CHAPTER NINE

There's a ringing in my ears in the quiet. Not quite silence but the screaming of the forest has gone, leaving an echo in its wake. The metallic taste in my mouth slowly makes its presence known and my teeth are gritty with dirt, my cheek pressed against the hard ground. I crack my eyes open a fraction, despite the headache at the base of my skull, keeping my body as still as possible.

My limbs are bent uncomfortably underneath and around me, as if I was thrown – the throb that pulses through my body indicates I was. Darkness still surrounds me but it's different, somehow. Not as dense, as if it's a more natural form of darkness. Perhaps it's night-time. I let my eyes adjust and scan what I can see, without moving my head. I can just make out the edge of what seems to be a metal pole, the edge of bars on a cell – or cage – and dirt.

There's a creak from behind me and I quickly shut my eyes, not ready to give away my consciousness. Two hands grip me under my arms, hard enough to bruise, and haul me to my feet. I let my head flop forward and I don't see the hand that fists in my hair, jerking my head back up.

'Ugh, she's wet herself,' says the one gripping me.

My pants feel dry but, going by the stench I'm just now noticing, he's probably not wrong. I have no idea how long I've been out. The one holding me drags me closer to the wall and shoves me against it, my head bouncing on the hard surface. I wince at the sensation and momentary increase in darkness before my eyes.

'Put that on.'

The second one, clearly not fooled that I'm unconscious, throws a bundle of cloth at me before they both leave, closing the door behind them. I watch them through lowered lids until I lose sight of them in the darkness outside my cell. My gut tells me they don't go far.

Slowly, I shift myself onto all fours and dizziness makes my already limited vision swim. On my knees, I inspect the cloth bundle, expecting some basic pants and a shirt of some kind. Instead, the fabric is surprisingly soft beneath my fingers and unravels to reveal what was once a beautiful, even if now a little old-fashioned, dress. I stare at it, as if this is a puzzle I am expected to solve. But if it's a puzzle, it's a piece that makes my head throb trying to make it fit.

'I said, put it on,' the second voice barks at me through the bars.

I didn't hear him approach and the loudness of his voice makes me flinch. Using the wall for support, I pull myself up, bracing myself against a wave of nausea. I turn away from the cell door and gingerly remove my torn t-shirt. I fumble the dress over my head before removing my pants from underneath. It's a snug fit and my breasts swell over the top. The skirt is full and I'm thankful it's long to help protect me from the cold I can feel seeping in through the dirt floor and what I now realise is also a packed dirt wall.

Another wave of nausea rises from the pit of my stomach after the effort of getting dressed and I sink back down to the floor. I tuck my bare feet under me, seeing no sign of my shoes and socks, and lean against the wall. Groggily, I wonder if being compliant is a good idea – but my thoughts are too slippery to argue.

'Get up.'

The second man is back at the door. Or perhaps he didn't leave. Not waiting for my slow rising, he enters the cell and roughly drags me to my feet. He is agile, despite his bulk, and thrusts me out of the barred room. I stagger along beside him as he drags me up a handful of stairs and along a rough stone walkway, his fingers biting into my arm.

My feet are thick with cold and I stumble along, the hall spinning around me. A large door, rimmed with light, looms on the left and vaguely I hear voices coming from the space beyond. I blink furiously to try and clear the fog in my head. Dimly, I know I need to get out. Get out before I am taken in there. But my body doesn't respond, fear freezing my senses and clouding my mind.

'Time for you to join some friends,' he says, shoving open the door with his other hand. I'm momentarily blinded by the light, my eyes struggling to catch up with the change.

In the light, I can see the man who holds me has short, auburn hair and red-tinged stubble on his chin. A group in front of me talk amongst themselves, only a few turn to me, the others keeping their focus on their drinks. Musicians play in one corner of the pale, stone room, the stools they sit on made of timber, and a small group of women huddle together near where I stand. My head throbs as I look over at them, trying to understand why they'd be so close to the door and not running. Are they part of whatever is happening here? Then, I notice they are also barefoot and dirty. They are not here of their own volition and another realisation tries to claw its way through to my brain.

I scan their faces for hers quickly, even though I know she never left that floor. Desperately, I search for Will instead – someone I know should be here – but I can't see him, either. A sob catches in my throat at what I refuse to imagine might have happened. The fingers gripping my arm bring me back to myself and the red-headed man continues to drag me into the group.

'What do you think?' he says, addressing them. 'Doesn't look like much does she? Got no fire. There'll be more after her.' He laughs but only a handful join him.

Their assessing faces spin around me as bile rises in my throat. We make our way around the fire most of the men are sitting around, my stomach roiling at his touch, and my eyes dart around the room trying to get a handle on my whereabouts. My head is throbbing and I know it would be useless to try and physically defend myself just yet. I'm disgusted at my dependency on this man to keep me upright at all.

Eventually, he takes me to the group of women and shoves me forward, my cold toes tripping me and I slam into one of them. My head spins with the sudden movement and I brace myself to feel the impact of the hard floor. Instead, the woman grips my arms to stop me from falling and I subtly position myself between her and the man as I right myself.

Where are you, Will?

There is a distinct ebb of fear and disgust from the women around me and I desperately try to build my barrier back up. I feel immediately guilty but I'm not strong enough to take on their emotions as well right now. Not when I can't see Will. I close my eyes briefly against the spinning of the room – a concussion, I think distantly – and I tentatively seek out my ability to build a stronger wall around me.

I open my eyes and my vision clears a little, my gaze landing on a dark shape towards the back corner of the fiery room.

No.

My hand flies to my throat as ice runs through my veins.

Hung by his wrists, shackles cutting into his skin, is Will. The tops of his feet, shoe-less, like mine, rest limply on the floor and blood has pooled beneath him. I can see only the top of his head as he slumps forward. From this distance, I can't make out if he is conscious. Or breathing. Tears spring in my eyes and the pressure behind my ribs builds to the point of bursting.

My breath comes in short bursts, a sharp pain in my chest. I need to reach Will. I swallow a sob as I look at the men between us and silently beg him not to be dead. Even in my confused state, I know I would be no match for this group on my best day. My muscles shake with tension as I try to clear the fog in my head and work out what to do.

'Breathe,' the woman behind me says in a low voice.

'Breathe,' she says again. 'You will feel worse if you hyperventilate. He's alive … for now. We just need to get through tonight.'

Time passes like an excruciatingly slow drip. The gathering continues around me and the group of women, statues in a pond of quiet celebration. My heart aches to help them but I know I can't do it on my own and I can't bring myself to focus on them. I need Will. Even with him, we would be greatly outnumbered here. I urge him to give me a sign, any sign, that he is alive.

'Alright.' A male voice reverberates through the room but I don't see where it comes from. He doesn't shout but the noise begins to die away anyway. 'Night's over, he's not coming today.'

The other women, about ten of them, and I are shepherded towards the door into two lines. The woman who spoke to me nudges me towards the door.

'No.' I dig my bare heels into the stone slab floor. 'I need to go to him. Please. I need to see him,' I beg.

'They'll kill you if you do, and likely us as well,' she whispers fiercely.

I still stare at Will, not even looking at the woman, but I make my feet move. For now. Twisting as I walk out with the women, I find Will's shape behind the men that linger by the fire. He remains hanging, showing no signs of consciousness.

Coming to the end of one of the lines, I am herded out the door with the other women. They all wear dresses of good quality like mine. In another life, I imagine we would almost look courtly in our finery. As it is, though, we are dirty beneath the fine materials and vibrant colours and most are nursing hurts of some kind. Not least our feet that are scratched and bleeding from the dirt floor of the cells and the rough stone we walk on now.

We turn right outside the door, flanked by several men. Guards is probably a better term, although they are very different to the members of the Guard that I know. On instinct, I look to my left as we pass through. There is a walkway lined with flaming torches that stretches into the darkness, offering no indication of what, or where, it leads. As we approach the area that houses my cell, I notice mine is close to the stairs that lead back up to the walkway and the fire room beyond. Stretching out to the left and right of me are more cells into which the women are filed off, one-by-one down the row, and locked away.

The guard closest to me gestures to the open door of the cell I was in when I came to, his eyes sliding past me and narrowing slightly. A shiver runs down my spine at the look on his face and I turn to find the auburn-haired one less than two paces away. Reaching us, he puts his hand on my waist and I openly shudder. He is not as rough as he was when he dragged me out of the cell earlier, but I flinch at his touch and inadvertently step closer to the other guard.

'You're alright, I can take her from here,' the red-headed one says, the smell of alcohol on his breath. The guard turns and grips his shoulder, effectively pinning me between them. I press back into him and tremble involuntarily both at the contact and the way the other one pins me with his strange eyes. There's something familiar about them.

'Odhran,' the gentler guard says, 'the favour he did you by bringing you here does not extend to taking liberties. You do not want him to remind you of that again.'

Odhran scoffs. 'But did he do it as a favour, or just so he could keep me where he can see me? We don't report to that bastard, you don't need to tell him anything.' He pauses and I don't need my gift to feel the tension between the two of them. 'I'd let you watch, if you asked me.' He winks at the guard as his hand drifts below my waist and grips my ass.

Gathering the small amount of my returning strength, I drive my free elbow into his stomach and wrench myself from the other guard's grip before landing a second blow to Odhran's gut with my fist. Odhran is too drunk to react quickly. The gentler guard puts a hand on Odhran's chest to keep him from me as Odhran recovers and spits in my face.

'You bitch,' he says.

The guard laughs. 'I thought you said she had no fire?'

He resumes hold of my elbow, gentler again than Odhran, and ushers me back into the cell. Refusing to look at him, I retreat to the furthest corner and sink to the floor. My body feels too heavy to be mine, numbness seeping through me.

I'm so sorry, Will. Hold on. Please hold on.

My vision swims as exhaustion tightens its grip on my bones. I try to focus on the details to keep me awake. The dirt wall at my back, curving slightly where it meets the floor. The metal bars making up the remaining three walls of the cell. The other cells that border mine. The outline of a woman in the one to my right. Her position mirroring mine. It's my job to protect people but the thought of saving them at the cost of Will makes me ill. Somehow, I need to do both.

•

The gloom here settled in a long time ago – well before I arrived I'd wager – although it's interrupted by the torches that line the opposing wall. I can make out more than before, now that I've had time to sit and breathe. It makes me wonder again at my concussion and if it was the cause of the earlier darkness. Looking into the cells on either side, I can see through the barred walls to the next, and the next, and more after that – but I can't tell where they finish. Like looking into too many reflections.

Muffled voices filter down the walkway outside the row of cells; the silence of the women around me feels like they're all holding their breath. I am. Three men manhandle Will into the cell next to mine. My heart leaps in my throat and I rush at the bars between us.

'Will?' I whimper. 'Will, please talk to me.'

He doesn't respond and the men ignore me. They dump him towards the back of the cell before locking him in and leaving us. Only the guard who brought me down remains. I stare at Will, terrified I'll miss something if I look away. Vaguely, I think I can make out his chest rising and falling in shallow breaths – but my eyes might be playing tricks on me, showing me what I want to see.

Please be okay. Please be okay.

'Will?' I say a little louder. He groans softly and I drop to my knees, my head light.

'Oh god, Will. I'm here, I'm here.'

I feel the attention of the guard and drag my eyes from Will's form.

'Let me help him,' I beg. 'Please.'

He presses a finger to his lips as a hooded figure steps into the walkway.

Glancing both ways, I don't think he's come from the direction of the room where I've just been. Which means there's something else at the other end of this run of cells. And, if he can come in that way, we can go out.

The hooded man waits, looking at me, I think, but I can't see his face in the gloom. The space between us strains and the moment stretches before he snaps it and turns away. Slowly, he moves to each of the occupied cells. Some of the women keep their distance, a couple meet him at the doors to their cells.

But not one of them is scared.

Eventually, he reaches Will's door and my vision narrows to Will and the man, the sound of my heart loud in my ears. The bars between us cut into my hands.

'What are you doing?' I whisper as he looks once at the guard and opens the door to Will's cell. 'Don't you dare touch him.'

Slowly he raises his hands, palms out as he approaches Will.

'I will fucking kill you if you hurt him,' I spit. My voice is higher than normal, a scream building in my throat.

The man in the hood, his face still obscured, kneels before Will and places his hands on his chest. My own chest tightens in response.

I shake the bars but they refuse to give.

'No. Please, don't.' My voice cracks.

I want to look away. But the only way I can be with him is to watch.

For a moment, nothing happens. I wait, praying to all the gods I can think of for the hooded man to leave Will alone. As I watch, Will's breathing begins to steady and deepen into a more regular rhythm. With care and ease, the hooded man manoeuvres Will closer to the bars I am still gripping and places him on his side, not dissimilar to the recovery position. I can't tear my eyes away from the hooded man, my mouth gaping, as he walks out of Will's cell and towards mine.

He stands there at my door, his head still covered by the dark hood of his cloak, and I wonder why he needs to hide. Perhaps he's the only sensible one. I've marked every one of these bastard's faces – and their strange eyes – and I will stop at nothing to take them down when I am out of here. A soft, gentle sensation reaches my awareness and I can't tell if it's in my mind or actually touching me. But it's definitely coming from the outside of the emotional barrier I've layered up from my toes, blocking people out. This feeling is searching for a way in. I blink in confusion, the hooded man still staring at me. It takes me a moment to realise this is how Nico and Phoenix must feel when I push emotions over them.

I try not to gasp as I flatten myself harder against the bars between mine and Will's cell. The emotions pulsing against me feel foreign and I push against them. They're not mine.

This isn't right.

A beat of surprise runs through me as I realise I can feel him despite my barrier. Fuck. Even my abilities are messed up in here. Underneath what he's trying to send to me, he's angry. Really angry, and I don't want to examine why. Will is lying in that cell, barely breathing. Calm is not how I feel. I imagine the foreign thread of emotions as a rope I can hold, and I carefully place it outside my barrier. As if it was a physical thing I can gently put away.

'Do you need any help?' he asks quietly, nothing in his deep tone giving away that he knows what I've done with his emotions.

I stare at him, wondering how best to answer this question. Of course we need help. But I don't want to walk into a trap, either. Not that I have a lot of options to try right now. So, I go out on a limb.

'Yes,' I say, taking tentative steps towards him. 'I need to get us the fuck out of here.'

My skin tingles where I can still feel the edges of his emotions and I drag harder on the flame in my chest to block them out. But it's not totally successful and it takes far more energy than normal. Still, what I can feel makes me understand the others were genuinely unafraid of him. He didn't force them to feel that. While there is anger there, it's not directed at any of us.

He doesn't want us here, either.

He remains outside my door, looking back once at the other guard, who's paying close attention to the walkway to the fire room, then walks away.

Back the way he came.

He placed Will close enough for me to reach through the bars and hold his hand while I watch and wait for him to rouse. I know Will's face as well as my own, although I still sometimes marvel at the handsome man the young boy I knew has become. Even with the blood on his face, he's handsome.

It's now been several days since we left Rhyton and he is showing definite signs of a beard. Several days. Not even close to when the others would start getting concerned but, still, I hope they do not come looking for us. I think about Nico and Phoenix as I run my thumb over the back of Will's hand and an ache begins to radiate from my chest. Closing my eyes, I imagine myself back in my apartment with Phoenix, his arms around me, and it brings me some small comfort. Until I question when I will see him again.

Most of the men here have shown us their faces, I know one's name. They have no intention of letting us go home.

'I think it's safe to say we found the girls and the Whispers,' Will says in a thin voice, squeezing my hand, and my heart skips a beat.

'Given we were supposed to be doing reconnaissance only, I'd say we got a little more than we bargained for,' I whisper, fighting a sob. 'That was so naive,' I say.

Will eases himself into a sitting position and retakes my hand.

'Go slow, Will. You look awful,' I tell him.

'So much for the rugged handsome look I was going for,' he smirks.

I frown at him, trying to assess what he's covering up but he seems … okay. Certainly more okay than I was expecting.

Questions swirl in my mind about the hooded man and what he's been able to do. Why can I feel him despite the barrier? How can he send me a wave of calm when he thought I needed it?

'How do you feel?' I ask.

'Strange,' he says. 'I should barely be alive after the beating they gave me. But I almost feel … good. Stiff, but I'm alright.' He looks at me, worry clear on his face. 'What did they do to you?'

'Nothing, I'm fine. I don't know if I can say the same for the other girls, but I'm fine.'

'We have to get out of here, Lish,' Will says. 'They might kill me, but I think it's better than what they might do to you.'

•

Will squeezes my hand.

'Food,' he says nodding towards the stone bowls that have been slipped between the bars. We collect our bowls and we sit as close to each as we can, the bars of our cells separating us. I watch Will carefully, amazed at the ease in his movements.

Breakfast, or maybe lunch, is a luke-warm gruel of some sort. I try not to think about what it's made of as I force it down. The women from the fire room are also in their cells and Will and I each have a neighbour.

The walkway has been clear of guards since the food arrived, and Will and I start to talk to the women beside us, passing messages up and down each run of the cells on either side. Peta, next to my cell, is soft-spoken and tells me in a broken voice that she's been here for a couple of weeks. Her resigned devastation ripples between us.

There is a loose routine here, she says. They are mostly left alone during the day, before being taken to the fire room each evening; they seem to be waiting for someone to arrive but she doesn't know who. They don't get to talk a lot as a group, but whispers are passed up and down the line of cells. Rumour has it we are in a holding pen of some kind while they decide where to send us next. Will's discussion goes much the same way.

'Lish,' Will whispers.

I walk over to him, already sick of sitting in the dirt. He grins at me as we meet at the bars between, his bronze eyes dark in the gloom.

'We found Sofia.'

My hand flies to my mouth. 'Are you sure?'

'Definitely,' he says. 'She's a few cells down, but they've passed names up to me. I got them to ask about her family and guess what?'

'She's got a little brother,' I say in amazement.

Having seen the group of women, I'd wanted to hope but, in my profession, that can be a hurtful thing. Will watches me through the bars and I know he's thinking the same. 'We need to find a way out of here,' I say.

We talk for hours, whispering in the near darkness and asking different questions of the women as needed. Will and I each grill them, as best we can when we can only talk directly to one other person each, on as many details as they can recall. Everything from how long they've been here; how often they're fed; if they ever go anywhere else to wash; have they had any other clothes delivered; who guards them and what they are like. And of course, how often the hooded man comes and if they know why he comes at all.

'Could we trust him to help us?' Will wonders out loud. I told him of the man's actions last night and it's hard for either of us to totally ignore the possibility of his help. More than that, I think of the other women's responses to him and the other guard compared to when they were in the fire room.

'It's a huge risk to show our hand to any of them,' I say. 'But there must be a reason he's been checking on them so often.' I ignore the questions that what he did to Will raises for now.

Will's quiet as he thinks it over.

'You said there was one that keeps watch, right?'

'He was making sure the hooded one wasn't found. He was totally relaxed about all of us. They're definitely working together and keeping it from the rest of the group.'

'What if I ask the hooded man to help us?' Will looks at me from where we now sit at the back of our cells. 'He's helped me already, right?'

A tightness takes hold in my chest.

'And if it's a ruse on his behalf?'

'You're the best judge of character I've ever met, Lish,' he says. 'If you don't think he's dangerous, I trust you. And, if he is, me asking keeps the attention off you and the rest of the women.' He frowns. 'Although, I don't want to leave you to figure it out on your own if it goes south.'

'So … plan b …' I let my voice trail off.

We're silent a few minutes before I talk again.

'The other one – the one who kept watch – he must have the keys. The hooded one can't have left with them. If he was trusted with them, why hide?'

Will makes a sound of agreeance.

'He's not as experienced as you or me,' I say, thinking on how the young guard positioned himself too close to me without being prepared for any attack on my behalf. 'I can get the keys off him when he has us out, and we all go the way the hooded man came from.'

'How do we know what's down there?' he points down the hall.

'We don't. But we have to hope it's better than whatever's going to happen in that room. Better than who they're waiting for. But we'd need to be prepared to run into the hooded one on our way out.'

I look to Will as he nods, the back of his head scraping gently on the dirt wall.

'There are two of us,' he says, turning his gaze to me. 'We do what we need to do to get them out.' The intensity in his eyes is unsettling. But not wrong.

'Tonight?' he asks quietly.

'When they bring us back from the fire room and leave us for the night,' I say, a familiar flicker of nervous excitement starting in my fingertips. Just like when we take on a big job at work. I smile at Will. 'I can't wait to see the look on Nico's face.'

Will smiles softly back.

We don't talk about what happens if we fail – I will do anything to get us out. To get Will and Sofia back where they belong. The memory of my mother's bloodied face forces itself behind my eyes and I squeeze them shut, as if I can force it away. She didn't come this far. I don't know if that's better or worse. But I won't let them take Will from me, too.