Feral Hearts

73

Victoria awoke with a pulsing headache.

She kept her eyes shut, letting her senses take in her surroundings before she announced to the world that she was awake. 

Wherever she was, it was quiet, and damp, and cold, and reeked of mildew and refuse.

She knew three things before she even opened her eyes.

The first was that at least six hours had passed, because she could wriggle her toes and her fingers, and those movements were enough to tell her that all of her weapons had been removed.

The second was that, because at least six hours had passed and Lukas and the others clearly had not found her, she was either in the royal dungeons in the city or in some cell beneath Cristof's house, awaiting transport.

The third was that her brother was still dead, and even her rage had been a pawn in some betrayal so twisted and brutal she couldn’t begin to wrap her aching head around it.

Her brother was still dead. And she was in some sort of dungeon.

She opened her eyes, finding herself indeed in a dungeon, dumped onto a rotten pallet of hay and chained to the wall. Her feet had also been shackled to the floor, and both sets of chains had just enough slack that she could make it to the filthy bucket in the corner to relieve herself.

That was the first indignity she allowed herself to suffer.

Once she’d taken care of her bladder, she looked about the cell. No windows, and not enough space between the iron door and the threshold for anything more than light to squeeze through. She couldn’t hear anything—not through the walls, nor coming from outside. She could be anywhere—still beneath Cristof's house, or in Luca's dungeons, or in some other city prison …

Her mouth was parched, her tongue leaden in her mouth. What she wouldn’t give in exchange for a mouthful of water to wash away the lingering taste of blood. Her stomach was painfully empty, too, and the throbbing in her head sent splinters of light through her skull.

She had been betrayed—betrayed by Krid, and she didn't know if Lukas knew about Krid's betrayal. What if Lukas was in the same position as hers? Krid and Cristof would benefit from her being permanently gone, with no hope of ever coming back. And Lukas still hadn’t rescued her.

He’d find her, though. He had to. She hope he can.

She tested the chains on her wrists and ankles, examining where they were anchored into the stone floor and walls, looking over every link, studying the locks. They were solid. She felt all the stones around her, tapping for loose bits or possibly a whole block that she could use as a weapon. There was nothing. All the pins had been pulled out of her hair, robbing her of a chance to even try to pick the lock. The buttons on her black tunic were too small and delicate to be useful.

Perhaps if a guard came in, she could get him close enough to use the chains against him— strangle him or knock him unconscious, or hold him hostage long enough for someone to free her and let her out.

Perhaps—

The door groaned open, and a man filled the threshold, three others behind him.

His tunic was dark and embroidered with golden thread. If he was surprised to see her awake, he didn’t reveal it.

A royal guard. 

He betrayed Lukas, too. Damn! What did Luca offer to these people for them to betray the kingdom? And to betray Lukas?

She wished she was still in Cristof's dungeon.

The guard in the doorway placed the food he was carrying on the floor and slid the tray toward her. Water, bread, a hunk of cheese. “Dinner,” he said, not stepping one foot in the room.