Princess of Nothing — Chapter 9
A fantasy tale of magic, struggle and survival — Draft 1
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CHAPTER 9
“Where are we?” The gilded fae breathes after what I imagine is at least five minutes of suspended silence with only screams punctuating the background.
I can hardly believe she’s here — another fae. A pureblood fae. There’s something steely about her voice that tells me she’s not as soft as she appears. Good. If she’s to survive this place, she will need that. Judging by how she struggled against her handler earlier — she stands a fighting chance — so long as Rec keeps his scaly hands off her.
Then I realize she asked a question and I’ve yet to respond.
“Hellias,” I say at last.
She raises her eyebrows at me. “This is no time for jokes.”
I stare at her, dead serious. “If only it were a joke.” I imagine this is as close to the underworld as a person could get while still breathing.
She coughs out a dry laugh, anyway.
My lips twitch as I fight off a smile and ask, “What’s your name?” I can’t help but feel a glimmer of hope — of happiness, that she’s here. It’s selfish of me — I shouldn’t be happy about this. Immediately I feel guilty. How awful of me to feel this way.
She gives me a guarded look. Instead of telling me her name, she asks, “What’s yours?”
First the mimic and now her. Why doesn’t anyone wish to tell me their name around here!? What can I possibly do to them by knowing!?
Out of pure habit, I nearly tell her ‘I don’t know.’ For so long that has been the truth. My unusual story — but I don’t think that will go over very well and I want her to like me. Gods, my heart is racing. I know she hears it. I hope she believes it to be lingering fear from that business with Rec and Magnus. In reality, it’s my nerves. A panicked sort of fear that I’ll screw this up — my social skills are more than rusty. “I don’t recall anything about my life before here, but I believe my name might be Nyxalia.”
The gorgeous, golden fae surprises me when she snorts in a very un-ladylike way. “Yeah. Alright.”
Honest — I was too honest. I revealed too much to her at once. I should have simply said ‘Nyxalia’ and left it at that.
My lips pull into a frown. An unexpected emotion — outrage — spears through my chest. I want to grip the bars and hiss my words at her, but I refrain, knowing the metal will cause me pain and sap more of my energy. “What reason would I have to lie to you? I’m every bit as much a prisoner here as you are!”
“Well, you’re a vampire, to start. And if you don’t recall anything about your life before, how would you know your name?”
I cross my arms. “It’s…complicated. And I’m only part vampire. I know you heard.”
Her wings flutter, as if on reflex. My eyes are drawn to them. They fold in so tight and close to her body, yet when she moves them they’re much larger than I expected a fae’s wings to be — they appear so delicate. But they can’t be as fragile as they seem — they need to be strong enough to carry her. Does my mother have wings? I believe her to be the fae one since that vampire with the kind eyes seemed to know my father — but I suppose I could be wrong.
I look down at my hand, to the ring I wear on my thumb, and rub my index finger over it — the curling lines reminding me of a tree. I wish I had never met him. Even if that meant I would never learn my given name — he would still be alive.
Clearing my throat, I continue. “Look, you heard Rec earlier — but in case you need proof…” I tuck my hair behind my ears and say, “I’m half-vampire, half-fae.”
“It’s impossible,” she mutters, almost to herself, looking utterly disturbed.
I spread my arms wide, my tone strained with exasperation. “Everyone keeps saying that, but here I am — living proof!”
This isn’t going well.
She’s still looking at my ears when she says, “The Fae and Vampires are mortal enemies — everyone on Midhaven knows that.”
Yeah, well, it seems my parents didn’t.” I sigh and walk back to my cot, dragging the wretched chain along with me, the scrape of it grating to my ears. I plunk down on the poor excuse for a mattress — splintering wood with a too-thin layer of padding atop it. It smells of dampness and decay, but most everything does down here.
“It feels so strange, being without my magic,” she says. “I don’t know how you stand the feeling…like missing a limb.”
“I can imagine.” I don’t know what using magic feels like, but I understand loss. I do know the feeling of pain — the feeling of frustration, sorrow and discomfort.
I hear her move closer to the little window between our cells. “What do you mean you imagine? Do you still have yours?”
I shake my head. “No.” I don’t bother explaining. “I assume they forced you to consume lead?”
“Consume lead!?” she says, sounding like I’ve gone mad.
“Well, how else did they rob you of your magic? A binding spell of sorts?” I’m met with silence as I stare up at my ceiling. Something small with too many legs skitters across it. It reminds me of the Wabara demon. I shutter.
“I got shot with a dart,” she says quietly, but I can hear the embarrassment in her voice.
“A dart…” I think aloud. “It must have injected lead into your system, then.”
“As soon as it wears off, I’m out of here. Those fools didn’t ward my cell. It can’t hold me forever.” She sounds so sure that it hurts.
Rising again, I walk back to the window. For the first time, I notice we are nearly the same height. “They drug the food here with trace amounts of lead — not enough to kill you — just enough to control you. That’s why I asked.”
She hisses something in fae. I don’t need to know the language to know it’s a curse word.
“They drug the water, too. You’ll have to consume it eventually.” I bite my lip, minding my fangs. “If you refuse to eat or drink, Rec will make one of The Maesters shove it down your gullet. Believe me. I’ve tried. They’ll do whatever it takes. In my experience, they lessen it a little before a fight, but not enough for you to escape.”
Her face crumples, and for a moment, she looks incredibly young. “I’m so sorry,” I whisper, my eyes sliding away from hers. “I’m not trying to torment you, I swear. I’m only telling you this because I wish I had someone to tell me when I first awoke here.”
She narrows her eyes at me, then asks, “What do you mean leading up to a fight? “Surely you don’t think — are you telling me I’m going to have to fight someone without the aid of my magic!?”
My swallow is audible. “I know he’s not your recruiter, but while you are here, you’re under Rec’s charge, which means you can all but count on it.”
A small noise escapes her as she eyes me — my waifish form. “Do they make you fight with the lead in your system?”
I huff a laugh. “All the time. You heard what Rec said: this side of the cell block is strictly for the fighters. But I’m confident your matches will be different. Magnus will most likely have a say in who or what you go up against. Rec selects my opponents — but he only picks those he knows I have zero chance of defeating. Because of my vampire speed, the crowd likes me running around the cage like a hare chased by a mountain lion.” I glance at the mimic, whose feline form looks fairly close to one — and smirk. “But you’re not me. I imagine they will give you someone killable.”
When I look back at her, she’s shaking her head in disbelief. “They — I refuse to kill something innocent.” That statement alone makes me like her.
“It’ll be something heinous. Never anything innocent or with good intentions — don’t worry.”
“Gee, that makes me feel better.” Sarcasm drips from her lips.
“They’re supposed to tell you what you’ll be facing in the pit a few hours beforehand.” Sometimes Rec surprises me, but I do not tell her this.
Her eyes gleam as she says, “I can hold my own, but I’ve never fought without the aid of my magic.” She paces the space of her cell with her wings tucked in tight.
The pacing — I wonder if that’s what I look like when I do it. If she survives long enough, she’ll wear the stone smooth, forming a small circle, just like the path I wore in mine.
At this moment, I realize I’ll do everything in my power to ensure she lives long enough to do just that.
“Is it gray?” The fae asks.
“Nope,” I say, picking some dirt under my fingernails.
She frowns. “Silver, then?”
“That may as well be gray,” I say.
She huffs. “Oh, hardly! And never tell a silver fae that — they’d be so offended.” There are silver fae, too!? I have so many questions, but before I can ask she continues. “Is it Black?”
I grin. “It is…”
Her eyes light up, suddenly looking almost molten in the dim. “I know! It’s the kitty!” She points to the mimic across from us.
“You got it,” I say. The mimic narrows his feline eyes as an annoyed rumble sounds from its chest. “Oh come on,” I say. “I was only trying to include you.”
“I don’t think he liked that I called him a kitty,” she says.
“Probably not,” I chuckle.
“Does he ever speak?” she says. “When he’s not an animal, I mean.”
“Not really…” I feel as though I’m being pulled in two directions. It took so long for the mimic to speak to me. Telling this fae outright feels like a betrayal. I’m sure he will talk to her when he’s ready — though part of me fears he might never speak again.
Suddenly, the door bangs open at the end of the hall. I hear languid, near-silent footsteps heading our way. I’m half expecting it to be Rec, but it doesn’t go completely silent in the cell block the way it does when it’s him.
The fae grows still when Magnus steps into view. He stares at her in silence, for what seems like too long. What’s he thinking? “Tonight, you’ll be going into the pit. You will be facing a carnavorce.” His tone is flat and quiet. Not at all the smooth, cultured male that spoke to Rec hours ago.
She stares at him wide-eyed, nostrils flaring. “Without my magic?”
He holds her stare again, then walks away without replying, spaded tail whipping in a way that reminds me of an agitated cat. I look at the mimic. His tail is doing the same as he observes Magnus’s retreat.
When we hear the door bang shut, confirming Magnus’s departure, she turns to me and whispers, “What in Hellias is a carnavorce?”
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