Between Silence and Shadow by T.J. Knight

Author:T.J. Knight [Knight, T.J.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2024-04-16T00:00:00+00:00

16

Wren

The frigid tendrils of winter's breath sweep through the barren tower, where the cracked, frosted glass stands as a feeble barrier against the relentless flurry of the elements. My teeth continue their ceaseless chatter as they have for days, and my jaw now is sore from the constant trembles. Much like the rest of my worn and weary bones, where I remain huddled on the uneven ground.

My gaze, fixated upon the remnants of the long-lost flames, seeks for any embers clinging to survive, waiting for fresh tinder to devour. I know there isn't. Nothing alive remains. Nothing but ash and soot.

With the drafts billowing in, one forceful gust threatens to shatter the frail glass window. A warm blaze was maintained during the coldest of days, but that was weeks ago. There has been no one to tend to it since.

My breath quickens, growing shallower, as the icy ribbons tighten their curl, and a fever claims deep within my marrow. The chill alone remains an adversary, but the sweat now collecting on my brow brings a new misery.

The moment in the throne room was only the beginning of this current nightmare. After Draven was forced to deliver his thirty lashes and I fell unconscious, I woke up in my tower, alone. The pain from the whipping was too consuming to allow much movement, I stayed on the ground, my cheek raw and aching from the stone beneath me, much like how I remain now.

No healer, with balm or solace, came to care for the wounds. Fading in and out I lost count of the days, until finally, I heard someone crack open the door. They dropped a tray of bread and a small cup of water and made their way closer to me. I was unable to see who was near, I only remember the brown scuffed boots. The splash of water that doused over me forced a cry past my lips, the cold water stinging my ragged flesh. Another bucket was tossed over my head. Unprepared, I coughed and sputtered at the onslaught. The person then threw a blanket on the soaked floor near my feet, lit a fire in the hearth and left me alone once again. These visits continued until my back was healed enough that my movements brought an uncomfortable itch. Until one morning, I was awoken when three guards barged in and forced me to my knees. There were only ten lashings that time, but enough to make the old ones new again.

Every time I would heal just enough, guards were ready to ensure that was not so. Morcant would make his presence known on occasion, his whippings harder and more brutal than the others, ensuring that I "remember my place". The constant reminders became less frequent as my body got weaker; the healing became slower. And now I fear the worst is to come.

Now, as my vision falters and I struggle to lift my heavy head, the phantom of my impending fate casts its pall over me.

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