60. Epilogue

Darkness presses in on me like ink, the chill of the winter night blowing out in puffs of white from between my chattering teeth, nipping at my candle flame and making it flicker. Making the three lanky shadows watching me from just beyond that line between dark and light look so much bigger.

One of them reaches out a hand—a stretch of bony fingers that click against each other as it paws at the edge, making the same scary rattling sound that came before the flames flickered out in the other cells.

One by one the candles died, cries snatched in suckled slurps that broke my heart into a million pieces.

I release a brittle sob as a wave of fear consumes me ...

What if my Lord doesn’t return?

I shake my head, pushing the thought away.

Of course he’ll come back …

Another blow of breath, another flicker, the sound of my teeth cracking against each other smothered by the rattling chorus of the other Irilak joining in.

I focus on that flame, make myself smaller, my sharp, bony arms wrapped around my empty body.

The food ran out days ago. The first four candles burned too fast.

Why would my Lord leave us like this? Does he not care about us anymore?

Does he not need me like I need him?

This foreign hurt feels worse than the shackles with their bladed metal teeth that he sometimes clamps around our necks. Feels worse than the times he bites so deep I’m certain he’s going to take a chunk of me with him when he lets go.

The shrinking knob of wax left on my remaining candle will burn off before the night is through. Before light shines down from the sky-holes and dashes away the monsters edging closer with every flickering sway of tiny light.

A whimper battles past my chattering teeth …

I don’t want to die this way.

My lower belly aches with the urge to burst, and I glance at my brimming chamber bowl in the corner of my cell.

If I shuffle toward it, my flame might blow out.

I release the aching burst, a tear dragging down my cheek as a warm puddle swells beneath me. My teeth clank together so hard I nip my tongue. Taste blood.

I’m not ready to go yet.

I don’t want to go.

My Lord might still come back.

Footsteps echo down the tunnel …

I pull a staggered breath, gaze flicking to the murky outline of my barred door, to the black of the tunnel beyond.

Has he come for me?

The Irilak waver, shriek, then flit through the bars of my door, disappearing into the darkness.

“M-My Lord?” I call, heart heavy in my throat, skin tingling with hope. My voice echoes off the walls, dashed by the weight of the approaching steps.

Thud …

Thud …

Thud …

No—too heavy. The gait too long. My Lord usually hurries to me. As desperate for me as I am for his attention.

A broad, cloaked shadow stops at the bars of my cell, looking in, and I can feel that gaze rake across my quivering form. My torn and soiled clothes.

Across the bite marks on my neck and arm that have scabbed over in my Lord’s absence.

I sniff at the air, catching the hint of a strong, male scent.

The man shoves something into the lock, twisting, and the clunking sound of my door unlocking beats against my ribs like a booted kick. I tuck myself into a tighter ball as he pulls the door open, filling the opening in a way it’s never been filled before.

Panic explodes in my chest.

There’s a clicking sound, and a lantern hanging from his clenched fist flares to life.

“No ...” I plead, the backs of my eyes stinging as he stalks forward and crouches before me. He sets the lantern on the ground between us and pushes back his hood.

I stare at him, eyes wide.

His face looks like sculpted stone—carved from the Gods my Lord speaks about. His hair is black like the tunnel with lighter bits threaded through, but he doesn’t look old. He looks big, strong, and scary.

He’s frowning, his silver eyes scraping across my face.

“Wh-who are you?” My voice wobbles free, scratchy and raw.

He grips my chin, his hand much warmer than the ground or the air or the blood in my veins that is maybe a little bit black. My Lord doesn’t like our blood black. He throws us away when it turns. That’s why my Lord needs to come back and give me time in the sun-beam.

The man turns my face, inspecting it, then lets out a low rumble that rattles my bones.

“Wh-where’s my Lord?” I squeak, eyes darting behind him. “My Lord?”

“Gone,” he booms, the word so heavy and deep it swallows my scream and bounces off the walls.

Slices through me.

No …

No, no, no …

My aching heart feels like it splits ten ways, the fractures spreading through to my very soul as my breaths come hard and sharp.

I rip my chin out of his grip as my upper lip peeks back. “What did you do to him?”

The words hiss out of me, jagged and raw and broken.

Condemning.

His silence is answer enough, and my insides flare with wild, tangled emotions.

“You killed my Lord … my Lord. No, no, no, no …” I twist my body into a tighter knot, clawing at my arms and back. Lowering my chin, I stare at him through a mess of matted hair. “You killed my Lord!”

He claps his hands on either side of my face, and I gasp. “You need to bury that weakness the same way I buried him,” he growls, the words a coarse grate against my skin and soul. “Cover that up. Shield it and move on or you’re better off dying down here with the rest of them.”

My face crumbles as he releases it.

He unclips his black cloak, dragging it off his shoulders, setting it in a pile beside me before sliding the lantern closer. “I’m leaving,” he rumbles, his deep voice filling my cell as he pushes to a stand, looking down on me still huddled in my pool of piss. “I have food in my saddlebags and a change of clothes. Come if you want, or don’t, but life doesn’t have to hurt like this.”

He turns and walks out, leaving the door open—his footsteps retreating.

All I can do is stare at that wide-open door.

His steps begin to fade, and I look through the dim lantern light to the cell on the opposite side of the tunnel. To the girl curled in a shrunken knot who lost her flame last night.

Omara.

I miss her soft words and smiles.

But now her face is twisted, her mouth caught in the shape it made when she screamed seconds before her light went out—the sound still sharp in my ears.

I swallow. Look at the cloak. Reach out and pick it up, rubbing the material between my trembling fingers—so much thicker and softer than anything I’ve ever been given before.

There are no holes. No frayed ends. It smells clean and safe.

Standing on wobbly legs, I swing it over my shoulders and huddle in the warmth still caught within the fibers as the Irilak creep closer, padding at the shell of my lantern light, making that rattling sound.

I stare at the space between my cell and the tunnel beyond.

A memory creeps in of a family, smiles, laughter. And then that other memory of it all ending.

A memory that hurts as much as the ones made in here.

But maybe that man’s right … Perhaps life doesn’t have to hurt.

I snatch the lantern’s wiry handle and stand at the doorway, his fading footsteps nothing more than a whisper of something hopeful.

Dragging a shuddering breath, I step into the tunnel.