Bitter Brambles (The Ivy Institute #2)

Chapter 2

brIAR

T he cold hard floor is a familiarity I didn’t miss, nor is the stench—musty dampness that permeates the darkened room. This place reminds me of my father’s cellar. The memories from what I thought was my past sneak up on me far too often as of late, making me wonder if I ever really left home at all. Maybe I imagined the Ivy.

The familiar ache that used to fill my stomach now invades my bones, making everything throb with a sense of loss and hunger I can’t quite put into words, not that there is anyone to listen to me. I’ve been alone in here since my arrival. It’s impossible to gauge the passing of time, but it feels as if I’ve been here for weeks, though I would bet it’s closer to days. Surely, I wouldn’t survive weeks without food, or would I?

The sound of a bolt sliding through iron has me scampering back into the corner of the room. When the door swings open, I let out a small hiss as I shield my eyes from the light filtering into the space. It’s far too bright to make out who is standing there, but I know it isn’t Ziv or Kage.

The shadowed silhouette speaks. “The Ivy has accepted their recompence. The trade is now complete. Welcome to Frostburn, Briar.”

Any hope I still had that Ziv or Kage would come for me evaporates with the male’s words, and the reminder that I am a pawn, something to be used and discarded, is swift and hard. I was foolish to ever think otherwise. It only makes my reality so much harsher.

If I could speak, I might ask for water or food, but I’m not certain I would be capable, plus I’m not in a position to ask for anything when I have nothing to give in return. I don’t even feel confident that I could mount an argument at this point.

“Are you able to stand, or do I need to send someone in to move you?”

The threat hits as intended, and I scrape myself up off the floor, my legs as weak as a foal’s as my teeth chatter.

“Good, now let’s see if you can make it to your barracks. If not, you might find yourself free game to those who would happily use your pelt for warmth.”

My pelt? Does he mean my skin? Holy shit. I stumble forward, hoping to keep my legs under me. I do not want to fight for my life when I’m not even certain I can walk.

The male turns before I can see his face or any other features beyond the fact that he’s decked out in a heavy cape that I would literally kill for since I’m so cold. You think you’d grow numb to it, but as soon as you move, you realize it’s a lie you tell yourself so you don’t go insane.

He doesn’t slow his pace, so I’m forced to shuffle behind him faster than I feel comfortable with. It’s only Ziv’s incessant demand that I train that allows me to keep up with my escort. Ignoring the pain in my gut and the icy air that feels as if it’s eating away at my skin, I force myself to pay attention to my surroundings and look for details in the dull gray stone that might help me survive in this place, but unless I somehow develop an expert sense of direction in the next ten minutes, the effort will be wasted. It might be helpful if I could remember how I got here in the first place, but I must have been unconscious. I have no other way to explain why I can’t remember arriving here or getting into the room.

The male leading me turns to glance over his shoulder, probably to see if I’m still trailing him since the distance between us has grown a little more than I’m comfortable with, but my legs aren’t cooperating with my feet, and if I try to walk faster, I stumble.

As I look ahead, I notice the tunnel seems to brighten. Flickering flames dance along the roughly hewn stones, promising heat and warmth that frightens me nearly as much as it intrigues me.

“You’ll be in what the elites not so affectionately call the dregs—the lowest bunker.” He faces me, and I stop, keeping several feet of distance between us. “Everything at Frostburn is earned, from the food you eat to the bed you sleep in.” The male looks me up and down, and my skin crawls under his assessment. “There are many ways to earn those privileges.” His voice is low and suggestive, proving my instinct about his appraisal was correct.

“I’ll fight,” I croak, determined to say something for myself even if it sounds weak.

One eyebrow lifts in interest. “Some of us wouldn’t have it any other way.”

I suppress a shudder, knowing his words could be taken two different ways, yet I’m inclined to believe his statement doesn’t align with my intention when I proposed to fight for my food and bed.

I’d rather die than let someone else touch me, even if Ziv or Kage have already forgotten about me. That thought hurts worse than every ache in my body combined, so I shove it down and focus on the moment, determined not to even think their names again.

“Let’s see how you feel in a day or two when the cold starts to bite.”

I want to tell him my opinion won’t change, that I’ll never be desperate enough to fuck my way to a better position, but I’m not stupid enough to pose the challenge to him or myself. Some things cannot be unsaid, and voicing those things allows those with open ears to push fate far beyond the bounds of normalcy.

“Where are the dregs?” I question, hoping he will show or tell me and leave me the hell alone.

“Eager to get there or away from me?” He turns his head and lowers his face into a shaft of light. It’s the first time I’ve gotten a good look at him. He isn’t unattractive, but I still find him and his suggestive remarks repulsive. His light hair has a curl to it, making him look boyish, but I doubt that description would fit him.

“I’m sure you have better things to do than escort me,” I retort, appealing to his ego.

He straightens to his full height and tugs at the velvety lapels of his cloak as if my reply or my reaction to seeing his face wasn’t what he expected. “With a tongue like that, I doubt you’ll be in the dregs long,” he mutters before turning to resume walking. There’s a definite air of suspicion in his tone that wasn’t present moments before. The problem is, I don’t understand why.

The closer I move toward the light, the more I have to squint my eyes in lieu of shielding them altogether. There are torches along the wall, but unlike the illuminated promise of warmth I hoped for, there is no heat coming from the flames—at least none I can feel. Maybe it’s so cold the small fire won’t make a difference, or maybe this place consumes warmth. I feel like it’s taken any heat I may have had from me already, leaving me hollowed out like the void Syrinx accused me of being.

When I see the arch of a stairway leading up, I get the first hint of what my mind already tried to tell me days ago—we’re far underground. Something deep within me sighs in relief at the thought of climbing up, maybe even out, but another part of me is dreading the ascent. I remember how taxing the stairs at the Ivy were the first few days after my arrival and how out of breath I was after just a flight or two, and the idea is even more daunting now.

The male takes another quick look to make sure I’m coming, then he seems to disappear up with a bounce as he mounts the stone steps two at a time. Ziv could easily do that, even with me held against his chest. The longing hits me so strongly, I have to grab the wall to keep myself from falling. I grit my teeth and ignore the prickling feeling behind my eyes telling me I want to cry. I remind myself that he doesn’t know where I am, even though he threatened he would always be able to find me, and that they will eventually come for me, but the ache doesn’t subside—if anything, it deepens.

I use it to spur me up the stairs. Every time I lift my leg to climb another rung, it puts distance between me and the thoughts of them until the only pain I feel are my thigh muscles.

When I reach the top, I shuffle to the side and place my back against the wall next to the stairs so I don’t topple back down. When I bend over, I nearly throw up, fighting not to release any liquid I might still have in my body by holding my breath. By the time I feel like I can exhale without puking, I’m so lightheaded, I think I might pass out instead.

“You’ll fight, huh?” The male speaks softly enough it could almost be a whisper, but it’s too accusatory to be that.

I lift my eyes while still bent over and give him a death glare I could never back up, but self-preservation demands I do it anyway. “Yes,” I grate out, hauling myself upright.

The male laughs heartily then shakes his head with disbelief. “Too bad getting an A for effort won’t get you jack shit around here,” he scoffs then gestures toward a closed door. “The dregs.” He leaves without another word to me.

There’s a fleeting moment where I wonder if maybe I should have been nicer to him—earning favor doesn’t always mean giving access to your body—but then I remember the way he looked at me like I was a meal he wanted to devour, and the notion disappears.

I think about sitting down near the door. I don’t really want to deal with anyone else or fight for my survival, but the thought of other bodies beyond the door entices me. Other bodies could mean heat. Surely the closed door would have trapped some warmth inside, right?

I hesitate long enough that the door opens without any effort on my part, and three people emerge. Their steps and chatter halts when they see me holding onto the wall for support. “Is that a ghost?” the female in the back mutters, barely moving her lips.

“Gods, if not then she probably will be soon,” the other female replies.

“Do you think her lips are always that color?” the single male questions. I hate that they are talking about me like I’m not even here, but not enough to do anything about it.

I jerk forward, and all three of them stumble back. I wonder if this is how Kage feels. I can’t say I hate it. I don’t spare them another glance before grabbing the open door and pulling myself through it.