Regarding the Events Befalling the Worthless Girl and the Worthless Princess (3)
After the candle went out, time melted away once more. My stomach felt plastered to my spine. My mouth was parched and rough, and every time my tongue brushed the roof of it, the scrape felt like sandpaper. No saliva came. Nothing left to make any. My throat seemed swollen inside, but with my hands bound, I couldn't check. Hunger had vanished at some point, shoved aside by other sensations. My head was shriveling, twisting. Fragments of thoughts scattered constantly, slipping through my fingers like sand whenever I tried to grab them.
Still, Ariel's face from her visit flickered hazily by, and the reflection of myself in those blue eyes kept the pure agony from dragging on forever. After repeating that cycle of consciousness fading in and out who-knows-how-many times...
Thud.
A noise from above. This time, the bolt clanged twice. Light soon poured down. Several people descended, candle flames entering my vision again. A crude iron candlestick, covered in scratches, gleamed in the glow. The footsteps were different—heavier, wider apart than Ariel's.
The figure emerging at the base of the stairs, lit by the light, had a face caught between boy and young man. Black hair. But warmer than Ariel's deep navy sheen, catching hints of brown in the light. Only one eye visible. The other covered by red cloth. That single eye was brown. And it shone.
A completely different light from what I'd seen in Ariel's eyes. Like it was craving something... Some might call it greed. If Ariel had eyes like that, dealing with her would've been a hell of a lot easier. That girl was always agonizing over whether she should hate me... an upright sort, through and through.
The young man had two sword-bearing guards at his back.
"Rebecca Vintervalt."
He spoke. His voice was low, with a faint echo of Ariel's timbre.
"You don't look a thing like the rumors of your brother."
He'd seen 's face, then. The young man crouched before me and gripped my chin. His fingers dug in. He turned my face left, then right, inspecting me. That lone eye slowly traced my features. Then he let go.
"...You really don't resemble him at all."
"Your words are awfully curt. Do all northern vermin act like this?"
"Better than a palace where family hack at each other with blades. If you'd left him alone, your father would've handled it hims—"
"Watch that mouth. Don't spout off about things you don't understand."
He slapped my cheek to shut me up. His single eye narrowed as he glared down. With a gesture, the man behind him pulled out a key and unlocked the shackles on my wrists and ankles. The moment the iron fell away, I collapsed flat. Couldn't stand. I stared at my wrists. Poisoned by the metal, maybe—blue-purple bruises welled up. Ankles probably the same. Pain? Hard to tell. Just dizzy. No strength to rise.
The young man took a canteen from one of his men and held it to my lips. The metal touched, and I gulped greedily. Water spilled down my chin, soaking my tattered, reeking dress as it trailed over throat and chest. Didn't care if it splashed everywhere—I filled my mouth and swallowed, over and over, till the canteen hit empty.
I caught my breath. My throat eased open a bit. The world sharpened, just a touch. And hunger hit.
He tossed the empty canteen aside and spoke again.
"Rebecca Vintervalt, I don't know what went down between you and Ariel in that short time... but she was desperate to keep you alive."
"..."
"Caught me off guard at first. Thought no human should look that withered underground. Ariel probably figures you're too pretty to kill, too."
He ran fingers through my ruined hair.
"Makes sense why your brother doted on you so. 'Touch her and die,' no matter what he did himself."
Candlelight revealed my pathetic silver strands, clumped with dried blood and dirt.
"Don't touch me with your filthy hands."
I swung my hand to swat him; he recoiled with disgust before I connected. His expression was infuriating.
"Your scent doesn't match that face at all."
"That's... 'cause I haven't washed or eaten..."
"It's fine. Not as foul as when your father burned."
I bit my lip. Not because no retort came to mind—plenty did, but spitting them out wouldn't end well. Sure, mouthing off and acting on impulse never brought good results, but I doubt I'd change. Couldn't, more like. Biting my lip was pointless anyway—I let out an involuntary sneer and blurted the buried words.
"Hah, a worm who couldn't even bark while the emperor and crown prince lived, playing house head...?"
"Not something I want to hear from the spawn of traitors who killed those two. Vintervalt."
The sneer on my lips twisted the light in his eye. He raised the hand holding the candlestick. Flame neared. Warm at first. Like two finger-widths from skin. Then closer. He tilted it, pouring the pooled wax onto me. Warmth turned to heat in no time. It settled on my skin first, then burrowed in, stinging sharper by the second. Molten wax trickled down my jaw to throat, swelling the flesh red in its wake.
My lips twitched. But no strength to knock his hand away.
"Ah... ngh..."
I tried turning my head. His free hand seized a fistful of silver hair, twisting. My skull slammed the wall. Vision shook. Something sloshed inside my head. With my head pinned, he brought the flame back. Same spot. Fresh fire on wax-burned skin doubled the agony. Skin shriveled. Couldn't tell if flesh melted or charred under the hardened wax. The stench hit—burning hair and searing meat, stabbing my nose.
"Hah... s-stop..."
"Mind your tongue during conversation. I don't know what Ariel told you, but fires in the dungeons happen often enough."
The candle pulled away. Burned skin screamed in the air. His eye bored down.
"Anyway, from now on, just answer my questions. I'm here because my knight's dead."
"..."
Flame rose again. This time, my collarbone. Not over cloth—bare skin through the dress's tear. Thinner flesh over bone reacted faster. Even that soft, warm glow turned torment up close. I gritted my teeth. They ground like thunder in my ears.
"After Ariel went to the church, what'd you talk about with the Saint?"
He pulled the candle back.
"...Dunno."
Fire returned. Same spot.
"Urk—!"
A sound escaped. Couldn't hold it.
"Can't for the life of me figure it. Why send an assassin for a fake-out play?"
"What bullshit are you—"
He slapped me, seized my collar, and slammed me against the wall like he meant to shatter me.
"Why kill the knight I assigned? Why cozy up to Ariel? What'd your uncle promise you?"
"No idea what you're—"
"You must know."
"Ha."
"A rebel daughter with no rumors beyond 'beautiful and meek' gets dragged to court and starts serving the princess who all but wiped her house. At first, fine—Ariel hates Vintervalts as much as I do."
"..."
"But then... that Vintervalt bitch—not just any, but on her first day, after the princess tried to kill her—takes on three assassins solo to protect her. And slices my knight's throat in one stroke. How should I take that?"
What to say to that? I mulled it over... then realized explaining my thoughtless rampage was impossible.
"Uncle this, uncle that—who knows. Probably just fell for Ariel. Those blue eyes. Not murky like yours—clear ones."
"..."
The one-eyed monster stared long with that eye, then glanced at the robed man behind. The man nodded. No clue what it meant. The young man looked down, ordered a servant to treat me with something like what Ariel used, then crammed something herbal-smelling into my mouth. Sleep crashed over me fast. Last memory: being hauled off like luggage over some guy's shoulder.