If I thought the air in this stairwell was cold, what can be felt within the room below the first floor is even more terrible. A bitter, frozen wind slams into me, stealing my next breath. I step into the room. My boots echo through the darkness.
My eyes can't adjust further. There is nothing to be seen here except a terrible, bleak void. And this is where the Witch has been kept? Somewhere in here?
There isn’t a whisper of life in this room. I can hear no quieted breaths nor the shifting of someone as they turn toward the noise of my entry. A damp, moldy smell is all the room has to offer. I take another step.
Fear nips at me, claws its way up my spine as though this step might be my last. How can I know that my foot will hit the floor and that I won’t be dumped into some pit I might never escape from? The hairs on the back of my neck stand on end.
“Here, Witchy-Witchy,” I sing. Shaking my wrist, I jingle the cuffs as if I might be able to call her like a dog.
No answer. Silence has begun to ring in my ears.
How long has she been down here? Has the girl been fed? Is she even still alive?
I can’t even contemplate what it must be like to be forced to stay locked in this room for days on end. A few minutes down here and I might very well lose my mind.
“Cameron?” That’s her name, right? “Hello?” I’m about to lower my voice, to whisper as that is the only thing that feels fitting down here, but just as I open my mouth, something cracks into my face, jerking my head to the side. The cuffs fall from my hands and clatter to the floor.
Bounding footfalls flee from me, running... running toward the open door.
“Shit. Shit. Fucking. Fuck,” I curse and scramble to find the cuffs at my feet before sprinting to the door. Unfortunately for her, Fae are much faster than Witches. Curse their human-like genes.
A slender silhouette takes the stairs two at a time. I leap, hand stretched out, and my rib cage bounces off the steps as I belly flop, pulling the Witch’s ankle out behind her. She screeches. Her body hits the stairs with acrackso loud, it might be possible she’s just snapped a bone in half.
Yet she doesn’t stop moving. Cameron thrashes, kicking at my face and my hands. With one terrible swing of her foot, she nearly has me dropping the cuffs once more. If they were to fall down the stairs and into that terrible room, I may never find them again.
I force myself to climb and endure the beatings of her tiny fists and narrow feet. In an instant though, I’m above her, trapping her in on the steps. My hands search, fingers digging into whatever flesh I can grab, and I force her hands into the cuffs. These will keep her magic at bay while we are out of The Compound. Another demand from my father. Though quite honestly, I can see why I’d need them.
“Would you just...stop?” I growl at her figure, still unable to make out her face.
“So that you can carry me away to my death? I will not accept the gallows. I will fight with every last breath I have!” She clears her throat—
Hot spit hits my cheek and slides down my face. This woman isferal.
Gripping the cuffs so hard the chain cuts into my hand, I stand and yank her up with me. We teeter for a moment before regaining our balance. She pulls, but I jerk her back.
With my free hand, I swipe away her spit and snarl. “I’m not taking you to death row!”
The cuffs rattle between us as she continues to struggle. She’ll have red, bleeding wrists after a few minutes if she doesn’t stop.
“Don’t lie to me.” There’s a desperation in her voice. One that rings true to a pleading I’ve used not too long ago.
I sigh. “I’m not. I need to take Violence to the Court of Winds. So you have to come along, too, sadly.”
“We’re leaving?” Hope is blooming.
“Yes. But you’ll return here when we’re done.”
“I’d rather die,” she hisses.
“I’m sure that could be arranged, but I’d rather not see any more deaths if we can avoid it.” I slip by, only to drag her up the stairs. “Come on, move.” I want to groan. This is not something a prince should be doing. This would normally be the dirty work of a guard but seeing as my father hasn’t allowed anyone other than myself, Basilus, and that royalty wannabe Jeriko, there are no guards down here to help.
Several stumbled steps later, we peel ourselves from the darkness. The barest of light guides us forward until I push open another door, and we’re back on the first level. Light washes over the Witch, and she shrinks away from it. Wrinkles form around her eyes with how hard she squeezes them shut.
Those once-shiny red curls have turned to a massive, frayed mane. Dirt streaks her pale cheeks, skin peels from her dry lips, and her clothes are browned as though she has rolled in mud. When she finally adjusts to the light, her green eyes skip from wall to wall. I wait, letting her get her wits about her before I take her to the waiting carriage. To Casimir, who will have to ride the several long hours to the Court of Winds with her. Hopefully, she doesn’t give him rabies or something.
Her flying attention finally settles on me. She blinks once. Twice. Three times.
“I know you,” she says. “You’re Violence’s brother.”
