Within the Walls [NEW VERSION]

Chapter 5

My temple throbs and a groan falls from my lips. I roll my head to the side, and a bright glow permeates my eyelids. A thousand needles pierce my eyeballs as I ease them open. I hiss, my hand flying to my face. As I gradually adjust to the bright light, I realise my forehead has a nasty gash, and dried blood sticks to my cheeks like tar.

Grimacing at the blood, I glance at my surroundings. I'm slumped against the wall of a cramped cell. The walls are built of cold stone that bites into my bare skin, and the door has barricaded bars. There is no bench or seat, only a wooden pail in the corner. The cell reeks of vomit from the stomach contents in the other corner, and I wonder if it is my own. My stomach churns as I crawl to the door. Flecks of orange and red splash across the hall and over a figure person curled on the floor, hunched in the fetal position, brows knitted together even in sleep.

"Lyra!" I hiss, hitting the bars with my palms.

She wakes with a start, and her eyes dart around wildly before settling on me. "Where are we?" Her lip quivers as she shuffles to the door of her cell and grips the bars. She snaps her head from side to side, trying to peer down the hallway. Dozens of candles mount the walls along the passageway, spattering the stone in fiery luminescence.

I swallow, unsure how to respond.

"We must be in the palace dungeons," she says. "I recognise them from a drawing in one of our mother's books."

Curse words fly from my mouth, dripping with panic. "We need to find a way out."

"Why are we here at all?" she asks, pinning her tear-filled eyes on me.

I look away, staring at the barricaded brass door at the end of the hallway.

"Did you do something, Elle?" she presses, shifting her weight and sitting cross-legged.

"I did what I had to do to keep us safe, but it looks like my luck finally ran out."

I haul myself to my feet, ignoring the ache of my muscles and the sharp throbbing in my skull. Lyra's gaze remains on me as I prowl around the cramped cell, searching for a sign of escape. A weak patch or wall, or floor. Or a scrap of metal I could use to pick the lock. But of course, there is nothing. I trudge back and forth, ignoring Lyra's protests.

"Forget it, Elle," she says. "There is nothing we can do."

Sweat coats my forehead and my palms as my heart slams into my ribs. The flickering candles dance and twirl, mocking me. I do not even realise I am weeping until the salty tears dribble into my mouth. My stomach clenches and I lean against the wall, sliding to the floor. I blink, and the candles snuff out, wisps of smoke tainting the darkness. As if someone flicked a switch in the hall, sucking them of their oil fuel. Darkness gobbles the dungeons, and the air leaves my lungs.

I bite my tongue, waiting for Lyra's soft snoring before I let the sobs spill from my chest.

When I finally fall into a restless sleep, I dream of my father. A memory from when we were small children.

We sit in our dimly lit apartment. My sister and I have just come home from school, and our father greets us. His tall frame appears to fill the space, and the evening sun catches on his reddish hair.

"Papa!" I shriek, running through the door. "Some kid at school shoved Lyra, and she grazed her knee!"

Lyra hobbled in after me, blood dripping from her knee. My father's eyes are soft as he cleans her leg and wraps a clean cloth around her.

"Someone shoved her, and I punched him back," I brag, clasping my hands behind my back. "I will always look after my big sister."

He chuckles. "You will always look after one another. Never leave the other behind, even when your mother and I are no longer here."

A deep, quaking shudder jolts me awake. I sit up, taking in the flickering candlelight. Lyra's chapped lips quiver in fear.

Heavy-soled boots reverberate off the iron walls as they stalk through the corridor of prison cells. Black pants, black tunic, and black stained bronze helmet. Carved in exquisite swirls and a mask that covers the face, leaving only slits for the eyes. The curved, sharp horns glint in the orange light. His breastplate and body armour clang together with each step, grating along my bones. I grimace as he approaches, instinctively reaching for my knives, but realising they have stripped me bare of my weapons.

My heart lurches into my stomach and renders me silent, still.

The Tranq stops in between our cells, glancing at us each. But his head lingers on me. His breaths, short and sharp, echo through the helmet. Even though I cannot see his face, his gaze burns into me. He spins the staff in his hands, slamming the butt into the floor, and I startle.

"It's you," he says through the mask of the helmet, voice low and smooth, and somehow ethereal. The Tranq leans the staff against the wall and takes a step closer, so the upturned ridge of his helmet is only inches from the barricaded cell door.

Then he reaches up and I flinch. He grabs his helmet and pulls it from his head. I hold my breath, gripping the cell bars, refusing to back away. Although I can't help but stare. His eyes are green. Brilliant and demanding. Pools of jade, emerald, and pockets of amber in the centre. The forest itself. Flecked in the golden candlelight and leaking with tendrils of darkness, like ink in water.

"What do you want with me?" I splutter, wanting nothing more than to sprint away from this terrifying man.

"Is your name Elle Fallon?" he asks, ignoring my question.

My body trembles and my mouth dries out as I fight the fingers of fear tightening around my throat. "Yes. My name is Elle."

"Elle," he says, dragging out the name, sounding out the single syllable. Something about his voice and the way he says my name caresses my bones and stirs my insides. I grimace as my skin crawls.

"So?"

"So, Elle." He runs a hand through his dark brown hair as his lip curls into a sneer. "It is nice to put a name to the face of the girl in the woods."