The Lightning's Claim by K. M. Fahy

Author:K. M. Fahy [Fahy, K. M.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Baliant Publishing
Published: 2020-11-24T06:00:00+00:00

Chapter 14

The flickering lamplight danced on the dark walls of the cell, casting long shadows across the room that played tricks on Kitieri’s eyes. She shifted on the hard mattress, relieving pressure on her numb, tingling arm, and rolled onto her back to watch the warm glow twitch across the ceiling.

You should save the oil if you’re not using it.

“I know,” she whispered back to herself. Yet she did not move. Shapes appeared in the flame’s exaggerated shadows, displayed across the stone ceiling, and she let her mind wander through the twisted story they told. “I am using it, though.”

Staring at shadows doesn’t count.

Kitieri released a deep sigh, turning her head to stare directly into the lamp’s flame. It wasn’t her love of the light itself that kept the wick burning. It was that cold, dreaded emptiness that came when the light went out; the fear that threatened to consume her when the black silence pressed in around her. When the oil ran dry, the demons of her darkest thoughts came out to play.

A metallic click rang off the walls, and Kitieri jumped as light spilled across the floor through a narrow opening in the bottom of the cell’s door. A thin metal tray slid into the room and the flap slammed closed, leaving the small space lit only by the flickering flame once more.

Kitieri stared at the tray, contemplating her hunger in proportion to the expenditure of effort required to retrieve the thing. Her stomach reacted with a gurgle as the scent reached her nose, and she pushed off the bed apathetically. A hunger strike wasn’t going to get her anywhere down here. No one cared if she lived or died anymore. It was all the same to them.

She crouched next to the tray, examining its contents. A biscuit, two pieces of ham, a slice of cheese, and a cup of chopped fruit.

Breakfast.

It was morning, then—not that the time of day meant anything anymore. How many breakfasts had it been now? Seven? Eight?

Kitieri picked up the tray and walked it to the desk where the lamp rested, pushing a pile of crumpled papers onto the floor to make room. The metal feet of the chair screeched against stone as she dragged it from its place, sitting hard on its cold, unforgiving seat. As usual, no cutlery graced the tray.

Because think of all the damage I might do with a stray knife, she thought. I might carve my name into the wall or something.

She swallowed the dry biscuit, chasing it with a juicy apple slice while pointedly ignoring the imagery of what she might truly do with a knife if they gave her one.

“I need you to promise something, too.” Haldin’s voice rang in her memory as she picked up a piece of the ham, dangling it in the flickering light. “Hang on down there…”

Kitieri’s appetite fled, and she dropped the ham back to the tray.

“Well, you’re going to need to get me more oil if I’m going to have any chance of that,” she mumbled with a sour glance at the lamp.

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