'Thump, thump.' The sound of my own heart thudding in my ears woke me up. I blinked my eyes open, the darkness filling my senses— thick and consuming, pressing in behind my eyelids. A dull ache bloomed to life with the pressure in my skull increasing with every passing second. I wanted to touch where it hurt. To feel myself, make sure I was still whole. I couldn't. My arms were bound over my head, the cold metal around my wrists piercing into my flesh. My toes barely grazed the floor, the cuffs digging deeper into my skin.
The ache in my arms increased, causing me to groan. I propped myself up on my tip toes in a bid to lessen the strain on my arms.
How long have I been out? I thought to myself, the smell of mildew and rot and something else I couldn't decipher at the moment, flooding my system. I tried to lift myself higher in search of some more relief, but accidentally slipped on the damp, moldy concrete beneath my feet, losing my balance. My entire body weight fell back to hands, a sharp pain ripping through me as the cuff cut even deeper, the wound now oozing blood. Yes! That was it. The familiar scent of rust, the smell of blood. I couldn't tell if it was mine or someone else's, and from what I could make out from my surroundings with my vision slowly but painfully returning to me, I could tell that this was a torture den, similar to what we had back at Casa dell'Ombra.
House Varkaryn… my home. I didn't know if any of my men were still alive. If they were looking for me, or if they thought I was dead. No — They're looking for me. Even if I were dead, they'd have to see my rotting body for themselves before believing it. I felt my heart break in my chest at the thought of Riven looking everywhere for me, thinking I was gone. I couldn't bear it anymore. Tear drops rolled down my cheeks, mingling with the sweat and blood on my face.
I was crying. I was actually crying. I tried to think back to the last time I cried, the sobs coming out in short, dry bursts. That's right. It was when my father disappeared. Yes. I cried then, swearing to myself that I'd never cry again. That I'd be the strongest, most gruesome HouseLord there ever was. And here I was, breaking that promise because of…
Wait, what exactly was I crying for? I was still alive, weak, but alive. And this wasn't over. As long as there's breath in my lungs, I'd find and kill everyone who dared put me in chains. But first, I'd have to get out of wherever the hell this was.
Wiping my face on the sleeves of my shirt, I paused, realising that my leather jacket was gone. And I was left with nothing but my black tank top and my leather pants. Someone's hands had been on me, I realised, my mind flooding with uncontrollable rage. Pushing the pain to the back of my mind, I wrapped both hands around the chains that were holding me attached to the ceiling and pulled myself up with a newfound strength.
Squinting my eyes to slits, I looked for something, anything. An exit. A weapon. There were multiple chains attached to the ceiling, just like mine. I twisted myself around, still holding onto the chains, further straining all the muscles in my arm, trying to locate an entrance. There had to be one somewhere.
"Ughh!" I couldn't see anything behind me. I finally let go of the chains, allowing my feet to fall back to the ground. I guess I'd have to bide my time till someone comes in here.
That didn't take too long, though. A few heartbeats later, I heard something. Footsteps above me. No, behind me. A light source drew closer to where I hung, glowing from underneath my feet. The sound of boots on concrete thundered through the space. It was unmistakably a man, no two men. The glow from behind grew stronger as the footsteps grew louder. The clang of keys jamming into a door somewhere jolted me, causing me to tense up. I was ready for anything.
"Well, well. What do we have here? If it isn't the Unholy One?" the first man sneered, saying my name like it left a foul taste on his tongue, the stench of alcohol filling the room the second he opened his mouth. He was short, shorter than me, and he was bulky, or more precisely, meaty. From my point of view, he was an older man, probably in his late forties, with a thin layer of grey hair covering his chin and even less grey hair on his head. I'm sure he must have been really muscular back in his day, now he was just round in the gut with little to no definition to the rest of his body, probably because of all the alcohol. I chuckled at the thought, his lips curling outwards in anger at the sign of my jest.
"We're not here to make small talk, Charlie," the taller man finally spoke. My eyes shifted to him, analysing every detail I could pick up on. His tone was less condescending but much more intense, like he meant business. He had his hair tied back in a man bun, every strand pulled back with some sort of hair wax. His eyes were dark and hard, looking right past me, like I wasn't worth his full attention. I hated that. His features were younger, though, almost like he'd be around my age, in fact. He stood partially facing me with his hands behind his back, fiddling with the keys to my cage. I had to get my hands on those somehow.
"The Baron has asked that we 'prime' you for him," he spat greasily.
Who the FUCK is the Baron and what does he mean by "prime me"? My blood boiled.
"Where is your father?" he asked, taking a step towards me. He took my face by the chin, coming close enough for me to see his deep green eyes.
"No response, huh? Shame," he said, lifting my chin and turning my head from side to side. I glared at him, too weak to retaliate.
"I was hoping you'd make this easier on us," his eyes closing as he shook his head lightly.
Make what easier?
"Tell them to bring it in, Caedor." He let go of my chin gently, taking a step back.
"No, no. I'll do it myself," the short man snarled, sticking out his dirty tongue and swiping it over his lower lip. I'll cut that tongue out myself. That's a promise.
He scurried off and walked back in a second later with two metal trolleys clanging and clashing against their contents. Two slender women followed closely behind him, their hair shaved to skin except for a thin strip in the middle with leather whips attached to their waists.
Their heels clacked on the floors, announcing their presence, like the noise from the metal trolleys wasn't enough. I snapped my eyes shut, trying to hear any other sounds past them to no avail. The second I opened my eyes, I froze, my eyes widening in horror. They were Wailing Sisters.
I'd read about them during my studies, but I never thought I'd see them myself. Their masks imitating the expression of people in pure agony, their leather suits, a bloody hue. I could never forget. The Wailing Sisters were wiped out long ago by the 3 Great Houses before the Silent Winter began. A cruel and brutal organisation that thrived on the torture and murder of men, women, and children. They didn't care if you were innocent or guilty; they'd kill if the price was right.
Centuries before the Silent Winter, the lesser houses rallied together to put the Great Houses down for good. They employed the Wailing Sisters, using up most of their house wealth. This sisterhood would proceed to assassinate, capture, torture, and kill members of the Great Houses without leaving behind a trace. It was my grandmother, once a member of the Wailing Sisters, who discovered the ploy and alerted the houses. With all the information at their fingertips, it was easy to find them once we knew what we were looking for. It took a few years, but after much loss, we managed to kill every last one of them. Or so we thought.
"You looked surprised. Hmph." Caedor sneered. "Don't worry. They're just here for the show," he said, throwing his head back and letting out a wheezing chuckle.
Think, Serafina. THINK. They'll probably try to torture me for information, and then they'll kill me. The Wailing Sisters never leave a survivor.
I can't tell them anything. If I was going to die, I would die as a Lord, not some secret-spilling bitch.
If I remembered everything I read correctly, they start by penetrating your mind, then breaking you piece by piece. There was no way I would let that happen.
Remember your training. Somehow, my father must have foreseen this. He must have known somehow that I would have to face the Wailing at some point in my life, and he trained me to withstand their torture. Probably because they were the most brutal, and anyone who could survive them could survive anything.
Right then, my mind travelled back to the day my father had me chained to a chair in a dim room just like this, my grandmother's handbook in his hand.
"The first step, Sera, is to lock your mind. Far, far away, somewhere they can't reach you." My father's rough voice rumbling through my thoughts. If only he were here… I thought, the tears welling up in my eyes again. No. I wouldn't cry. Not here. Not in front of them. I blinked the tears back, forcing myself to hold a straight face.
Breathe.
The only safe memory I had left in my mind was of my mother, on the last day she held me in her warm arms. I was 10. We had just gone on one of our usual family vacations to a private island Father had just bought a while ago. I shut my eyes tight, trying to remember every detail. Her perfume, light and floral but still commanding, her sheer, sea green dress shimmering under the light of the sunset.
My father had been somewhere, probably back at the beach house, making one of his important business calls. I didn't really care. All I wanted to do was spend time with my mom. I hadn't seen her so often lately, and this vacation felt like an answered prayer. We'd been making sandcastles before my mom stood up abruptly, running towards the ocean, waving me over. I got up too, my tiny hands covered in sand. Brushing it all off, I ran to her as fast as my little legs could take me.
She turned towards me, her arms wide open, and with a smile so bright I thought she was the sun for a second. I leaped into her arms and we both fell back into the ocean, her golden locks of hair soaking up the ocean water.
I'd always wished I had hair like hers. Father's genes were just too strong.
I burst out laughing so hard my stomach began to hurt. I didn't stop till tears escaped from my eyes. I looked up at her, hoping to find her laughing too, and that was when I saw it. The look on her face. She was happy, yes, but there was something else. Regret? Sadness? It was too much for a 10-year-old to pin down, and I didn't want to ruin this moment.
She must have buried whatever that emotion was somewhere deep, because suddenly it was gone. She was happy again, and so was I. She got up from underneath me, taking me into her arms and running a bit farther into the ocean. I wasn't expecting it, but then she threw me in, the salty water splashing all around me. I stood back up, still laughing, the water now getting to my knees, with the hem of my floral dress sticking to my legs. I kicked some water at her, and she threw some at me. Just like that, we stayed there for hours, till the sun finally set.
She gave me a piggyback ride into the beach house, drying me up with my favourite towel, then she took me to our sun room where we gazed at the stars while I narrated my first sparring session with Liliana. I talked and talked till my eyes drifted shut on their own. The last thing I remember that night was getting carried back into my room by stronger arms than my mother's. Father's, probably. It was the last day when I was entirely happy. I woke up the next day with Mother gone. I waited all day at the door. She didn't come back. One day. Two days. Three... 6 months. A year. She was never coming back, was she?
But I wasn't going to think about that now. No, I was going to trap myself in those last few hours I spent with her. That was the only way I'd make it out of here alive.
"You may begin. Don't go too hard just yet. Let her savor it." Someone said.
"Yes, Commander." the sisters echoed in unison, their shrill voices sending shivers down my spine. I heard one walk around me till she disappeared right behind me.
"May I do the honours?" I recognised Caedor's voice. They were going to start with the whips. I willed myself to take in a deep breath, deeper than any I'd taken since I woke up here.
No response.
You will survive this. I told myself.
Whhh-crack! The first hit took me by surprise, the leather strips slicing through the air and into my back, ripping through my thin tank top, the cold air immediately hitting my exposed skin, sending jolts of pain across my back. I yelped, gripping tightly onto the chains above me, my body remembering the ache it fought so hard to forget. Then, I let myself fall. I fell into that old memory, I fell so deep I didn't know if I would find myself ever again. But it didn't matter now, anyway, because I was losing myself to the darkness again. By the time the second whip kissed my bare skin again, I was gone. But not before I heard his voice.
Him.