55. Into Hell We Go

55. Into Hell We Go

Ruth

I tremble like a bladeof grass in Warrose’s arms.

“Are you shaking for me, my little rebel?”

I exhale. “Nope. I’m shaking at the thought of being dumped into a pit of lava.”

“You think I’ll get that drunk?”

“I do.”

He snorts.

Across the stage are barrels connected to rubber hoses. Prisoners stand in several lines waiting to consume their share of the drink. The audience mingles among themselves as they wait for the plank walking to start. Soldiers wear hats that look like animal heads: pigs, goats, bucks, and something else…

I squint into the distance, going still.

“RottWeilen,” I breathe.

Warrose looks at me quizzically, then darts his gaze to the audience and the many soldiers wearing hats that look like the heads of the RottWeilen. That look just like DaiSzek.

“Why the fuck are they wearing those?” he growls.

Dessin steps forward with a scowl.

“They’re celebrating the start of the meat carnival season,” Helga Bee says, appearing to Dessin’s right.

“And they’re probably wearing those particular hats to taunt us,” Dessin speculates.

Niles sighs. “Skylenna isn’t going to like this.”

I nod in agreement. This will definitely set her off. But as I turn to gauge her reaction in the line behind us, she’s missing. I shift in Warrose’s hold, trying to search the sea of inmates waiting for their turn in the lines. No waterfall of honey hair. No long legs. No Skylenna.

“Dessin?” I ask.

He raises his eyebrows in my direction.

“Did Skylenna not come in with you?”

Dessin’s dark irises flick to the assembly lines, scanning the heads of hair, reaching all the way out to the entryway. His focus returns to me with a slight alarm wrinkling his brow.

“She was right behind me.”

~

Skylenna

“I’m not leaving without them.”

Kaspias tugs me through a few hallways I’ve never seen before. His grip on my wrist is stronger than an iron shackle, and he doesn’t loosen it even as I resist his pull.

“You’re the only one not affected by the devious little piece inside your ear anymore. Remember when you fought the dizziness in the dungeon? That shocked even Masten. Your friends don’t have that luxury,” he explains.

“So?!” I grind my teeth against the frustration growing hot in my chest. “I don’t care. We can still get them out!”

Kaspias shoots me a look with those black-rimmed eyes. “If I try to get them out with it still inside their ears, the walls encasing this prison will cause it to shoot through their brains like an arrow. Is that what you want?”

No. What? Of course, not…but…

The hallway shrinks around me, echoing the drumming of my racing heart. I’m out of breath, eyes pleading at the open space as we sprint. There has to be a way to free us together. Isn’t there?

“Kaspias…”

I can’t leave them. I can’t leave them. I can’t leave them.

“My brother would want me to get you out,” he hollers back.

Fuck. I know he would! I made a promise to him. But you know what? No. NO! I hiss, throwing my weight into my back leg and freeing my arm from Kaspias’s pull.

“I won’t leave my family behind,” I pant.

Kaspias stumbles away a few steps, straightening his posture and looking so much like the man I love, yet nothing like him at all.

“There’s word of a RottWeilen pacing the perimeter of Vexamen’s shores.” His words sink like an anchor. “They say it’s bigger than any RottWeilen in recorded history. Our archers have been given orders to shoot him down with Sapphrine Oil from afar.”

I shake my head, the word “no” shaping my lips.

“He’s yours, isn’t he?” he asks, lowering his chin.

I swallow, nodding.

“If leading in the cavalry is your best chance to free your family, wouldn’t you take it?”

Exhaling feels dangerously close to releasing venom from my body. My shoulders sag forward, and even my face melts into submission.

“Are you sure you can get me out?”

“I’m sure. There’s really only one area I can see being a problem. But…” Kaspias stares deeply into my eyes with determination. “I won’t let you down, Skylenna. I’ll give everything to get you out.”

~

Ruth

“What should we do?” Warroseasks Dessin, trying not to sound alarmed. “We’re up next.”

Dessin zones out in the grand theater seating the Vexamen soldiers. And I can’t help but wonder if even a small part of him still loves her. If there’s even a fragment of that affection left in his mind that can verify all we’ve said.

“The de—” Dessin cuts himself off. “Skylenna can handle herself.”

I blink in surprise at his use of her name. The act of saying it causes tendons in his neck to strain, but he still said it. Warrose glances at me with parted lips.

“We’re next,” Niles announces nervously.

I inhale deeply, trying my best to slow my pounding heartbeat, but the thick aroma of candy apples, popcorn, and sweat makes me cringe. Bursts of fire explode from torches surrounding the stage for dramatic effect, sending heat waves tumbling around us.

“You’re going to stay calm for me, okay?” Warrose tilts his face toward me, nearly grazing his nose against mine.

“Okay.”

“And if you get scared, I want you to close your eyes.”

“Aren’t you scared?”

At this point, my limbs are pulsating with anxious energy. The lower half of my body aches and throbs, and I’m faint with unrelenting nausea.

He stares into my eyes like he’s waiting to see if I can figure that out for myself. His expression is nothing short of calm and confident.

“No.”

We step up to the barrel and hose. My skin bubbles and prickles at the sight of Dessin and Niles kneeling to receive their serving, then to take Marilynn’s hose, too. I’m lowered a few inches as Warrose goes down to a knee, nodding at the sentinel holding two hoses.

I massage Warrose’s left shoulder anxiously. “What should I do to help?”

“Mmm,” he hums in the back of his throat. “That. I’d like you to keep doing that.”

I relax a little knowing that I’m able to do something helpful. My hands knead against his skin with purpose, trying to ease his tight muscles.

I watch with building tension as he accepts the first hose, taking long gulps and not even flinching as the potent liquid drains down his throat. The scent of the alcohol burns the edges of my nostrils, even though I’m not the one drinking it. A drop drizzles down his chin as he nods at the sentinel, giving the first hose back to receive the next serving.

“Oh, God,” I breathe in sharply. “Are you sure you can handle the next one?”

Warrose rolls his eyes with a cocky smirk but doesn’t respond as he continues to take efficiently large gulps. I stop massaging his shoulder and start caressing the curve of his neck. Slow, intimate strokes. I run my fingers upward, skimming under his hair to his scalp. That soft, dark head of hair is like silk; I become mesmerized by fondling those thick strands. He’s rough around every edge, from his calloused hands to his bristly facial hair, bulging muscles, thighs that might be made of tree trunks—all except for his hair and his eyes. These two features are made of satin and midnight dreams.

“That’s going to get me hard.” Warrose drops the second hose from his mouth, taking deep inhales to catch his breath.

“From touching your hair?” My lips twitch into a half smile.

“Yeah.”

I ignore the mental image of a tent forming in his pants. “I think your hair might be softer than mine.”

“Did you just give me a compliment?”

“Don’t get used to it.”

Warrose chuckles, low and gruff. As he turns his face closer to me, I instinctively use my thumb to wipe away the trail of alcohol that ran down his chin and neck. His eyes lower as he follows my every movement.

That smoldering look sends a rush of wet heat between my legs, and my gaze shudders over his full lips. The desire to taste that alcohol on him is making my mind swim with delirium. His face is so close, and that mouth would feel so good against mine.

“You good, War?” Niles nudges us from behind. “They’re having us wait on the edge of the stage until the drink kicks in. Then I think we’re walking the plank.”

“Did he just give me a nickname?” Warrose raises an eyebrow at me.

I snicker. “I like chicken coward better.”

“Me, too.”

It’s another beat of a moment that his weighty gaze burns deep into my soul, a look that I’ve never seen in a man’s eyes before. And I can’t help but stare right back.

“Are you ignoring me because I’m drunk?” Niles pops his head around to our left.

Warrose’s eye roll is slow and exaggerated.

“Are you already drunk?” I ask with a laugh.

“Perhaps.” He boops my nose. “Perhaps not!”

Dessin shows up to my right, nodding his head in the direction of the inmates gathering to wait for the Ringmaster to announce that it’s time for the plank.

“What about you, Dess? You drunk yet?” Niles bumps Dessin with his shoulder.

“He’s really sticking with these nicknames,” Warrose mutters close to my ear.

“No,” Dessin mutters, irritation pinching his brow.

“How do you know if he’s drunk?” I ask.

Warrose shrugs. “Hard to tell. He would just get all broody and talk about Skylenna.”

I can tell Dessin hears Warrose’s comment by the way the tendons in his jaw tic. But he doesn’t retort. I’m sure he’s experiencing conflicting feelings with hearing her name.

We stand in a circle on the stage, being bumped and crowded by the mass of warm inmate bodies cluttering in the same area. I grip Warrose’s back with as much energy as I’m able to exert without passing out. Everything hurts, but at least the adrenaline is making me numb.

As time passes, Warrose’s eyelids droop as performers throw sticks of fire around the stage, entertaining the crowd until we’re ready to walk.

“Warrose?” My voice pulls him from the deep thought he was working through. He slides his slightly glazed over eyes to me.

“Hmm?”

“Are you sure you can do this?”

He flashes me a devastatingly handsome smile. “Yes, I’m sure.”

“How drunk are you on a scale from one to ten?”

“A seven.”

“I’m a fourteen!” Niles laughs, doing a little fist pump.

“That’s not something to be proud of, Niles,” Dessin scolds, and even his words are a little slurred.

“You always smell so pretty.” I turn my head back to Warrose, just now noticing his nose nuzzled into my hair, breathing in with his eyes closed.

“What do I smell like?” I smirk.

“Roses and money,” he says huskily. “Like a queen.”

I laugh. “Well, that’s not so bad.”

“What do I smell like?” Warrose opens his eyes, pulling away from my hair to give me a look that makes my thighs tremble.

I pause to think.

“A cow’s ass! Ha-ha!” Niles throws his head back and busts out laughing, eavesdropping again.

Warrose clenches his jaw, but Dessin steps up first.

“You are two seconds from being thrown off the stage,” Dessin hisses.

“By whom?!” Niles’s eyes go round.

“Me.”

“Shutting up, sir.”

The stage trembles as it opens rectangular gaps in the floor with thin metal planks stretched across their centers. We stare as the audience of soldiers rumble their feet in anticipation. The percussion fills my ears, making it hard for Warrose to focus on one thing.

The Ringmaster begins to yell in excitement.

“Feizëx! Feizëx! Feizëx! Feizëx!”

“What’re they saying?” Marilynn asks.

“Fire,” Dessin and I say at the same time.

And this time, Niles really does shut up. His face goes a sick shade of green.

“We’ll go first,” Warrose announces to the group, becoming more alert as we watch the pits fill up with molten lava, bright yellows and oranges swirling under the planks.

I jerk in his arms as tufts of gas and flames explode from the lava. Sentinels pour liquid into each rectangular pit, encouraging a blazing wall of fire that climbs to great heights, licking the sides of the planks.

“Oh, Warrose.” I hug him tighter, pressing my face against his warm chest.

“I want you to close your eyes until it’s over, okay?” He places a quick kiss on my forehead. “Keep your face against my chest.”

I nod and try to steady my quivering limbs. If anyone can do this, it’s Warrose. He’s a tank of a man who can obviously handle his liquor. And besides, it doesn’t look like they gave these inmates that much to drink. Our group seems fine.

Putting my thoughts to shame, the first prisoner steps up to the plank, slips, and immediately falls to his death. His limp body plunks into the lava and flames like a boulder being tossed in a lake.

“Shit,” I breathe, tucking my face against his chest once more.

Helga Bee and Gerta shuffle through the crowd, waving us down.

“Hey! Come on, you two need to get to the front!” Helga Bee bustles through the lines of inmates, throwing elbows to reach us.

“Why?” Warrose asks but doesn’t object as they place their hands on his back, pushing him forward.

“The longer you wait, the hotter the planks will get! Your feet will burn!”

Wait.The planks are metal. A conductor of heat. Oh, no. What about Niles? This is going to be hard enough for him as it is! I whip my head to search for Niles through the crowd.

“Niles!” I screech, raising my chin above Warrose’s bulky shoulder. “Niles! You have to get to the front of the line! Niles!”

“What’s wrong?” Helga Bee asks, pushing inmates aside to get us a spot in the front.

“You have to get our friends up here, too! Niles is a burn victim! Please!!”

Gerta nods with fierce determination, and they leave to go find him.

The line moves faster than I’m prepared for. The inmates don’t walk the plank one at a time, they follow each other across like a line of ants. Warrose’s feet move forward steadily, if I didn’t see him drink from those hoses, I might not be able to tell he’s drunk.

“Close your eyes, baby girl,” Warrose breathes against my cheek.

I squeeze my eyes shut, feeling my stomach dip as I can tell we’ve now stepped onto the plank.

“It’ll be over soon,” he says gruffly.

“Is it hot?” I ask.

“The metal is warming up. But it’s not burning my feet.”

Thank God.

From what I can tell, Warrose walks in a straight line. Steady. Composed. With the graceful agility of a cat. My muscles loosen their grip, and I soften my hold around his neck. Maybe this isn’t as bad as I thought it would be. Maybe

We stumble forward, and Warrose curses, hugging me to his chest to keep balance.

“Hey!” he grunts.

The plank shakes underneath us. The prisoners bump into each other as they grow frantic and drunk. A panic breaks out among those that are crossing this well of fire. Shoving. Screaming. The melting sounds of bodies flopping into the vat of lava. We’re suddenly jerked back and forth, wobbling side to side as Warrose fights to keep us upright.

“Don’t you dare open those eyes,” he growls in my ear.

“I won’t!”

But it’s too tempting. I have to know what’s going on. Not just to satisfy my creeping curiosity, but to quell the motion sickness swirling in my gut. If I have to start heaving, that will definitely wreck his focus, throwing us off balance.

I peek out of one eye, watching what takes place over his shoulder.

Inmates are being poked and stabbed with sticks from surrounding sentinels and soldiers climbing on the stage to be a part of this bizarre and demented circus.

An animalistic noise rumbles from Warrose’s throat as he’s stabbed in the side with a dull spear. I gasp as a small trickle of blood slides down his hip.

“Warrose!”

“I’m okay.”

Something hooks and latches onto my hair, dragging us down to the right. I yelp at the sting that rakes across my scalp. A female inmate with crows feet surrounding her frightened, beady eyes uses my head to keep herself upright.

“Let go!” I scream.

Warrose headbutts the woman, a crack through the air between us, and she tumbles off the metal strip. I groan against his shoulder.

I hear Dessin shout something from the end of the plank behind us. Warrose nods, taking a deep breath.

“It’s going to feel crazy for a minute, but I promise I won’t drop us. But Dessin’s right, I need to clear the path.” He sounds confident and ultimately fearless in what he’s about to do. I have no room to question it. His calmness is like a steel shelter in a storm. Unbreachable.

“Okay.”

With one arm, Warrose yanks a spear from a sentinel, tugging so hard the glorified guard is thrown into the flames with a high-pitched shriek. He uses the spear to spin around in a circle, batting inmates away from us and not stopping even though some fall to their deaths. He’s doing what he must to get me out of this. To protect us both.

Warrose moves like a tiger, bulky in size, but attacks with the flow of a snake. His thick legs kick outward to defend us from the mob of fumbling bodies. And once he gives himself enough room, he throws the spear back to Dessin, hissing as a few wild flames stroke his ankles. A few strides across the remaining distance, and we’re on the other side of the stage. Panting. Grumbling curse words.

“You’re hurt,” I whine.

I’m sorry I couldn’t walk this plank by myself. I’m sorry you’re hurt because of me. I’m sorry I’ve been so useless to everyone this entire time. Why did this have to happen to me? Why, Warrose?

“It’s a scratch,” he brushes me off but then catches the way I’m looking at him. The way I’m beating myself up internally over this. “Ruth?”

“I hate myself,” I mutter while shaking my head.

Don’t you dare cry again. Don’t!

“Talk to me,” he rasps, still a little out of breath.

“You shouldn’t have had to carry me.” My chest roasts with self-loathing. How am I supposed to live my life needing this much help? All I’ve ever wanted was to be of use to our family. To be able to fight. To run faster than the others. To do something. ANYTHING!

Warrose surprises me by smiling wide.

“What?” I try not to take offense to his satisfaction.

“Baby girl, I would have carried you in perfect health.”

My eyes turn round and glossy. No more crying. I am not weak. From now on, I’m going to put on a strong face. It’s the least I can do.

“You mean it?”

He nods with that same smile that makes my skin tingle. I bite down to keep the tears from rushing to my eyes.

“Why are you making that face?”

“I’m trying not to cry.” My voice comes out in a squeak.

He laughs, rough and beautiful. “It’s okay to cry, Ruth.”

“Not anymore,” I explain. “Not for me. I can’t let myself fall apart again.”

He lifts his chin, looks off to the prisoners scurrying across the heating metal.

“Then when this is all over, I’ll take you somewhere safe. Somewhere you can finally let yourself fall to pieces, okay?”

I blow out a strained breath. “You won’t want me in pieces, I can promise you that.”

“Oh, yes I will.” He touches the tip of his nose to mine. “I’ll just have to mix my pieces with yours. We’ll make a beautiful puzzle.”