Their efforts are futile though.
Rowland's compatriot is one of the first to be snatched and chained, Rowland following soon after.
Terror is something I'm familiar with. It painted my world in black ink the day Hulbeck was taken, and I could never wash away its stain. This terror is no different. Knowing that they're taking Rowland to his death instead of slaughtering him in front of me almost makes it worse. As I watch them drag him and the others away, I feel even more helpless. Against the noctis, I suppose we all are and always will be.
Dragging a dozen or more men in tow, the noctis leave the dungeon in stunned silence.
Elison holds Mira in her arms and rocks her as she sobs while I'm still planted in place like a petrified stump hacked off at the base.
They took him.
Rowland is really gone.
The next hour is an endless cycle of a noctis militia barging into the dungeon, seizing an entire cell of people, disappearing, and then returning for more.
It's my own personal nightmare that our cage is left for last. I had to watch each and every one of these people be dragged out of here and taken to their demise, and although I didn't know all of these poor souls, I still felt for every one of them.
And I fucking hate it.
I hate this wretched thing they call a heart that still, despite all these years, actually cares about this doomed race, actually wants to save them, even when I know I can't.
I can’t afford those feelings today. If I allow my heart to open, that’s when the real death will come.
So I numb myself to the sensation. I let ice flow into my veins and into my heart until I can feel nothing.
Mira and Elison flinch and hold onto each other tighter when the door opens a final time, but I don't even blink. I barely breathe. I am braced for the atrocity that is about to befall us.
But the carefully crafted internal shield I've strapped to myself cracks the moment Prince Malachi's face appears in our doorway. His presence catches me off guard. He hadn’t been down here for any of the other retrievals. I would’ve recognized him, if not immediately, his birch white hair would’ve eventually snagged my attention. So what’s he doing down here now? In fact, why has he ever come down here? He’s a prince. It seems odd that someone of his station would even bother venturing into a filthy place like this unless they were forced against their will like the rest of us. Maybe his father's making him? But if so, why now? Where was he for all of the others?
"That’s the last of them?" he asks as the guards filter into our cell.
One of the noctis behind him grunts in agreement. "Just the three."
"Don't underestimate that one," the prince tells him, pointing straight at me.
My body become as taught as Sable’s bowstring, ready to snap into action at a moment’s notice. But when the guards seize Elison, and then Mira, I have no fight left in me. I realize, every ounce of energy I have left has to be reserved for the Hunt now.
With a careless wave of his hand, the prince—the bastard—sends four guards in for me. This time, I don’t fight. It will do me no good now. I simply stand there, arms extended, and let them shackle my wrists and drag me from my cell.
"See you in the Shadowthorn," I sneer from gritted teeth as I'm jerked past him.
The words come from somewhere dark inside me, a place I almost don't recognize as my own, which is fitting because I don’t recognize him either. Not today. Where did the gentle man go who I met in his father’s throne room just days earlier? There seems to be no sign of him now.
Maybe there never was.
Maybe it was all just an act, a way to get me to cooperate and head back to my cell. And like a bloody fool, I played along.
Surprising me out of my tumbling thoughts, I hear him utter, "I doubt it,” before I’m dragged out of sight.
What does that mean?
The door slams shut, and with the dungeon behind me, my attention converges on my surroundings and on our worsening predicament. The three of us are taken aboveground, shuffled like bleating sheep through a crowd of monsters salivating like street dogs.
I'm surprised any of them have the restraint to let us through. The way their hungry eyes follow us, it's as if they're already imagining the feel of their fangs puncturing our necks, the taste of sweat and blood as their tongues lap up the fountain of life that pours from our gaping wounds.
Only one other time in my life have I been surrounded by so many ravenous beasts.
Only one other time have I been so frightened.
