AUREN
The pain doesn’t let me stay unconscious for very long. I’d gladly lie here on the cold floor where I can dream instead of wake, but I’m not that lucky.
That’s the thing about escapism. In whatever form, it always ends, and then we’re forced back into a reality that’s not nearly as satisfying.
A whimper precedes my vision, lips parting before my lids can. When I blink blearily, I note how dark the room is, the high window showing me a single star.
This too? I ask the goddess in her twinkling watch. I had to endure this too?
My eyes blur from a soul-deep pain that stems from the stolen threads of my back. With my cheek pressed against the rough stone floor, an exhale rattles out of me.
Numb. That’s how I feel when I stare at the pieces of me lying listlessly on the ground. Their gold seems duller, long lengths looking like a puddle of fabric, lacking all of their personality and liveliness.
My palm scrapes against the floor, arm stretching to reach for the one closest to me. I manage to drag it toward me, holding it in front of my face. I stare at the jaggedly cut edge, swipe along the curdled blood that’s dried like clumps of gold paint.
The ribbon droops between my fingers, a weary vine ripped from its roots. I try to move one of them on instinct, but...nothing. Nothing except an endless throb of pain from each snipped stem.
“Miss Auren.”
I jolt from the voice, but it makes my back tighten, which causes a frenzy of sharp pain to run up and down my spine. A curse flies from my mouth before I suck in enough air to breathe through it.
“Steady.”
My eyes fly up to him, and it just goes to show my state of mind, because I forgot we were in the same room. “Digby.” My voice cracks, throat ruined from my screams.
He’s still lying on his cot that’s attached to the wall, but he’s managed to roll over onto his side so that he’s facing me. Just seeing him looking at me, alive, makes me crumple all over again, and I’m wracked with emotion too full to contain.
Behind his gray beard, I see his lips tremble, his eyes holding a sheen of sadness, and it hits me right in the chest. The sight of him like this, beaten and bruised, left in a cold, dark room for who knows how long, it kills me.
“Don’t cry.”
Just hearing his gruff voice makes me cry harder. Teardrops dapple my face, each one a grievance left to splatter on the ground.
I force myself to sit up so I can see him better, gritting my teeth past the pain that shoots down my back, the tattered ends of deadened ribbons spiking with agony.
Digby’s lips thin as he watches me curse and pant and wince, but I manage to get into a sitting position, though my stomach is roiling by the time that I do. With my back too tender, I scoot over to the corner, and then let my shoulder and arm slump against the wall so that I don’t graze my wounds.
Swiping away the tears on my face, I look at Digby, knowing that if he’s not trying to move, then he must really be hurt.
Dragging my eyes over his wrinkled old uniform, I wonder exactly what kind of injuries he’s sustained.
“I didn’t know you were here,” I whisper.
He nods.
“I thought you were dead.”
He shakes his head in answer.
The smallest smile tips my lips. “There’s my guard of few words,” I tease gently, even though it feels forced, even though every breath I pull in shoots pain down my back.
Digby grunts in response, but I can see that his own mouth twitches too. It’s a farce—this tiny bit of comfort. But it’s the only bit we’ll have.
“What happened?” I ask, voice hoarse and twinging. “How did you get here?”
His eyes flicker. “Saw you get taken.”
“By the Red Raids?”