I opened my eyes slowly, squinting into the dark. My entire face hurt, and my head felt as if it had split in two. I winced, which only made it worse. Through the pounding headache it all came rushing back. Speaking with Bastian (if that was really his name. For all I knew, he'd left me to the soldiers as part of some scheme). The attack from the soldier. Getting captured. That man's words echoed in my mind.
/"You should have just let me have my way with you back at the inn. It would have been so much easier for you./
No matter how much I tried to convince myself of that, I couldn't. I couldn't bring myself to regret fighting back. Not even when it meant exposing what I was. Not even when it meant ending up...here. Wherever "here" was.
I was laying on a cold, hard surface in a place so dark I almost thought it an endless void--had it not been for the steady /drip, drip, drip/ of water on stone nearby, I may have believed it was, in my foggy state. My hands were bound tightly behind my back, the prickly rope digging in. I tested my feet; I was able to kick them freely and I determined I was on a floor. My clothing was still damp, and the resulting chill seeped into my bones like the impending sense of doom that had seeped into my very soul. They ached as though they'd never feel the warmth again. Shivers coursed through me. I didn't want to admit it, but the shivers were from fear as much as cold.
/What have I put myself up against? There's no way out of this.../
My mind began racing with possibilities--all of them terrifying. Rape. Torture. Brainwashing. Slavery. Death. I was sure some of it was in my future, but who knew how much lay in store for me? The answer came a short time later when a spot in the dark turned suddenly blinding bright and the screech of hinges piercing my thoughts brought me back to reality.
I squinted against the natural sunlight blasting through the doorway. It illuminated the small room I was in. Rough stone, dirt floor, no windows. Chair. Chains. Table. The majority of the light disappeared with the view of the outside world and was replaced with torchlight. Three men stood before me. As we stared each other down in silence, I focused on controlling my breathing.
/Don't give them the satisfaction of seeing you scared./
The smallest of them--a thin, sharp-featured man with graying hair down to his chin--leaned toward one of the soldiers next to him, saying something I couldn't hear. His eyes never left me. The soldiers nodded curtly.
"Yes, Lord Balliol."
They stepped forward, each of them grabbing me by an arm and lifting me into the nearby chair. My bound wrists were soon freed. I saw my opportunity and took it, shoving off from the chair and toward the exit, but was immediately grabbed again and shoved harshly back into the chair.
"Let me go! Get off of me! No! No!"
My panicked shrieks were ignored as the men seized my wrists and bound them again, this time each one to an arm of the chair. I kicked violently, catching one of the soldiers' shins. He grunted out a curse and I couldn't keep a small, spiteful smile from curving my lips. It was short lived. The brute struck me across the face without restraint. My head snapped to one side and I cried out in surprise. I fought to refocus the room through my watering eyes, but by the time it had stopped spinning, my ankles were restrained as well as my wrists. I forced myself to straighten up in the seat, refusing to display my despair again. I pressed my lips together and looked ahead with a steely gaze, waiting for whatever the still, thin man had prepared.
He hadn't moved since setting the soldiers upon me, hadn't taken his eyes off me. With a small wave of his hand, he dismissed the two other men. It wasn't until after they'd left that he finally addressed me.
"What is your name?"
Lord Balliol's voice was oily and light, belying the dangerous command he obviously possesed. A faint smile was below his hooked nose, but it did not reach his small, ice blue eyes. I would have to be careful what I gave away.
"Jessalee," I replied, hoping my hesitation would come off as nerves rather than a lie.
"And where are you from?"
"Nowhere, really…"
"Come now. You can't expect me to believe that. Everyone is from somewhere."
"Well I'm not," I insisted. "My family wandered from place to place for work. We camped in the woods. I have never had a home."
I was surprised at how easily the lies were coming to me. The man stepped closer and I instinctively shrank back into the chair, wanting to keep as much space as possible between us.
"And...where is your family now?"
"Dead."
/At least this much is true.../
"How convenient." He was right in front of me now, and he crouched down to my eye level.
"I don't like liars, Jessalee."
"And I don't like being tied to a chair. It seems we both must be unhappy."
Challenge laced my tone. Probably a foolish move, but what did I have to lose? He clearly hadn't believed a word I'd said. My snark did not elicit any response; he seemed unphased. I shifted uncomfortably under his scrutinizing gaze.
"No matter. I'll get the truth from you soon," he tutted, grabbing my chin in one bony hand, "and then you'll /really/ be unhappy."