Shadows in the Trees: Book 1

Chapter 11

Malik watched Freya from the other side of the cell, a crease forming between his eyebrows. The first day or two, she had paced, eagerly peering between the bars. But she soon became despondent, sitting against the wall with her knees tucked into her chest. She had stopped eating a few days ago, letting the old drunkard they shared their cell with take her portions. Her breakfast of gray porridge sat untouched beside her. He knew it wouldn't be long before the old man would wake up and snatch it.

"Freya," he said, approaching her slowly. She didn't move, didn't respond. "Freya, please eat. You need to keep your strength up if we're going to find a way out of here." He picked up the bowl and the spoon. "You're not going to make me feed you like a baby, are you?" He swooped the spoon in front of her face. "Here comes the mama bird, open wide for the worm . . ." he tapped the spoon against her lips until Freya knocked it away. "For the love of God, woman, talk to me!"

She shook her head as tears began to fall, leaving tracks in the grime coating her face. "Eliza never came for me," Freya said, her voice breaking.

"You were Eliza's slave," Malik said. "She didn't care about you."

"I just thought -- I thought -- "

Malik took her hand. "I'm sorry, Frey." 

She shook her head. "She was a harsh woman, but who wouldn't be after running a tavern alone for most of her life? She let me nurse my mother upstairs, even though she could have caught the plague from her. And, she allowed me to stay after my mother died."

"In return for working you to the bone," he scoffed.

"Still," Freya insisted, "she didn't have to do those things. I thought of her as my family, the only family I had left."

"What about your . . . Jentsi family?" Malik asked, unsure what to refer to them as.

Freya laughed bitterly. "Look at me, Malik. I haven't been Jentsi since my mother died. I can't wear our clothes, I can't celebrate any holidays or read cards. I don't even remember where the meeting place is, I couldn't find it if I tried!" she lamented. "I'm no more Jentsi than you are. I have no one, I am no one."

"I know how lonely you must feel, and I know how painful loneliness is," Malik said, putting his hand on her shoulder. "But when we get out, you'll be free. You can go wherever you want."

"Where could I possibly go?" Freya said. Malik's mouth gaped as he struggled to give her an answer. She turned her head suddenly. "Listen. Do you hear that?"

Malik concentrated. "Hear what?"

"The yelling."

After a few moments, Malik heard it. A chorus of shouts, curses, and pleas growing louder. He could hear the bars rattling and the clatter of the wooden dishes being thrown and banged against the walls.

"What the . . . ?" Malik muttered, walking up to the bars to try to see what was happening. 

The drunkard groaned in his sleep and rolled over, then continued snoring. A figure came into view, a man it looked like, walking slowly. Too slowly; it was clearly a forced calm. As he came closer, Malik noticed his finery and his shiny curls and guessed he was nobility. What could nobility want with the prison? Malik asked himself. He passed their cell and paused. He stepped closer, studying Malik. When his eyes moved to Freya, Malik shifted to block his view.

"You are the only ones not screaming at me," he said, his voice trembling slightly. "It seems you are the only civilized people down here."

"Nah, he's just asleep," Malik said, gesturing to the drunkard. "And us? Well, we've been here so long that nothing impresses us anymore." The man's eyes widened.