chapter six,    the moral of the story

𝕷iya

            THE TREMOR IN HER BODY WAS CAUSING HER TO FEEL DIZZY. Clenching a bucket full of water, she kept on pushing handfuls of water to her mouth, rinsing and spitting out – repeating the action. The bitterness of the vomit was making her sick, and the particles of the castor ricin that was in that tea were burning every inch of her body. She was pretty sure she threw up with blood, but not much could be changed now.

            Drenched in cold sweat, she was shaking. Forcing herself to move away from the bucket, she extended her hand to the side where a towel was placed and she took it, pressing it to her nose as she felt the copper smell surround her lungs. The pain was tremendous, but at least no one saw her throw up since she got taken to her temporary bedroom in General Zlatan's house.

            Saints, he tried to poison the Darkling.

            Hearing a distant knock on the bathroom door, she winced, not wanting for anyone to see her like this. The best thing was for General Zlatan to not know that she almost died—the possibility was still high, she doesn't know if the timing to throw up saved her life or ruined it. In order for this visit to work, whatever the Darkling wanted to achieve, she must appear healthy.

            "Liya, are you alright?" The Darkling's voice reached her ears from the other side of the door and she winced again, feeling the way her head was getting dizzier and dizzier and the need to get out of her clothes was getting unbearable.

            She didn't want for him to see her like this – messed up.

            She took a moment before replying, trying to clear her throat so she wouldn't sound as if she was shaking. Perhaps, he didn't even know his tea was poisoned – of course, he didn't know it. He should not know she drank it for him. "I'm fine, General," her voice was slightly shaky and she had to curse mentally.

            "Liya, open the door. I won't leave if I won't make sure you are fine," he didn't back off and she had to grip the wall beside her, feeling the way her body was leaning forwards, the lulling dizziness taking a grip of her ankles.

            As she was to reassure him that she was just having a moment, she fell to the floor, creating a loud thud. Falling, she leaned forwards, hitting the right side of her forehead into the bathtub she didn't know was there. Wincing in pain, she managed to land on her side, her body twisting in pain and she flinched from the opening door sound.

            "Liya!" the Darkling thundered and soon she felt his hands on her, slipping beneath her and she wailed in pain, feeling that her trembling was only increasing. She tried to tell him to put her down and leave her be, but she was mumbling something she couldn't understand herself, feeling the softness of his kefta and the sheets that she was placed on in a few moments.

            A hand appeared on her forehead and she flinched in embarrassment – she was sweating and he was touching her. Pressing the towel closer to her nose, she forced herself to turn to the side, ignoring the thumping forehead, the movement of her stomach and the awful stench of copper. Feeling his touch leaves her body, she seemed calmer, trying to figure out how to stop shaking.

            "Why did you drink that tea if you knew it was poisonous?" his voice entered her mind as if it was a new gush of wind, breaking through the details of pain engraved in each and every part of her body.

            "I didn't want for you to die," she admitted, her voice shaky as she moved her head deeper into the pillow, grasping the sleeve of her kefta—Saints, it was so excruciatingly hot in here.

            "And instead you wanted to die? You are such an idiot, Miss Safin," he said and she couldn't decipher if he was thundering with anger or if he was worried. Quickly, she realised, that the second option could not be it, because it just... Why would anyone be worried about her? She simply did a task of a soldier – she protected her General as she was supposed to do without creating a huge scene.

            "I did my job," she grunted out, feeling the way her heart was thundering against her heart and she shut her eyes closed, squeezing them together. She pressed her free hand against her wrist, feeling the heartbeat that was ringing in her ears and she tried to slow it down just enough so she could stop shaking. But nothing worked – nothing happened.

            Saints, she is such a failure.

            "I'll get you a medik," he abruptly informed and she immediately moved her hand behind her, successfully gripping his forearm of his and making him halt. She released his hand immediately, not wanting to touch him when she was so—off.

            "It was castor ricin. I threw it up – I just need a few moments to rest. A medik can't do much for me anyways," she informed, knowing her way around the herbs and their usage.

            Castor ricin was deadly if consumed in big amounts and not thrown up instantly. It didn't seem like there was a lot of it in tea—who knows, she gulped it so fast that her tongue still reminded of that. But she threw it up, she did everything she could. Mediks had no cure for her. If her body will push through – she will be fine.

            "You have a fever," his voice dropped.

            "A few moments of rest – I'll be fine. I apologize for my state, General," she winced out, moving her head in the opposite direction of him, not knowing if this room was lit well enough or her slimy face was hidden, but she felt incredibly odd and self-conscious.

            Whenever she was sick – she was alone, separated from the others. It was the rule in children's home in order not to pass the flu to others. She wasn't particularly a sick child, but once in a while, a harsh fever would bring her to bed for a few days straight. That's why out of all people seeing her like this should be him.

            "Liya," his voice was angry, Saints—he sounded so angry and yet she couldn't think straight when he said her name. Why did he say her name? He shouldn't say her name. "You shouldn't have drank it. You shouldn't have put yourself in danger."

            Instead of disagreeing, she stayed silent, hoping, he would just go away.

            "I'll get the maid to get you water and I'll finish the business as quick as possible. We leave in the morning," he informed, his voice sounding odd.

            Breathing out, she forced herself to nod, "Understood. I'm sorry for being an obstacle, General."

            She heard how he gripped something wooden and she didn't know what it was and it terrified her. The memories started to flood her head—the Fjerdans, their whip, their whip, their whip... Not now, she couldn't think about it now.

            After that, she didn't even hear how he disappeared for a few moments until a cold fabric touched her forehead and she breathed out with such ease even if her body was trembling. Suddenly, she felt the sheets move beside her, meaning he got closer and it exhale got stuck somewhere on its way out.

            His fingertips pushed her hair out of her face and she was dreading the fact that he could see her completely dishevelled—what if there was blood on her kefta? What if her face was bloody? The sweat...

            Yet his touch was gentler than anything she has felt in her life, feeling his body move closer to hers like a shadow she hasn't felt and seen in years. It took her breath away. It made her head dizzy. It swayed her. Lulled her. Interested her. Why did he have to see her like this?

            "I doubt my closest men would drink poison for me," his voice was silent, almost like a whisper and it ignited her body. He seemed everywhere – too close, too far, too warm, too cold. She didn't want for him to hold that towel against her forehead, she didn't need pity, but if he will let go – she will crumble apart.

            One little step away from wailing and ripping her heart out, sobbing out her sorrows to him, wanting to be heard and soothed; understood. She couldn't, she couldn't, she couldn't... She is a burden.

            "I hope I didn't ruin this trip," she whispered, giving in to the tingling sensation the cold towel provided her. Her limps started to feel numb as her heart rate finally slowed down enough for her to not feel pain while breathing.

            His hands gently stroked her hair strands stuck on the cheeks, leaving trails of fire on the parts he has touched and she wanted to scream in pure, torturous agony because it felt soothing, it felt like heaven. Perhaps the intimidation she felt was a way of protecting herself. Protecting herself from the fact that his voice was bursting her heart into flames in pure ecstasy, that the bare touches from the sessions were covering her body in touches, that her body was untouched, discarded and forgotten and his touch was like a drug she wanted more and more?

            Liya didn't know what she was feeling. It was silly of her to think about her General, about his touch and about his velvety voice. He was a General and she was his subordinate.

            "Safety of my Grisha is my priority – you know that well," he admitted.

            After those words, she drifted into much-needed sleep, not knowing when he left or what he said after. All she was left with was pure pain, twisting agony and the hidden voice at the back of her mind wishing that she finally would fall asleep. Forever.

· · ─────── ·♔· ─────── · ·

            WITH A GRUNT, she awoke. A sudden wave of pain ran through her head, filling her nose with a musky scent that forced her to wheeze in disgust. The upper body of hers was leaning forwards as her lower body seemed stuck, weirdly clamped together to something hard.

            She wasn't in bed anymore.

            That thought made her open her eyes, desperately wanting to see something, but she was met with the same, familiar darkness. Something was covering her face, the rough fabric making it itchy all over as she tried to move forward – nothing. She didn't budge one bit.

            Panic got stuck in her throat, wanting to scream, but nothing came out of her mouth. The breathing seemed to cover all of the cloth her face was covered with, the hot air was making it hard to breathe and it reminded her of Fjerdans...

            No, please, not again...

            A sob crashed through the surface, feeling stinging on her limbs that were tied together to what seemed like a pole. She couldn't move her lower body as the ropes were already starting to sting and the angle of her upper body was making her lean away from the pole only for the ropes to engrave her skin deeper.

            The sudden realisation that she was caught – slashed her heart open, causing her to wail. The faint copper taste in her mouth reminded her that this was a reality and she wasn't dreaming. The tremors appeared on her body, causing her to shake as if she was a mere leaf meant to fall in autumn and rot on the ground.

            Her body couldn't handle it. The fast memories of the sensations when she was in the cage, the smell, and the degrading were attacking her body and she couldn't do it again. If she will get stuffed in the cage, if she will hear the degrading Fjerdan words again, if she will be touched again – she will swallow her tongue, just as she should've done before.

            Footsteps echoed through the space she was in. She quickly sucked a deep breath inside, clamping her mouth together not to make any sound – Fjerdans loved when Drüsje screamed, that's why she knew it was best not to. To not give them any satisfaction.

            The footsteps came close and a hand clasped the cloth off her face and the stench seemed to disappear. A hand grabbed her face, squeezing her cheeks together, pushing her head slightly up.

            "You must wonder to whom I am going to sell you, hm?"

            The voice was familiar, she has heard it before. It wasn't Fjerdans. This man spoke Ravkan.

            Liya couldn't mutter one word and she didn't know what to say. Begging never works. Compromising only entertains the abuser. Whining irritated them. Silence works.

            "To Fjerda or Shu Han?" The man rhetorically hummed, his voice oddly cheerful as he released her face, making it drop down.

            Her body responded to his words, twisting as much as it could in pure pain from hearing him mention Fjerda. Not again, not again, not again...

            Suddenly everything came clear to her. The poison she drank was meant for the Darkling, meaning that General Zlatan wanted to sell him to others. She has heard about West Ravkans capturing and selling Grisha to Fjerda or Shu Han, but she didn't think that a General of the First Army could be involved in this and that the man, standing right in front of her, was no other than General Zlatan.

            She hoped the Darkling was far away from here, never stepping one foot in here again.

            "The tea was meant for him," the man sighed, walking in slow circles around her. His voice was echoing through the place and everything felt moist – she didn't know if it was her sweat, her fear or she was something stuffed underground. "I must say I was surprised that you drank it for him. You knew that there was poison, right? Are you actually sightless?"

            Within those words, he snapped his fingers right in front of her face and she flinched, hearing how he chuckled.

            "I would've got a lot of money for a Shadow Summoner. I'm afraid that I won't get offered a lot of profit for a blind Grisha... If I won't get paid – I'll kill you myself Or..."

            The words made her whine, but they gave her some solace. No one will pay for a sightless Grisha or not enough for sure. Perhaps he meant what he was saying. Maybe he won't torture her and just put a bullet right into her brain. Maybe she won't end up in the cage again. The thought of being shot instead of dragged through the misery seemed like the best option out there.

            His hand ended up on her face again, pushing it up as his grip was hurting her – it was iron, it was too hot and he was squeezing her face as if he wanted to break her in half. "You are beautiful, so beautiful," he murmured. "If you wouldn't be a Grisha, I'd keep you," he shook her face, making her teeth shut together painfully.

            Please don't keep me, please don't keep me, please don't keep me...

            "You are incredibly silent..." he murmured, "You have been captured before, hm?"

            Liya slightly nodded, not allowing herself to make a noise. She didn't know what irritated him and the best thing she could do was to comply, instead of throwing a tantrum. If she will behave, maybe he will shoot her faster.

            She could hear how he chuckled, breathing out of his nose slowly as he pushed her upper body backwards, making her back touch the pole and she hissed in the stretching temptation. She couldn't feel her legs as her thighs and her ankles were pulsating from the tight grip of the rope.

            His hands moved to her chest, ripping the shirt apart, making her realise that she was without a kefta and she was bare, so bare in front of him. Her body started to shake again, begging to Saints to take her life and spare her from the misery.

            How much can she suffer?

            "Oh, dearest," his voice was venom, mocking, noting that she was shaking, "Just be very very silent, hm? It will all be over soon."

            She couldn't breathe, she couldn't breathe, she couldn't breathe... She didn't want to be touched, she couldn't be touched or she will fall apart. She just wanted this to be over. Please.

author's note:

Justice for Liya, I know— But what do you think about this story so far?
Thank you for 1K+ reads! It means so much to me!

m.n