“How are you still alive?” a small voice shared the barely audible question. I did not answer. Not because I did not want to have this conversation, but because I did not know what to say. For the first time since I’d been there, another person wanted to open a conversation with me, as normal beings do in everyday situations. It did not present as a threat or interrogation, she simply wanted me to talk to her. Out of curiosity. And I had no answer.
“You arrived just after the Summer Solstice, and everyone thought you would be gone by the Autumn one,” the other female took the reins of the conversation, trying to explain their curiosity. “No one has survived Commander Serpium this long,” she added.
“I’m not doing it for the sense of achievement,” I replied and my throat scratched in pain once again. The conversation with the royals had been the longest I had in months and the lack of food and nourishment converted the back of my throat into a permanent wound. I swallowed my pain, which made one of the females rise from the edge of the bathtub where she was seated by my side and rush towards a table. I heard pouring sounds and shortly after, she returned with a golden goblet full of liquid, offering it to me.
I did not move, keeping my hands close to my chest, so tight that the iron shackles crisped small burns on my chest.
“Drink,” she urged, a small encouraging smile painted on her lips.
I did not. Every single potion that was shoved down my throat had been used to hurt, not to heal. I could not trust a good willing gesture, they turned out to be traps in disguise. The worst kind. They would catch one at a vulnerable moment, make one trust the person, and get hurt in the worst ways imaginable. I had survived this long by keeping my mental barriers high and my body alert. I would not fail now.
The other female seemed to understand my hesitation and took the goblet in her hands. Looking into my eyes, she pushed the rim slowly to her mouth and in another gentle movement, drank deeply, making sure that I saw how the liquid dropped down her throat. She did so a few times, then stopped and brought the goblet close to me, placing it at the edge of the bathtub, within my reach if I chose to have a drink.
“It is only wine,” she said. “Not the good kind, the one you are probably used to. It’s a servant's wine, but you are welcome to have some if you wish.”
“Thank you,” I responded slowly and they took it as a command to continue washing me, respecting my wish of silence.
“I don’t know,” I said after about a minute, with a calculated tone. I debated whether to keep my mouth shut or take advantage of possibly the last conversation I would have for the remainder of my existence. After a few seconds of debate, the latter won.
They both turned to me and stopped the scrubbing motion to catch my words. “How I survived this long,” I added.
“Because you are strong,” the one who offered the wine responded in my stead. “The earth feeds you.”
“The sun gives you power,” the other added.
It was then that I realised that I must have been the only non-fireling being they had probably met. Judging by the candles situated on every hall and the ashen skin everyone in here seemed to have, they had never seen natural light. Trees growing. Never breathed the wind or seen a rainbow. My world, the one that gave me strength, as they so eloquently put it, lived in a myth to them.
“I do miss the sunshine,” I decided to continue while my hands jumped towards the goblet and brought it close to my lips. The first sip flowed slowly, caressing the back of my throat like a much-needed ointment, healing the bruises and wounds. The rest of the liquid dropped in eager gulps, so quick that the female took it from my hands and immediately rushed to refill it.
“How is it?” the female washing my back asked, taking advantage of my newly found desire to share details. “The sun?” she clarified.
“Harsh,” the words spurted out of my mouth and took them both by surprise. “It burns, most of the time. Causes wounds on the skin and dries out unwatered roots and barks, makes the leaves scorch out and fall.” Clearly, this was not what they expected me to say, because they both looked at me with deep angry frowns, so I allowed myself to remember and spoke again. “It likes to paint colours on the eyes when they are closed. The sun comes and amuses the lashes, creating hues underneath the eyelids. If it’s very bright, they are red and ticklish, and dancing blue shadows mix with the colour. At dusk, it likes to play with the cheeks, making smiles rise easier.”
“And the moon?” they asked, almost in perfect synchrony.
“The moon is for the lips,” I immediately said. “Not as bright as the sun, but it makes beings courageous, outspoken. The moon likes to watch kisses flow,” I said, remembering Anwen’s wide smile underneath the moonlight.
“Is that why you do it?” one of them asked as they pushed me out of the bathtub, concealing me under cotton towels.
“Do what?” I asked, fighting the urge to grab the towels and dry myself off, were it not for the shackles preventing me from moving freely.
“Resist it. Remain alive. For the moon and the sun?”
I smiled at the beautiful way she explained my situation and nodded. “For my mate as well,” I added. Anwen’s beautiful face had been the most effective balm of them all.
They did not reply, expecting more explanation, so I obliged. “I do it so that she can continue to enjoy the sun and the moon, for her to be happy.” They did not need to know more. I could not say more without breaking.
“If you ever leave here, can you take us with you?” one of them asked and now that I looked at them I saw the similarities. Sisters, I realised.
“I don’t think there will be any sun where I’m going,” I smiled bitterly.
Chapter Five
“And what is it that you want?” I asked annoyed, ready to give this all up and start punching him again. I knew it was not as effective as I wished, he probably felt tickles instead of pain, but it helped me to know I could physically hit him. Not my proudest moment.
“I need your help,” he simply stated, like it was the most obvious thing.
“Spell it out already, Rhylan,” I demanded and for the first time since we started talking, I felt the need to snack on something so I grabbed a breadstick from the discarded remains of what Rhylan had eaten.
