Page 29 of Hidden Kingdoms

The harsh rap of a knock jolted me awake in a haze of sleep-addled confusion, my sore eyes wearily blinking as shapes of an unfamiliar room slowly came into focus. It only took a moment for the flickering forms of my dreams to fade into the forgotten reaches of my mind and just one more for it to catch up with what my eyes could see.

The knock came again with a persistence suggesting I was apparently supposed to answer—which made little sense given my current state of captivity. I had presumed they would barge in whenever they felt like it. Knocking at the door like I had any choice, like they were expected visitors, was an odd development.

How polite of my kidnappers to be so considerate.

Judging by the brightness outside, I had only been asleep a short while. Muscles stiff, I climbed off the bed still drowning in the crumpled black jumper. The faint smell of charcoal lingered in its material, conjuring an image of a bonfire—flames leaping to stroke the stars—that was so real I could almost feel its warmth against my skin.

Another loud rap sounded on the wood, and I shook it off, willing myself to stay in the present.

Was this the part where they took me to the real dungeons?

Would the door even open? It hadn’t last night. Why would they now allow a captive the freedom of an unlocked door?

Part of me was hoping it would be Marcellus on the other side. I gripped the handle that had been so painfully unmovable the last time I touched it. As I pressed down, the latch unlocked with an unexpected click.

It wasn’t Marcellus, though a guard had indeed been posted outside, standing stoically to the side dressed in a grey uniform with the hint of gold thread woven through the material. He wore a long, navy-blue scabbard strapped to his hip, and the golden hilt of a sword was visible, inlaid with a blue gem dancing in the light from the flames along the wall.

He hadn’t knocked though; he was facing ahead as if the bare wall opposite him was the most interesting thing he had seen in his life.

The person who had knocked was a tall woman with blonde hair cut to her chin. Small lines marked the edges of her brown eyes that were crinkled by a soft smile. Cautiously I met her eyes, ready to pull away should she suddenly be bludgeoned by her ex-husband or drop down dead from an aneurism. When nothing happened, I relaxed a fraction.

Maybe that’s over now.

She wore a long dress of in layers of black and reds, the hems rough and unfinished. If I looked too hard, they almost smouldered as she moved. Like coals that had been left to their own devices. Tangles of round black beads roped around her neck and wrists.

Her eyes swept over me, assessing me head to toe, as she held out a tray in offering with hands that were decorated with intricate flaming tattoos that started from her blackened nails and disappeared under her sleeves. The scent of charred wood and oils drifted from the fabric as it shifted around her wrists.

“Have you slept?” her voice held a melodic lilt that soothed a little of the knot formed in my chest.

When all I managed was a weak nod, she pressed the tray into my hands. “Eat.”

Hesitantly, I took itfrom her, once in my hands, she touched a finger to the door, and it began to close. I stepped out of its way as it cut me off from the outside, sealing me inside again.

The tray was heavy in my hands as I struggled to make sense of an interaction that had taken place under the bleariness of an unfulfilling sleep.

My mind caught up in time to press my ear to the door before she could have got far, straining yet unable to hear a single thing through the solid wood. I wondered if I would be able to take on that guard and make my escape, before deciding it was best to not go rushing to my death just yet.

I couldn’t shake the need to try, and after transferring the weight of the tray to one hand, I tested the handle again. The knowledge it wouldn’t move even a fraction was unsurprising yet no less frustrating.

Was that how my time here was going to be spent, locked in a room with food tossed my way?

Sitting at the wooden table, I slid the tray onto it, my leg bouncing as I eyed the food I had been given. White rolls with a selection of cheese, cut meat, and some dark red berries I had never seen before. Folded neatly next to it was a bundle of clothes. I was immediately disappointed at the lack of coffee.

Unsure of when I last ate, which was highlighted by my growling stomach, I pushed back a sleeve and poked a sceptical finger at the food—what that would really achieve I wasn’t sure. There were no clocks in the room, and I wasn’t old school enough to be able to tell the time by the sun.

Nanna probably could of.

Soon she would realise I was missing when I didn’t turn up for breakfast with her and Briar, and that was if Titan hadn’t already alerted her. My heart ached at the thought of her going through that. I had no idea how she would go about finding me, but I knew she would try everything she could. The guilt was almost crushing as I imagined the anguish she would go through not knowing where I was. I despised that I had wound up here partly because I had thrown myself into my kidnappers’ arms.

It was either that or be eaten by a floating black blob; there had been no Plan C.

At least this way I was alive, as long as the cheese wasn't full of poison.

I inspected the food again, my stomach making itself known, attempting to convince me that it made no sense for them to poison me. There had been plenty of opportunities to do me in without resorting to messing with my food, and if I was going to get out of here, I needed the energy to do so. I couldn’t live on adrenaline and my sparkling personality alone.

Sniffing at the food as far as I could tell smelt fine, but I was hardly a poison expert.

Nibbling the corner of a roll, I dropped it back on the plate, forcing myself to count out ten minutes, just in case.

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