How long will it take for a single rat to eat me? How long will I stay conscious? Will he remain content to gnaw off my foot, or once he realizes I can no longer resist, will he go for softer meat? Will I be alive when he eats my eyes?
Shocked to realize there were worse things than burning alive, Arista hoped Saldur had not forgotten her. She found herself straining, listening for the sounds of the guards and praying to Maribor that they would arrive soon. If she had the strength, Arista would gladly light the pyre herself.
She heard pattering, scratching on the floor, tiny nails clicking. Her heart fluttered at the sounds. Jasper was moving toward her head. She waited.
Patter, patter, patter—he came closer.
She tried to raise a hand, but it did not respond. She tried to raise her head, but it was too heavy.
Patter, patter, patter—closer still.
Arista could hear Jasper sniffing, smelling. He had never come this close to her face before. She waited—helpless. Nothing happened for several minutes. Starting to fall asleep, she stopped herself from drifting off. She did not want to be unconscious with Jasper so close. There was nothing she could do to keep him from feeding, but being awake was somehow better than not knowing.
When a minute had passed with no further noise, Arista thought the rat might have moved away. The sound of sharp teeth clicking told her Jasper was right next to her ear. He sniffed again and she felt him touch her hair. As the rat tugged, Arista began to cry, but she had no tears to weep.
Rumble.
Arista had not heard the sound in quite some time. The stone-on-stone grinding told her the door to the prison was opening.
There were sounds of gruff voices and several sets of footsteps.
Tink-tink!
Guards, but others were with them, others with softer shoes—boots perhaps? One walked; the other staggered.
“Put ’em in numbers four and five,” a guard ordered.
More steps. A cell door opened. There was a scuffle and then the door slammed. More steps and the sound of a burden dragged across the stone. They came closer and closer but stopped just short of her door.
Another cell opened. The burden dropped—a painful grunt.
Tink-tink.
The guards went back out and sealed them in. It was only a deposit. There would be no food, no water, no help, not even the salvation of an execution.
Arista continued to lie there. The noise had not scared Jasper away. She could hear him breathing near her head. In a moment or two, the rat would resume his meal. She began to sob again.
“Arista?”
She heard the voice but quickly concluded she had only imagined it. For the briefest moment she thought it was—
“Arista, it’s Hadrian. Are you there?”
She blinked and rocked her head side to side on the stone floor.
What is this? A trick? A demon of my own making? Has my mind consumed itself at last?
“Arista, can you hear me?”
The voice sounded so real.
“Ha—Hadrian?” she whispered in a voice so faint she feared he would not hear.
“Yes!”
“What are you doing here?” Her words came out as little more than puffs of air.
“I came to save you. Only I’m not doing very well.”
There was the sound of tearing cloth.
Nothing made sense. Like all dreams, this one was both silly and wonderful.
“I messed up. I failed. I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be…” she said to the dream, her voice cracking. “It means a lot… that you… that anyone tried.”
“Don’t cry,” he said.
“How long until… my execution?”
There was a long pause.
“Please…” she begged. “I don’t think I can stand this much longer. I want to die.”
“Don’t say that!” The dungeon boomed with his voice. The sudden outburst sent Jasper skittering away. “Don’t you ever say that.”
There was another long pause. The prison grew silent once more, but Jasper did not return.
The tower was swaying. She looked under the bed, but still she couldn’t find the brush. How was that possible? They were all there except the first one. It was the most important. She had to have it.
Standing up, she accidently caught sight of her reflection in the swan mirror. She was thin, very thin. Her eyes had sunk into their sockets like marbles in pie dough. Her cheeks were hollow, and her lips stretched tight over bone, revealing rotted teeth. Her hair was brittle and falling out, leaving large bald areas on her pale white skull. Her mother stood behind her with a sad face, shaking her head.
“Mother, I can’t find the brush!” she cried.
“It won’t matter soon,” her mother replied gently. “It’s almost over.”
“But the tower is falling. Everything is breaking and I have to find it. It was just here. I know it was. Esrahaddon told me I needed to get it. He said it was under the bed, but it’s not here. I’ve looked everywhere and time is running out. Oh, Mother, I’m not going to find it in time, am I? It’s too late. It’s too late!”