That’s when it hit me. I didn’t know how long it had been since Sabyn was last here, but I was pretty sure it had been at least a day, maybe two. Plus, he hadn’t injected me the last time he was here—he’d been too busy beating me to bother. Which meant, if I was really lucky, maybe I had my powers back. I wasn’t sure what I was going to do with them when I could barely move, but just the thought of having some kind of power, some kind of control, energized me in a way I wouldn’t have dreamed possible just a few minutes before.
I shoved the last bit of seaweed salad into my mouth. Swallowed it. Then stretched a shaky hand out in front of me. If nothing else, maybe I could make a light bubble. I was so injured that my phosphorescence was down to practically nothing and it felt like I was existing in the middle of a giant black hole.
I took a deep breath, held it. Then used every ounce of concentration my pain-racked body could muster to reach for the energy that usually flowed right below my skin. For the first time since this whole nightmare began, I found it. I wanted to cheer, but it would have taken too much effort and caused too much pain, so I settled for thrusting the energy outward, then molding it, molding it, molding it until I was holding a perfectly round and glowing orb in the palm of my good hand. Then I flexed my fingers and sent it out to the corner of the room.
I created a second one, then a third. Then a fourth and a fifth and a sixth. It was a stupid thing to do—it took a lot of effort to make the bubbles, and if I wanted to heal I needed to conserve as much of my energy as I could. But even as I told myself to stop, I knew I wouldn’t. It felt so good to have my powers back, to have some small level of control over my environment, that I wanted to keep molding the lights forever.
Eventually, I forced myself to stop and focus on my situation. I knew my busted ankle was going to cause me the most problems if I wanted to escape, so I began searching the dungeon for something to bind it. It took a while, and I had just about given up on finding anything when I ran across some waterproof napkins. They were long and skinny, and if I ripped them into strips, I’d probably be able to bind my ankle—which would give it some support and help the swelling go down.
Unfortunately, coming up with the idea was a million times easier than actually completing it. The napkin fabric was difficult enough to tear at the best of times, but with one busted hand, it was almost impossible. I wouldn’t give up though, and after trying about a million different things, I finally hit on using the jagged edges of the handcuffs—which were responsible for a number of the cuts on my wrists—to tear a hole in the fabric. From there, it was just a matter of wriggling my fingers against the hole until it really started to rip. Then I put the corner of the fabric in my mouth and held it while my good hand tore the strip away.
Next I tucked my knees to my chest, doing my best to ignore all the muscles that protested the movement. By feel alone, I was able to wrap my ankle as tightly as I could. Within minutes, the incessant throbbing stopped. It was replaced by a sharp but bearable ache that, as long as I took it slow, helped me swim a lot better than I had been. But my ribs—which I was beginning to think were broken, not bruised—were irritated enough to protest every single move I made.
Determined not to pass out this time, I had just settled into the corner opposite the one I’d spent so many days chained to for a rest, when I felt a subtle disturbance in the waves in the room around me. The same disturbance that used to come every day, right before Sabyn opened the door.
I found myself cowering in the corner, so afraid that I was trying to make myself as small as possible. Which, when I realized what was happening, pissed me off. I’d never been particularly good at acting cowed and I had no intention of starting now. Even if it was the smart thing to do. Bracing myself for a lot more pain, I squared my shoulders and lifted my head. I even managed to maneuver myself into a standing position. Forget not drawing attention to myself—it wasn’t like there was a crowd of people for me to blend into anyway. No, better to show him that his last beating might have broken some bones but it hadn’t broken me.
Though I knew I was doing the right thing—the only thing—my heart was still beating about a million miles a minute when the door swung open. Except it wasn’t Sabyn silhouetted on the other side of the threshold. It was my best merfriend, Mahina. And she looked ready to take on an army to save me.
Part Four
Epicenter
“Blue, green, grey, white, or black;
smooth, ruffled, or mountainous; that ocean is not silent.”
—H. P. Lovecraft
Chapter 17
Mahina?
She started at the sound of my voice, rushed into the chamber with a huge flashlight held aloft. Oh, Tempest, thank God! It is you in here. I’ve been through half the city and this whole castle looking for you in the last three weeks. I was about to give up.
Three weeks? I’ve been here three weeks? That’s how long I’d been out of it?Three and a half weeks, actually. She started to throw her arms around me and then froze. Oh my God! I don’t even know where to touch you. What did that bastard do to you?
I shook my head. It’s not important right now. But, Mahina, you have to go. He can’t catch you here or he’ll hurt you too.
She snorted. I’d like to see him try. I’m done running. He’s nothing but a little boy in a bully’s body and I have had more than enough of him over the last month.
Terror gripped me at her words. I was proud of her for wanting to stand up to Sabyn, but doing it down here, in these dungeons, wasn’t the way. He’d just throw her in another room and might even torture her too. Please, please. You have to go.
I have every intention of going. But first I want to make sure you’re okay.
I’m fine. I held up my broken hand. Well, maybe not fine, but I’ll be okay. Can you get help?
Get help? Mahina frowned at me. I am help. What do you think I’m doing down here? I came to get you out.
Get me—Tears burned my throat. You came to get me?
Well, I’m sure as hell not here to practice my lock-picking skills. How hard did he hit you, anyway? she demanded, her fingers probing the bump on my forehead. You’re not acting like yourself.
I sucked in a breath at the contact. That hurts!
I’m sorry. It looks terrible. Now come on. Let’s get you out of here. We don’t have much time.
Much time for what? I knew I sounded like an idiot, but I was still confused. My head hurt like hell, and though I was thrilled at the possibility of being rescued, it was hard to think through the pain.
I’ve been seeing one of the guards. Micah. He agreed to smuggle me down here during shift change, when the other guards are busy clocking in and out. But the new shift starts in ten minutes, so we have got to jet!
We’re leaving now?
Suddenly she looked really concerned. Tempest, are you all right?
I didn’t know the answer to that, so I just nodded. Said, Yeah, of course. Let’s go.
She stuck her head out of the door, looked both ways. Do you, uh, do you mind if I lead? she asked. I know the way out.
I couldn’t help it. I laughed, then groaned when it made my head hurt worse. Do I look like I’m in any condition to lead?
Honestly, you don’t look like you’re in any condition to be alive. I’m not sure how you made it.