Nightfire | The Whispering Wall #1

Eleven: Caged

She often dreamed about lies.

Sometimes they were lies she had told herself; sometimes they were lies she had told others. Most of the time, though, it was lies other people had told her at some time or another which she had believed.

Lies that had brought her to this point, this place where she sat now, in dank, dark cage in a puddle of her own blood.

Nova grimaced in pain as she readjusted her position against the bars. She massaged the crick in her neck with hands covered in dried blood, and tried to blink the sleep from her eyes. Her back hurt to the point where the cacophony of pain had gone silent and settled in her bones as a deep-run fragility, as if the moment she moved from that spot she would shatter from the inside out.

Someone had placed a cup of water at the edge of the cage while she slept. She briefly contemplated making a move to get it, but decided she wasn't thirsty enough. Every now and again she would get a glimpse of the dream she had been roused from and wince, pushing the words down. Pushing the faces down. Blocking them out. Even her back, laid open by the nine-tails, was a preferable source of distraction from them.

It wasn't that she wanted to pretend those things hadn't happened, or those people had never existed. To lose those things would be to lose what little was left of her that she owned. But that didn't mean she had to relive it, over and over, night after night, years after it happened.

Her subconscious mind seemed to have other ideas about that.

The fragile numbness shattered as she peeled herself off the bars. Her skin was hot and raw, jolting her into wakefulness. She sighed, taking a long drink and settling herself cross-legged in the middle of the cage to breathe deeply and close her eyes, willing herself strength. The only light she had was that of a single brazier, which meant it was night outside. Far, far away, she heard a demon howl. The walls of the castle were too thick and well-defended to allow demons in, but the sound still made her shudder.

The door's lock rattled before it swung inward. Silhouetted in the doorway, Brillan nodded a brief greeting. There was no love lost between her and Faellian's personal butler, but in this instance Nova was relieved to see him.

"Am I done?" she croaked, and then cleared her throat.

"I wouldn't count on it," Brillan replied. "But you can come out, if that's what you mean."

Nova stifled another sigh. "He's got more planned?"

"I don't believe his Lordship does, but the many guests you stabbed in the ankle with that pin may not feel you have been sufficiently dealt with."

"It's a hard life," she muttered. Brillan ignored her, gesturing someone forward. Nova's heart sank as Grace stepped into the light with Nova's clothes in her arms.

The girl was visibly shaking, and the colour of her aura was pure horror. Her eyes darted between Nova's bloody countenance and the dark stains on the floor of the cage, and Nova found she couldn't look at her for long.

It had been many years since she'd seen anyone cry for her.

She put it down to otherworld softness, but it still shocked her as Grace clasped her hand and squeezed it under the guise of passing over the clothes. Her fingers were soft and warm, unused to labour, and bubbled all over with blisters as a result.

"His Lordship has allowed you to bathe," Brillan said, "So don't put them on yet."

Nova frowned. She wasn't usually allowed to bathe. "Who's coming?"

"Baron Ethred."

Nova grimaced and hid it with a cough. The Orthanian upper classes were all vile, but Ethred was a particularly unpleasant specimen. She'd had one unfortunate encounter with him at one of the lord's parties and was keen not to repeat the experience.