My sweet, gentle Frey was gone from this world.
Emotion surged through me, so much, none of it good, that I suddenly felt like I was going to explode.
“No!” I shrieked, pushing her away, I gained my feet, rushed several paces across the room and stopped dead when I saw we were in a room made of stone and there was nothing in it but high, barred windows at least two stories up, three dirty pallets on the floor with thin, rough, tattered wool blankets and a wooden table that looked like its legs held it up by a miracle.
We were in a prison cell.
And I didn’t care.
No, I didn’t care.
“He isn’t dead,” I told Valentine and the blonde as both slowly stood and turned to face me.
“I’m sorry, my princess,” the blonde murmured.
I leaned forward and shrieked, “He isn’t dead!”
Valentine moved toward me, whispering, “My goddess of love –”
“He isn’t dead! He isn’t dead! He isn’t dead!” I screeched then saw even the cool, composed Valentine’s face filled with sorrow and my legs collapsed under me as my body started shuddering with sobs. “He isn’t dead,” I whispered through my tears as both women made it to me, pulled me to my feet and supported me as they moved me back to the pallet. “He isn’t dead,” I repeated, my entire body quaking with the force of my grief as they gently pressed me back down to the dirty mattress. “He isn’t dead,” I whispered as I curled into a ball, arms around my calves, rocking my body back and forth while one of them, I didn’t know who, stroked my hair. “He isn’t dead,” these words were hoarse, rough, ugly, my stomach empty, my heart actually felt broken and that hurt, a lot, too much, so much I couldn’t bear it. It was unbearable. “Please, God, make him not dead.” I whispered then I turned my head, pressed my face into the filthy pallet and I sobbed.
* * * * *
I cried myself out while Valentine stroked my hair and cooed to me. When I was done and turned my face to stare at the stone wall, she gently forced me to sitting on the pallet so my back was to the wall as the blonde went to the table and came back with a plate on which were some slices of ham and a battered copper cup filled with water that was luckily clear and clean.
“Eat, pour votre bébé,” Valentine urged, I looked at her vaguely, nodded just as vaguely, took the plate, set it on my thighs, took the glass, started eating slowly and chased the salty ham with water.
Pour votre bébé.
Our baby.
Would I live to give Frey that?
I looked around the room and doubted it.
Then my eyes fell on the blonde. “Who are you?” I asked.
“I am Lavinia of Lunwyn, servant of Alabasta,” she replied softly and I nodded because I knew who that was. Frey told me stories of Lunwyn’s most powerful witch and the goddess Alabasta’s servant on this earth.
And Frey told them to me while we were eating dinner in his chateau in Hawkvale.
I felt my throat close, my eyes sting and I looked away, shoving another piece of ham in my mouth and having no clue how I’d get it down.
“Do you think…” Lavinia of Lunwyn started, my eyes moved to her and I swallowed the ham with effort before she finished, “that you can hear what is happening?”
To this, I replied, “Considering my husband is dead and that hits the one to ten scale of bad news you could give me at around five hundred and seventy-two, how bad is the rest of the news?”
“It is bad, not as bad as that,” Lavinia replied.
Nope. Not as bad as that. Outside of the world coming to an end, there was no news worse than that or even close.
I sucked in breath through my nose and nodded, saying, “Well then, hit me with it.”
She nodded back then she and Valentine exchanged a glance and both settled on the pallet on either side of me.
“You have been under a sleeping spell for four days,” Lavinia stated, I nodded, she took in breath and continued. “I was captured and imprisoned here a week ago. You and Valentine arrived yesterday and when you did, Valentine was bound but awake.”
I finished the last piece of ham, set the plate aside, took another drink of water and said, “Okay.”