Lineage of Zeal, Book One: Rosemary

Chapter Twenty-four: Lord Father McLaughlin

Drip. Drip.

The constant, rhythmic sound of liquid dripping into something metal was the first thing Rosemary became aware of. She opened her eyes, but they were greeted with a solid mass of disorienting blackness. Her head pulsed with pain, and she tried to raise a hand to hold her forehead.

But her arm did not budge.

Again, Rosemary attempted to raise her arm, and the result was the same. Her eyes widened in panic, but still the dark was impenetrable. She struggled, tossing every part of her body as wildly as she could manage, but still she could not move.

No, something was different. Though she still could not move, feeling began to creep back into her legs and left arm. Rosemary could feel the restraints about her ankles and wrist that kept her from doing little more than shifting her torso uselessly. She arched her back to see just how much movement she was allowed, to see if maybe there was some way she could wriggle free.

And then it hit her. Every nerve in her chest and stomach screamed with pain, and she too screamed, a blood-chilling cry that echoed about the darkness. Rosemary gasped, and felt hot tears roll down her cheeks as she became still once more. And then she remembered.

I was... going to... skewer... that girl... Rosemary thought when the ringing between her ears and waves of pain permitted it. I fell short... because of those... things. Then I fell... something in my arm... "Where the hell am I!"

The effort it took to shout caused Rosemary to convulse in pain again. She wanted to curl into a ball, to hold herself until the pain went away, but the restraints held her still. She struggled, pulling as hard as she could manage with each limb that still had feeling, but the restraints only cut deeper into her flesh. This was not how things happened, she thought. She was Rosemary. The machinations of man were not enough to stop her, to hold her against her will, to give her pause. Why could she not free herself with a shrug of her shoulder and be done with it? Why was she powerless against strips of leather she should have snapped long ago? What was happening to her?

A light. Her eyes caught a faint glow growing down past her feet. Once she became still, she could hear the plod of heeled boots approaching. Someone was coming into this darkness and Rosemary was defenseless. She hadn't felt like this, so helpless, so powerless, since the night Mikhail was conceived.

The realization left a bitter taste in her mouth.

The light grew brighter still, until it filled the arch of the entrance to the dark cell Rosemary occupied. A man clothed in a hooded robe, as black as the darkness that had surrounded her, entered with a torch in hand. As he walked along the four walls, lighting the one torch in the center of each, Rosemary remained motionless, feigning sleep.

The man went to Rosemary's right side, and she cracked an eyelid to observe him. The man bent down next to the stone slab Rosemary was strapped to and stood like that for a moment. With his head below hers, Rosemary thought it safe to fully open her eye and see just why the man had frozen next to her. He was not frozen, she noticed, but wobbling precariously and holding on to the stone for support.

Rosemary sniffed the air and couldn't help making a small sound in the back of her throat. The man reeked of rosewater.

The man stood suddenly and Rosemary closed her eye and relaxed, feigning sleep once more. She heard him take a few steps away, probably to keep from toppling backward, and then the stench of alcohol washed thick over her face.

"There's no use hiding it, you know. I know you're awake."

Rosemary opened her eyes and stared at the face that was upside-down and inches from her own.