Page 71 of Void of Endings
Gromede ambled toward her, his steel armor clanking with each step of his uneven gait, made worse by the hunch protruding from his back. He reeked of damp earth and stale air, bitter, like the onset of the storms that used to lash the coast of Kells. He reminded her of the cage.
Maeve held her breath, staggering back. Away from him.
Gromede grabbed her with one meaty hand, pulling a tangle of bristly rope from his belt. He bound her wrists together, yanking tightly so the scratchy threads cut into her skin. Once he was certain she was secure, he lumbered around behind her and unlocked the chain bolted to the ground.
He wrapped the chain links around his fist, then yanked hard.
Maeve lurched forward as she stumbled to keep up. The iron gripped her throat, squeezing with each tug of Gromede’s brutality.
Parisa glided ahead of them. “Come along, my pet.”
“Where are you taking me?” Maeve choked out, tripping over her own feet.
“I warned you not to interrupt me again. But it seems you don’t like to listen. Toanyone. It’s only fair such behavior receives a proper punishment.” Parisa paused, glancing back at her, and the wash of amber light made her glow with vengeance. “It would be rude of me to show favoritism to you when there are so many others who disobeyed me as well.”
Ah.
So, there were more prisoners. Just as Maeve suspected. But if they weren’t in the dungeon, then where was she keeping them?
They moved through a labyrinth of darkened corridors that seemed to wind like a serpentine maze beneath the palace of Suvarese. To Maeve, it felt like she’d been walking for hours. She was exhausted, weaker than she thought, though whether it wasfrom the lack of nutrition or the iron diminishing her energy, she couldn’t be sure. Each footfall became more of a shuffle as Gromede dragged her along like an animal on a leash. Weariness sank into her bones, her muscles ached. Rounding a corner, Maeve silenced a groan as she looked up to see a spiral staircase that seemed to go on for miles.
She trudged up each one of them, step after step. Her knees softened and her breathing grew labored. A sharp pain jabbed into her ribs, stabbing with each breath. Every so often, the guard behind her would nudge her in the back, shoving her up another few stairs. Just when she thought her lungs would give out, when she swore her body was ready to quit on her, they came to a landing.
The door before her creaked open and soft light spilled into the hall.
It wasn’t bright by any means, but Maeve shielded her eyes all the same. The harsh contrast of the pitch corridors and the dim haze of the room in front of her was enough to cause her temples to throb. Her stomach revolted at the stench, the acrid smell of sweat and other pungent bodily fluids burned her nose. Her eyes watered and Maeve blinked as Gromede towed her into the space, while her vision gradually adjusted to the faint glow illuminating the chamber. Only then did she wish Parisa had taken her eye instead.
On the right side of the room, four tables were crammed side by side, each one of them showcasing a different type of weapon or device meant to inflict pain. There were grimy bottles filled with bubbling potions along with a collection of dried herbs and flowers. A petite fae with stringy hair was hunched over a mortar and pestle, grinding bits of leaves and petals into a fine paste. Next to her was a spread of various daggers, all sharpened to a gleaming point, and some other devices Maeve had never seen before. Clamps with spikes sticking out of them, metalmasks with malignant faces etched onto them designed to cover someone’s entire head, honed rods of birch, and whips with whetted blades poking out from the ends.
Maeve suddenly felt as though she’d swallowed an entire bag full of sand, and her heart plummeted to her stomach like a rock.
This was a torture chamber.
There was only one cell in this room, but it was vast, capable of holding a number of prisoners. Three fae were huddled near the far wall, clinging to one another. They were covered in filth, their clothing little more than ill-fitting brown tunics. Two were female, but the male crouched before them both, his arms splayed wide in a show of defense. All of them stared as Maeve entered, wary, and not one of them spoke. They didn’t make a single sound.
And she knew why.
In the center of the room were four wooden posts that stretched from the floor to the beams of the ceiling. Hooks were fastened into the side of each of the beams, and two fae were hanging from them with their arms over their heads. They’d been severely beaten, whipped until their clothing stuck to their skin, until blood ran like a river beneath them, staining the stone. Both of them were males, one with sandy blond hair, the other a rich brown. Their heads were bowed, their eyes empty orbs of nothingness.
Maeve wasn’t even sure they were alive.
Another Spring fae slowly approached Maeve with a pair of shears in her hand. Jagged pieces of black hair framed her oval face, and though her skin was dark bronze, the female fae blanched at the sight of Maeve. She wore the same style of tunic as the fae locked within the cage, except hers was an emerald green. The hem was frayed, and the gold stitching along the edges was worn, but for the most part, this fae looked far better off than all the rest Maeve had seen so far. There was a slighttremble in the fae’s hand and her lashes fluttered down as she looked away, refusing to make eye contact.
The fae reached for her.
Maeve jerked back in surprise. “Get away from me!”
“Please, be still.” Again, she made to grasp for her, wielding those shears like a blade. “I just have to?—”
“Absolutely not.” Maeve whipped away from the female, but this time, the solid fist of Gromede collided with her face.
Her head snapped to the side, the crunching sound of flesh and bone crackled in her ears. Pain ricocheted through her, lancing from her cheek to her head. Warm blood coated her tongue, slid from the corner of her mouth. Ribbons of darkness unfurled along the edges of her vision and she reeled backward, losing her footing. With her hands bound before her, Maeve’s balance pitched, and she toppled toward the ground. The world blurred in a stream of ugly colors.
Gromede snared her by the arm, hauling her back to her feet. Waves of nausea rolled over her, and she sagged in his firm grip, dizzy and limp.
Something cool slid beneath her armor, sliding smoothly along her skin. She shuddered, helpless to fight back. Damp air assaulted her as she realized what was happening. Horrified, she blinked rapidly, desperately trying to clear her muddled thoughts, as the Spring fae cut away her leathers. Chunks of aubergine armor fell to the blood-splattered floor, and when the fae stepped back, Maeve was left naked and exposed from the waist up.
She shivered, clutching her hands to her chest in a poor attempt to cling to some shred of decency, but Gromede was having none of it. He grabbed the knot between her wrists and hoisted her arms above her head.
