Chapter3
Idocrase
ESTELA
“Did you like it when he touched your hand?” the First Prince asks, hanging back to walk alongside me and hold my leash.
I keep my mouth shut, not wanting to admit how unsettled I feel. Without the box of samples, I feel too light, like I might fly away. Each step between me and the diamonds should relieve me, but I feel more tangled up. The failed plan from earlier is fading, replaced by the distinct heat in my lower belly and a haunting melody in my ears.
“I saw his eyes, hungry for your flesh and body. If we weren’t there, I don’t doubt he would’ve splayed you across the table and torn out your throat.”
I feel strange, like my skin is over-tight. At the mention of him near my throat, my skin warms. Not with images of death—but his teeth grazing my neck while he holds my hands above my head. I don’t cry. Ishiver.
The image is frightening. Keksej wasn’t lying about seductive spells.
“I imagine he will try to steal you tonight,” the prince tries again. When I still don’t respond, Prince Keksej snorts, passes my chain to one of the warriors, and walks up to the front of the party.
He asks the Enduar something, and the man responds with some clipped grunt. I wish I could block out my ears to all sound. I’ll have to warn Arlet and Mikal when I see them again.
My hands are clammy as we walk through the cave’s mushroom light and shadowy crags, but I feel better knowing I’ll be resting soon. Arlet and I can finish Miki’s back.
The air is musty here and overwhelmingly sulphuric, which pairs well with the ancient carvings on every surface and plane. It’s as if I’m transported to another time. We slow, and I’m acutely aware of how close the Enduar is to me. My stomach growls involuntarily when a waft of roasting meat reaches our noses.
I fight the urge to vomit. What if Sergi’s remains are being cooked right now? My hands fly to my empty stomach. The skin there is stretched tight, but the thought of food makes me want to fall on my knees and retch.
I make mental notes of each landmark, an old habit from my time as an herb gatherer and amateur healer. A broken temple sits in the middle of the space with glowing orange and red veins pulsing light all around. Lava, I realize with a shudder. The under mountain world captivates me with its horrible beauty for a few seconds. I had assumed staying underground would be dark, but large glowing orbs and mushrooms illuminate the way before us, and my eyes snag on every detail, from the enormous crystals jutting up from the ground to the creatively designed circular homes.
The swish of an armored tail brings my eyes back to the Enduar. The metal appears flexible enough to accommodate a large range of motion. Some utterly deranged piece of myself wishes that he were the king so I could be near him again. I would feel the same rush of blood in my veins, and he would look at me with burning blue eyes, coil his tail around my waist to pull me flush against his large chest and touch my bare skin with his wide hands.
The thoughts alarm me. It’s like ice water pouring all over my body. I remember the whispered scary stories told across evening bonfires. Trolls present as appealing, beautiful even, before making it so you could never leave.
Then I realize that I hear music.
Malditos monstruos.1
Drawing in a deep breath, I shift under the furs, trying to cool down my body and look back the way we had come. I watch the tunnel leading to the exit until I could not anymore.
“This way, First Prince,” the Enduar says, bowing once more before gesturing to a tunnel near the palace framed with boxy patterns that intertwine with each other to make elegant designs. They look like they’re made out of pure gold.
Prince Keksej leads the way, and I am stuck between two warriors as we walk down the passage. There is a faint pumping noise, methodical and mechanical, but it’s a welcome change from the fading song. Circular doors appear on either side of us, each bearing various elegant geometrical patterns. When we stop, I look at the other giant warrior who has stayed behind to guard the room for the slaves.
“This room is for you, Prince Keksej. This has been prepared for your warriors, and we have another room for your… workers,” the Enduar says.
I blink, surprised at his hesitance to use the word “slave.” Does he pity us? Can such barbaric people even feel remorse?
Prince Keksej turns around to look directly at me. He raises his chin further in the air. “This slave will stay with me,” he orders the Enduar as if he were one of his servants. The warrior hands over my chain.
I freeze, not having time to react, before the door to the prince’s room is opened, and my master tugs my leash and calls, “Come.”
My legs are used to acting before my brain, so I scurry forward and enter right behind him. Fear makes the back of my neck tingle. I tell myself that he will not touch me.
But…
The princes have always been competitive with each other. Perhaps he will use me and give my body to the monsters. Horror makes the blood in my veins feel like acid.
None of the Enduares would know that he had broken a command made by a king mourning his dead human whore. Undoubtedly, it would satisfy him to hold such a thing over Rholker’s head for the rest of eternity. One of them will have finally won in this sick game.
If I could beg for him to leave me be, I would. Instead, I hold my breath, waiting while Keksej ducks his head to the side and swats away one of the floating lights. The room isn’t small, but I feel suffocated being here with him. Especially when he grabs the hem of his shirt and pulls it over his head.