Holy pancakes. I sounded crazy. And sounding crazy when I had several friends was okay but not when I just had one.
At least he was caged in and couldn’t run.
“What do you mean? You’re wanting to grow plants? Are you sure you’re al’right?”
I didn’t answer, just stared at the growth at my feet. “Um.”
“Ryn?”
I touched the tip of the sunflower with my toe. The leaves and stem were scratchy on my bare, sensitive skin. Regretting my next move because the sunflower was the first bit of beauty I’d seen in here, I bent the stalk to rip the flower head off.
“What are you doing?”
“Hold on,” I worked the stalk back and forth. Turned out, sunflowers had really thick stems.
“What—?”
“Nearly there,” I huffed. The flower ripped off after a full minute of bending and twisting, and I glared at it as I crossed to the bars. “I’m passing something to you. And . . . well, here.”
I stretched as I passed the sunflower head, shoving it through the gap in the bars. I felt the tug as he took the thick stem from me, and I listened as he pulled it into his cell.
Then nothing.
I raised my brows. “Ty?”
“W-where did you get this?”
I settled back against the stone. “Funny story, actually. Yesterday, I brushed sunflower seeds onto the floor, along with some other grains. Then, I wake up today and there’s this mossy oasis in my dungeon cell.”
It was true. I’d crossed the cell several times, only feeling spongy moss underfoot instead of sharp stones.
“Seeds,” Ty said.
I frowned. He wasn’t being very quick on the uptake. Shock, I realized, mentally hitting my forehead.
“I know it’s really strange,” I said. “That’s why I was wondering if it’s ever happened to you? Is there magic in this castle?” I knew nothing about such things.
There was a lengthy pause. “There must be. I have no other explanation for it.”
“To the library I’ll go,” I quipped.
Ty was still silent.
“What happens when Jotun comes and sees a garden in my room?” I asked. This was my real problem.
Ty cursed. “Ryn, you need to get rid of everything. Right now.”
The urgency in his voice spurred me to standing. “Al’right. But why? It’s not my fault.”
“I know,” Ty said. “But I can’t predict how Jotun will react. I’ve never heard of anything like this. Who knows what he’ll do.”
Drak. He was right. I stared at the garden, hating what I had to do to stay alive here. Gripping the corn stalk, I ripped it up.
The barley was next, and the rest of the sunflower stem, then the moss. But the moss clung to the rock and resulted in bleeding knuckles and torn feet from doing my best to scrape it away.
“Someone’s coming. Under your bed,” Ty urged. “Put it under your bed.”
“Who is it?” I hissed, heart pounding because I hadn’t heard the door open. My hands grew slick with trepidation. Please be Tyr . . . please be Tyr.
A cold voice answered me from the front of my cell. “Who would you like it to be?”
A sense of doom sank into me as I turned, hands full of leaves and stems, to face Lord Irrik.
I’d never seen him truly angry before. As I backed away from where he stood radiating fury on the other side of the bars, it astonished me that there was a more terrorizing level to this man than I’d encountered before.
“They just appeared,” I blurted.
His eyes were slits—he’d partly shifted to Drae—and he studied me with his reptilian eyes. “What have you done?”
My chest rose and fell as I hyperventilated. As he unlocked the door and entered my cell, I dropped the plants, and clasped my hands together. “Please, it wasn’t me. I have no idea what happened.”
“No idea?” he asked, his lip curling in a sneer.
The door clanged open down the hall, and Irrik’s eyes widened. He grabbed me in an iron grip and threw me from the cell. I rolled across the stones of the outside passage, crying out as my hip struck solid rock.
The Drae was on me in a beat, gripping me by the back of the neck. He directed me past a few empty cells before he shoved me forward to the ground and snarled to someone over my head, “Make it good.”
Gingerly getting to my knees, I tilted my head to look at Jotun.
“Why do you help me, Tyr?” I slurred.
He wiped the tear trickling down my cheek then bent over me and kissed my forehead in answer. I felt the warmth of his feelings for me radiating from his tender touch.
“That doesn’t tell me anything,” I complained as he lifted one of my arms.
A wry smile showed under his hood, but it was tight and lacking in humor. I must be a sight, so I could hardly blame him. Jotun had taken Lord Irrik’s command to heart. By now, I’d learned Jotun obeyed all the king’s orders, except when it came to Irrik-related matters. The mute guard seemed to hold an all-consuming hatred towards the Drae. I had no idea why. Maybe Jotun was jealous of him. More likely, there was politicking I’d missed while in the torture chamber. One thing I did know: Jotun’s deep-set grudge did not bode well as long as he believed Lord Irrik favoured me because that made me an Irrik-related matter.
Games. Always games.
I groaned as Tyr reset my dislocated shoulder, and then I asked, “How long will I live?”
My question was rhetorical, directed to the universe that allowed such atrocities to occur, not the man caring for me.
When Jotun dragged me down here, I never expected to live longer than a week, and I couldn’t bear the thought of this abuse going on endlessly. The game between Lord Irrik and the king surely couldn’t continue much longer. Soon, the king would realize I was worthless to him. . . If he even recalled he’d put me down here.
Either way, I was dead. It may take a week or a month or a year, but I was dead.
Maybe it would be better if Tyr stopped healing me, if the healing only put off the inevitable. How much could one body take before it simply failed?
Tyr paused, and I realized I must’ve said at least part of this aloud. As I looked around, I saw the room was now back to its stony, plant-free self. Too little, too late. I hoped the plants didn’t come again.
A drop landed on my arm, and I startled, glancing up at Tyr’s hooded face. His strong jawline wasn’t clean shaven, not like it usually was, and his full lips were twisted as if trying to contain . . . A tear trickled from his cheek to his chin and then dripped.
“Tyr,” I whispered.
He was crying. For me.
My heart squeezed, and my throat clogged with emotion. He held one of my hands gingerly, stroking his thumb over my palm. Instead of pulling it up to his face, he brought his face to my hand.
Ryn, he thought, full lips pressed together. I’m going to get you out of here. I swear. Please hold on.
16
I’ll get you out of here. I swear . . .