Whispers (Book 3 of Wielder series)

Chapter 12 - The Arena

Alie saw little of Evan, and none of Commander Sole, over the next few days. Thankfully, instead of sitting in the dark, wallowing in despair, wondering when her next bout of agony would befall her, she sat under the light of the sphere in the corner, listening to some far-away drip and waiting for her next meal.

It wasn't entertaining. But it was worlds better than the hell she'd endured before Evan's arrival.

Evan's care cured her quickly. After only a handful of days, she could barely see the marks left behind by the commander's visits, and her illness cleared up just as fast. She felt remarkably like her old self.

Now, if only she could get her hands on some magic.

The magic-restricting cuffs did their job well. Despite the magic tools that Evan used to monitor her progress and heal her internally, she couldn't feel magic's touch. Even when the golden light of his wand dripped upon her skin, she couldn't detect its presence or soak in its warmth.

She begged Evan to let her hold onto something - anything - that could help her feel a little closer to the magic. But he let her touch nothing. He carefully guarded his supply bag. And he always took everything back out of the cell with him when he left.

"I can push Roger in some things," he'd said, when she demanded a reason for why he wouldn't help her. "But not in others. You do not need magic to get well. I don't want to provoke him any more than I have to."

She thought it was a coward's response. But then again, he had seen what the commander had done to her. Perhaps he feared enduring the same if he pushed the commander too far.

She began to fall into a pattern, albeit a boring one. Wake at an unknown time, eat, pace the cell, eat again, sleep. Sometimes she used her drinking water to wash the worst of the stink from her skin. Sometimes she thought of what she'd do the next time she saw Commander Sole. Now that she wasn't on the brink of death, she couldn't afford to cower in the corner. If he attacked her, she'd fight back. Even if it was the last thing she ever did.

And then, without warning, the pattern shattered.

One night, she woke abruptly to the sound of the locks on her door abruptly turning. She knew she'd only slept for a few hours, and not well, considering the lump of a straw-filled sack she had for a mattress. It was far too soon for the morning meal, and even then, no one ever bothered to open her door to slide the tray full of slop across her blood-stained floor. She sat up, bracing herself for Sole's arrival, clenching her trembling hands into fists.

But it was not the commander who entered. Nor, to her alarm, was it Evan. Ghosts filed through the door, as wispy as smoke, their eyes burning red with a haunting glow.

Sole's Phantoms.

Alie counted three of them. She sucked in a breath and searched them for weapons, though she doubted she would be able to steal any from them even if she could see them. All she saw clearly was their eyes, burning red with dark power.

The first Phantom reached her and curled smoky fingers around her arm.

She pulled back sharply. But then the second Phantom took her by the other arm, and before she could figure out how to escape them both, they had pulled her roughly to her feet. The third stood before her, sweeping his hand across her jaw. "Mmm," he purred, his voice as slimy as the feel of his power lingering across her skin. "You're looking well. It's a shame I won't have the pleasure of ruining that."

Alie pulled away as best she could. With the wall at her back and two Phantoms at either side, though, it wasn't very far. "Get your hands off me," she demanded. Fear quenched the fire in her tone, making it sound more like a desperate plea.