Mermaid Tear (The Fated #2)

04 | Rats

The problem with being the "hero" is dealing with the aftermath.

Whether or not Iliana's attempt at taking the attention from Lykos had accomplished anything, the end result was her being escorted to a cell that chilled her to the bone.

Much like the palace entrance, the tower consisted of solid stone. The first level appeared to consist solely of two sets of stairs, and a table occupied by two soldiers. The circular floor couldn't have been more than forty-foot across. Worry flitted through her, and it was only worsened as, after an inaudible talk with one of the soldiers, her guards accepted a set of keys and steered her towards the downward stairs.

The barest hints of panic began to bubble in Iliana's chest as she realized the level she was to stay in was a basement. There were no windows, enchanted stones, or even lit torches in the darkness she was forced into. Her feet dragged, and her head spun as one of the guards broke off from the group, and the faintest sound of a key in a lock met her ears. Metal screeched as a door was dragged open, and she was shoved forward.

There was a grumbled word of childing in a language she didn't understand. Reotakian, perhaps? Whatever it meant, the guard behind her scoffed. Rebellion bubbled in her chest, and she spun around, opening her mouth to sing. This was the time for that, right? She hadn't seen a single female guard. If she was to hope for an early escape, it had to come now.

The first note had barely left her lips before a blow came out of the darkness. Her song was cut off with a harsh gasp, then cough, as she doubled over. Where the guard's fist had hit her, it felt as if a sledgehammer had been swung. Between the still radiating ache in her head, and the new pain, just standing up was nearly more than she could manage, let alone reattempting an escape.

There was what could've been a swear by the tone, and the sound of someone being shoved. The guards were arguing? That screech of metal touched the air again, the sensation of something being swung shut in front of her face. The lock clincked. Feet scuffed the floor, followed by the faintest thud of a fist against flesh, and then a harsh string of rebuking words. As she slowly managed to force air back into her lungs, Iliana struggled to figure out what had sparked the argument. The answer came to her after a moment as she was reminded of what Eumelia had said before.

They weren't supposed to touch her without permission. The one who had shoved her, then hit her when she tried to sing, if Zuher found out they would likely be punished instead of rewarded. Perhaps the other guard had warned them first, then struck when they weren't listened to?

As all of this traveled through her mind, the sound of retreat touched her ears. Then, the click of a closing door. The ache of her stomach was forgotten as fear seized her.

The darkness was a solid, pitch black. From context, she knew there was a cell-door in front of her, but it might as well have been invisible. Her breath caught, panic drawing useless gasps of oxygen into her aching lungs. The air felt heavy. It pressed on her from all sides as she uselessly attempted to strangle the panic.

I'm not afraid of the dark. I'm not a child. I'm not afraid of the dark. I'm not a coward. There's nothing here to be frightened of. I'm not afraid of the dark. I can handle it.

I'm not afraid of the dark.

The mantra circled in her mind, as if it could ward the memories flickering through her like a vivid nightmare. And, somehow, it did. That sourceless fear still consumed her, her heart still felt like it was caught in a vice, but she could breathe, and that was enough.

Gods, she'd only been here a minute. How was she to take hours, or even days of this? She knew the stories, she'd even reflected on them earlier. Many of Zuher's "guests" were housed in the tower. Was the entire building nothing but darkness? Would she be expected to live here, or was this a temporary thing until a room was readied? Logic grasped at her worries, reminding her that the stories told of those who jumped to their deaths.