The New Apprentice

Chapter Thirteen: Welcome Back

The door opens, once again revealing my captor.

"I'm giving you one chance," he immediately begins, pulling out a key and unfastening the chair straps. "You will meet me in my chambers where I will brief you." I can hear the smirk in his voice as he finishes with, "See yourself out."

The cell door is left open and he leaves.

See yourself out? The surprise—and danger—is not lost on me. The only way to leave the dungeons is through the mess hall, which is always teeming with people... none of whom can possibly be fond of me at the moment.

I let out a frustrated sigh, not bothering to keep it silent. My gaze falls onto the 'vacant' part of my cell, but there is nothing to be said, so I take my leave.

Stepping out into the hall, I am immediately assaulted by my knowledge of the damn place: after walking only a few minutes, I quickly recognize a large, splattered bloodstain on the wall between two cells, for which I myself had been responsible when my first hostage hadn't been cooperative. From there, I piece my way back to the Hall.

Voices float towards me as I near the end of the dungeons. There's no time left to wonder at whether this is a good idea.

The Mess Hall is brightly lit in all hours of the day and always has someone eating in it after a job, which makes escape virtually impossible. There are long tables placed in every spare part of the room, only interrupted by spits with various animals roasting on them: a boar here, chunks of a cow there, and a line of skewered chickens.

Silence immediately fills the Hall.

My heart thumps in my chest, trying to claw its way out. Long, quick strides take me halfway to the dormitory entrance. I keep to the walls. My head faces straight ahead, but my eyes observe the ground, paying attention to any sudden movement through the peripheral.

Almost there.

It takes everything I have not to cover my face and run to—

No. Not this time. I'm running towards him, but not to him.

There have been murmurs and quiet, snide remarks from the moment I stepped into the light of the Hall, but someone inevitably snaps.

A man shouts an obscenity at me, which keeps me from taking another step.

Whispers of "Killian said not to..." and "We need the ----- for Gallica. Would you rather go instead?"

I turn to face the first voice, saying nothing, only gritting my teeth.

A burly man stands before me, most likely a soldier. The only recognizable aspect of him, which tugs at a far corner of my mind, is the oddly placed, childish slope of his nose and the curvature of the bushy eyebrows.

"Killian's going easy on you. You don't deserve any extra time."

My raised eyebrows say, Oh, really? I step closer to the man despite my better judgement.

"By whose decree?" My voice, loud and blunt for the hall to hear, cracks from disuse.

Someone mutters, "By yours, in a way..."

"By ours," the man growls.

And he lunges for my shirt.

My instinct works where my mind lags from my treatment since the Gathering. I dive out of the way just in time to be tripped and tumble to the ground, immediately scrambling back up. My head begins to spin so I reach for the wall, but I've strayed too far and don't know where it is anymore and I think I'm falling to the ground as I feel dull thuds on my rubs. The commotion around me grows louder until arms sweep me up with a sigh and the man's yelling rapidly fades away.

I am kept awake by the occasional, rough slap whose effect doesn't last long. I can't help but lose my grip on reality.

I come to in a familiar room, cold and confused. It used to be Borin's. I had once sneaked a peek at the magnificence of the tall, four-poster bed with embroidered blankets and ornate, imposing desk which had—for the first time—given me an understanding of the man's authority at 12 years old.

Now, it is Killian's. Borin would never have approved. He had seen Killian's instability long before I had.

The door creaks open and the Devil steps in. Suddenly, I feel out of place. I should not be here. What if he thinks—here on the bed, what if he thinks—I scramble to my feet and sit on the chair of the desk, instead.

"So, the puppy learns to turn tail?" he muses as he sets a tray of food and water in front of me.

He doesn't go anywhere. He simply stands on the opposite side of the desk with crossed arms, looking down at me. I regret sitting down and cannot bring myself to eat while his eyes are boring into my mind.

"Eat," he casually goads.

I maintain a stony face and shake my head no. I swallow as my body urges me to just eat.

I know he is raising an eyebrow without needing to look at him.

"Eat," he repeats, annoyed.

I swallow again. It's awfully cold here.

This time, I meet his eyes.

"No."

Before I know it, he has picked up the tray and shattered it on the ground into a million pieces.

"Fine," he growls, "then I'm telling you what the mission is, and you have better remember exactly what I tell you." A long exhale. "You remember Château Montsombre, yes?"

"Mm."

"Lord Deparnieux is dead."

I couldn't give a rat's arse.

I'm looking at the floor at a spot near the tray. My body has sagged over the desk.

"Amaris," he repeats, "his son—we'd met him—likely killed him, and now he wants to meet with us three who arranged the deal with his father. Reckons he knows us enough to outfox us and keep a larger share of our stores for his slimy arse. He's provoking the fiefs around him, too. Already taken Bellevue and Cloche-forte."

I stagger to my feet from the chair and he stops talking.

Finally.

I stop in front of him. Fall to my knees and start picking up the scattered remains of bread and cheese. When he stoops down to do the same, I get up. Well, I try, but I can't seem to gather the strength.

Damn it. Damn it. With each attempt, Damn it.

I finally propel myself to my feet and make it to the chair as my legs give out. I eat quickly, leaving what he has gathered untouched. I take a deep breath and put my head down on the table.

A while passes. I remain with my head down, memories whirring through my mind, a blur. His hands are on my shoulders, causing my eyes to jerk open though I don't move my body.

His hands leave and when I open my eyes, he is kneeling in front of me on the other side of the desk, head propped onto his hands. He reaches over to cup my face with a hand. His eyes are soft.

The Devil himself.

Softly, "It'll be me and you against the world again. What do you say we give it a try?"

I fall apart under his touch. Tears immediately flood my eyes.

Gilan. I remember his smile at the Gathering. Gilan said to play along.

Slow nodding quickens as I burst into sobs. I lower his hand from my face and grip it tight.

Too tight, I remind myself, being careful.

After all, he shouldn't catch wind of my intent to kill.

Dear God: I want to kill this man.