlier, smiling every now and then, although other than his singing, he had not uttered a word and she had no idea who he was or what he had done.

Continuing to gaze at her hands, she flexed her fingers, marveling at the feel of the muscles in her arms. They had strengthened and hardened, tightening and standing out when she clenched her fists. Realizing how strong they were becoming, she had started working on the rest of her body, doing squats in the evening despite her exhaustion, and running laps around the yard during the Midday break. The other prisoners had initially laughed but she ignored them and after a few weeks, several had joined her, making a race out of it. She encouraged them, using the races as cover to inspect the walls of her prison. What she saw only depressed her further.

Harrowvale was situated deep within the Irosar mountains, a formidable range of unbelievably high craggy peaks and almost bottomless chasms. Forming the border between Clemathis to the north and the Sterile Wastes to the south, they were both almost impenetrable and pretty much inhospitable. Unbelievably hot in the summer and brutally cold in the winter, they provided the perfect location for a prison housing the most hardened criminals. Even if there was a way out of the prison itself, she would still have to make her way through the mountains without being detected. And without any supplies.