Chapter Two
he guards lug me outside, over the dusty courtyard and through aT massive set of iron gates open to the north side of the prison, where we enter the impenetrable forest that surrounds Nostraza, known simply as the Void. Once you go in, you never come out. In the rare case of a prison escape, the Void ensures one's freedom is a short-lived enterprise.
I continue to struggle, my shoulder screaming in pain, as the guards practically carry me between them, my legs windmilling in the air like a rabid marionette’s. It’s useless. They’re both twice my size, and twelve years of prison life have left me weak and undernourished.
Which, I guess, is entirely the point.
As we pass through the gates, the guards touch the opalescent ovals pinned
to their chests. They murmur a few words and the pins light up, encasing us in a shimmering, translucent bubble. While I can see beyond the surface, it
obscures my vision like a pane of clouded glass. The guards are mortal, with
no magical ability. They rely on these objects created by an Imperial or High Fae, in this case the Aurora King, to keep them safe, offering the only known
protection against the Void.
The Hollow is nothing but a hole dug deep into the earth, located just beyond the walls of the prison. If they named the Void for its ability to suck people in, then the Hollow is named for the way it drains you out and leaves you empty and gasping for air.
It sits close enough to the prison that the guards needn’t venture too deep
into the trees, but far enough that when you’re out here alone, it feels like they've abandoned you to the forest’s monsters.
I’ve spent my fair share of time in the Hollow.
With a temper like mine, a girl is bound to get in trouble now and then…or often. The standard sentence is a night or two. That’s usually enough of a deterrent, and most people never visit more than once. Whether it’s because the life expectancy in Nostraza is so short or because it only takes one instance to breed eternal obedience, I’m not sure.
A little of column A, a little of column B, I suppose.
Only a handful of prisoners have ever survived more than a night in the Hollow without succumbing to madness. I’m one of them. Though perhaps
I’m slightly mad. It’s hard to tell anymore.
The last time, I’d broken into the pantry after the guards had cut our rations in retaliation for a minor riot. We were even hungrier than usual and needed something to eat before we all turned on each other. It was an act of self- preservation that landed me in the Hollow for seven agonizing nights. It was
a minor infraction and my punishment didn’t fit the crime, but that’s what this place does to you. Brings you to the edge and when you’re about to tip over, gives you a hearty shove onto the jagged rocks waiting below.
By the time they returned for me, I was a blubbering mess of bloody skin, matted hair, and jagged nails. It took weeks for Willow to coax a single word
from my lips. Longer than that for my teeth to stop chattering and my dreams to be purged of an endless loop of nightmares. Those dark dreams happen only periodically, now. It’s the best I can hope for.
As the guards drag me deeper into the forest, I recall how broken I’d been.
How I’d ached in every way a person can ache, from the tips of my chapped fingers to the very depths of my fractured soul.
Two weeks.
My nerves break apart, panic hollowing out my limbs.
Comparatively, today’s infraction was also minor, but I’ve always been the warden’s “favorite.” I’m not going to survive this. I’m going to die, all because of a fucking bar of soap.
The guards are as nervous as I am in the Void. I can sense the tension between them as they drag me along the rough ground. We stop in front of the deep rectangular hole dug into the forest floor. From here, I can see the tall spires and towers of the Aurora Keep that looms over the forest like a sentient toad. Black stone glitters as if infused with stars, the windows shifting from green to purple to red in undulating ripples of light.
One day, I will storm that eyesore and tear the head off the Aurora King for leaving me to rot here. For tossing me in here when I was only a child.
One day, I’ll get free of this place and make him pay for everything.
My attention drags back to the Hollow, despair carving through my blood- soaked fantasies, knowing I’ll probably never get the satisfaction of my
revenge. If I survive this punishment, it will leave nothing left of me. I’ll be a shell that once had a spirit and a dream.
Listening to the surrounding silence, I swallow a knot of tension. My mind
is already playing tricks as I imagine the slither of monsters that are circling nearer like a noose fashioned from barbed scales and sharpened claws.
With a hand placed in the middle of my back, a guard shoves me forward.
“In you go, sweetheart.” My feet tangle and I stumble. The hole’s edge slides beneath me, dirt giving way in a shower of soil and gravel as I plunge, collapsing into a heap. About ten feet deep, it’s too high to climb out of, but shallow enough to offer zero protection.
I already know the walls are made of soft, crumbling earth, and if I try to
scale up the sides, the only thing I’ll accomplish is a miniature landslide that could very well bury and then suffocate me. No, the only thing I can do is alternate between sitting in the corner and pacing three steps in each direction, waiting for my sentence to end.
“Don’t worry,” one guard shouts down. “When you’re out, we’ll take good care of you. It’s so lonely out here. You’ll need some company.” They both burst into laughter as one of them grabs his crotch and thrusts his hips.
“It’ll be our little secret from the warden,” he says, winking. I spit, willing it to grow wings and land in his eye. Of course, it doesn’t, and they laugh even harder.
“No thank you,” I shout back. “I’ve heard your cock is the size of a baby
carrot. I need something much, much larger to satisfy me.” The guard’s face morphs from laughter into red-faced rage. I’m going to pay for that comment.
The second guard crouches down and grins.
“The mig’dran are especially restless lately, and I hear their favorite meal is sweet young girls.” He winks, and I’m not sure if it’s meant to be coy or
seductive. It couldn’t be further from either.
“Well, good thing there’s nothing sweet about me, dick face,” I snap, and they laugh again.
“Oh, I hope you survive this, darling. I can’t believe I haven’t had my fun with you yet. Fucking warden’s pet.” He glowers as if it’s my fault. As if I’m
the one that chose any of this.
I consider spitting again, but think better of it. Maybe if I shut up, they’ll get bored and leave me alone. But even as I contemplate their departure, fear tethers itself to my muscles. Alone. Two weeks out here with nothing. It’s a sign of my desperation that I’d take these two idiots over no one.
But they’ve clearly had their fun and turn to leave. I almost call out for
them, but then I bite my tongue. Even if they stayed to torment me for a few more minutes, eventually they’re leaving. I may as well get used to it.
Their moods are boisterous as they trade insults with each other until their voices fade, and I’m left alone in silence but for the sound of my breath and the thoughts screaming at terminal volume through my head.
Pressing my hand to my chest, I try to calm my breathing. There’s no food or water provided in the Hollow—that would be too humane—so I have to hope it rains soon. As for food—I scan the empty dirt floor—well, there I’m shit out of luck.
Lucky for me, hunger and I are long-acquainted friends.
I sink to the ground, my back to the wall, and massage my sore shoulder.
My face still throbs from where Jude hit me, though it seems I’ve stopped bleeding. I touch my temple where a lump has formed and wince. Just a few more scars to add to the chronicle of past transgressions already written on my skin.
The forest remains quiet, perhaps assessing how much of a threat I pose. I
look up—there are no blue skies in The Aurora. There are only dark skies and slightly less dark skies. A monochrome rainbow that stirs from the color of
cold ashes to inky black. The only way to tell the difference between night and day is by the presence of this realm’s namesake, the aurora borealis.
At night, they cover the sky with ribbons of color, undulating like waves across the sea. Cobalt and emerald and violet and crimson. The colors are so vivid it’s like someone melted a cauldron of jewels and poured them over the sky. Most nights, we don’t get to see them locked down in our dorms, but on those rare nights I’ve witnessed them, their beauty has fused a tiny piece of my fraying soul back together.
This is the only advantage the Hollow affords. Here, I get an uninterrupted view of the show, even if it’s through the lens of a tiny rectangle of dirt. As the sky darkens and the hours pass, I wait for my first glimpse of the aurora while keeping one ear trained for the sounds of the creatures that call the Void home.
I was a child when I was brought to Nostraza. The details of my life before that are hazy, lost to the erosion of hunger and time. It’s only because of Tristan and Willow that I know anything about who we once were.
Though I spent my early days living in one, I barely remember what a normal forest feels like. I listen for the sounds of birds and insects. The wind rustling through leaves. Perhaps the sound of water from a flowing stream.
But I hear none of those things.
The sky above dims slowly while night descends. If I strain, I imagine I can hear the noises of the prison in the distance: the whistle of the dinner bell and the steady drone of hundreds of voices after a day of work. I think of Aero and the meeting we had planned tonight.
“Sorry, Aero,” I whisper to the deepening dark.
But mostly I worry about Willow and Tristan. They’re probably beside themselves. Of the three of us, I’m the one who gets into the most trouble,
and I know it breaks them every time the warden metes out my next punishment. I try to be compliant for their sake, but bowing to authority isn’t
high on my list of skills.
A chill comes with the darkening sky and I huddle into myself, wishing I had something other than this pair of thin leggings and the tunic that comprises standard prison issue. My stomach rumbles and my mouth is dry, my tongue thick and my lips cracked. I didn’t even get breakfast this morning. Clouds roll overhead, obscuring any view of the aurora tonight, but
perhaps this at least means rain.
The forest’s troubling silence continues, but it does afford me the ability to hear the prison as it goes through the motions of the evening. Supper time.
Shower time. Jude is probably using my soap and luxuriating in my penance.
I imagine her humming a triumphant tune as she scrubs herself clean, and I grind my teeth.
I hope I broke her fucking wrist and it hurts for weeks.
If I close my eyes, I can still smell the soap’s floral notes. Roses, the warden had told me. I don’t remember if I’ve ever actually smelled one, but they must be beautiful.
It’s not that they don’t provide soap for showering, but it’s harsh and
acidic and the scent burns my nose and my eyes. That bar of soap had not only smelled like the heavens, it had been as soft and creamy as a velvety polished stone worn smooth by the mellow hand of time. My skin would have felt like silk. It’s hard to imagine a world where people use soap like that every day.
Finally, the prison quiets as the inmates settle in for the night. I imagine Willow looking at my empty cot, crying herself to sleep on my behalf.
Tristan is probably lying in bed, staring up at the ceiling, plotting a thousand ways to get me out of here, knowing the odds of that are impossible.
I think of Aero and wonder if he’s alone or if he went in search of someone else to satisfy his needs. The thought makes my chest tight, but that’s not fair.
We’ve never promised each other anything. What would be the point?
My stomach growls so loudly the sound echoes through the hushed forest.
I’m a dinner bell. A bright red signal leading every predator in the Void straight to my very visible hiding place. It doesn’t matter, though. I’m sure
they can smell me. Even if I were quiet as a ghost, they’d already know I’m here.
Rumors say the Aurora King creates these grotesque hybrids of the monsters he hunts throughout the continent of Ouranos and the worlds beyond. His magic has warped them into feral beasts that feast on the flesh of mortals should they enter the forest, while also protecting the Fae citizens of The Aurora and the Imperial family who dwells inside the Keep.
These monsters are master hunters. Nothing gets through these trees.
There’s a snap of a twig and my heart trips inside my chest. Another snap and I press myself deeper into the corner, terrified of what might slither down into my hole. Until now, I’ve been uncommonly lucky. Though I’ve had
many close calls, nothing has ever attacked me out here before. Other prisoners haven’t been so fortunate.
Just a few days ago, I’d overheard the guards talking about a prisoner who’d been left here for one night, only to meet his end inside the snapping jaws of an ozziller.
“Nothing left but a puddle of blood and bones,” one had said with a shudder. Even they’d been distraught over the idea. I imagine the ozziller now, slinking over the edge, licking its lips. Assuming it has lips. Though I
don’t know what they look like, my imagination conjures up visions of razor- sharp scales and dripping fangs and the very worst nightmares I can fathom.
At another snap of branches, the air grows thicker, black shadows swirling.
They fill me, entering through my nose and my mouth, clogging my lungs with the heavy, curdled taste of death. My breath grows shorter, coming in tight gasps in a futile attempt to keep calm.
The darkness grows even more oppressive and is now accompanied by the sound of serrated breaths, like chains sliding through rusted bars. A shadow,
blacker than the ones already consuming me, appears over the lip of the opening. There’s the murky shape of a body, bent and broken, limbs longer than natural, attached at incongruent angles. A whimper escapes my throat as I ball myself tighter, trying to disappear into a puff of nothing.
I am nothing. I have nothing. Please go away, I scream inside my head, over and over.
My heart thrashes against my ribs, and I squeeze my eyes closed. I can’t bear to look. At least if I die now, I won’t have to spend the next two weeks suffering. I just hope this is painless and quick.
I wait for the strike, tension burning like acid through my thin veneer of courage. Unable to stand the suspense, I peel my eyes open and, at that
moment, the thing lunges with unnatural speed in a blur of midnight shadow.
It’s then I let out a blood-curdling scream.
