The first, chronologically, of the Delias. There will be more. Eventually.
Thirteen and venom in your ear happen much later and more or less at the same time.
o-o-o-o
o-o-o-o
She is sitting sprawled in a corner, between sleep and not – which is about as much as she ever sleeps, now. Old tears from bleary eyes stain her cheeks and bare upper arms. Her foot is half asleep and she only belatedly realizes there is fur and a body and a tail crawling over it and leaning up against her leg. She screams and flings the offending rodent against the wall. Looks at her foot, rubbing. There is a new bite.
Panic.
She wails, screams again and more, throws herself across the floor, tearing her skin, wishing the Black God would just take her away. Other yelling counters hers and then the door grates on hinges and she is grabbed from behind, hair yanking head back and liquid pouring into her mouth. She coughs, sputters, wheezes. Is grabbed again and ordered to swallow. Her throat works and she is released and falls to her knees, bruising them. She's losing control of her body.
It's poison and she is dying.
o-o-o-o
There is vomit in front of her face when she comes to. Her eyes won't open but she can smell it. She thinks she should be dead and wonders why it hurts so much.
She runs a hand over her body, the motion making her want to be violently ill. Her hips are raw to bleeding, her face is scratched and stinging and there is a dull ache in her thighs and lower abdomen. She gives in to her prior urge and then forces herself to sit up, wiping her mouth on her arm. There is water and food for her. She rinses her face and then washes out the bite on her ankle.
The remains of her dress are lying across the room where she left them when she realized she couldn't keep the rats out of her skirts. She rips off a piece of green silk and uses it for a bandage, hoping without hope that it will keep off infection. She sits back against a wall and cries, silently, trying not to aggravate her nausea.
The next time she is aware enough to call herself awake, she is cold and shaking. She thinks it is just a draft until an hour later: she is sweating and although she can't tell, she knows her skin is hot to the touch.
o-o-o-o
A day later she is nearly comatose on the floor and her guard finally notices the second time he's come to change her food that she hasn't eaten anything yet. Or maybe is annoyed by the incomprehensible muttering, although that surely isn't a rarity in a dungeon. A cool hand covers her forehead roughly, is taken away, and her door swings shut again, leaving her in blessed darkness.
o-o-o-o
There is light, and it's strong. Her half-open eyes are streaming with tears. Someone's having an argument – two men, she thinks. One wants to move her, the other – her guard? – is refusing him. Her guard wins. The other man's voice is filled with disgust and he tells her guard or maybe a third party, "Clean it as much as you can." And then she sees a rat grinning at her from the ceiling – it is violet and menacing – and starts screaming, only her throat is raw and no sound passes her lips. A bright, coloured glow infuses the stale air above her and she shuts her eyes against the pain, but from behind her lids the light is soothing and she sleeps.
o-o-o-o
She is weak when she wakes again – on a cot, this time, instead of the filthy mattress that occupied her cell before. The same man's voice – she knows him now from her past life – is speaking over her. She wonders why he, of all people, has wasted his time trying to save her. She realizes, though, with much cynicism, that she has not yet been put on public trial for her crimes. As the last remaining ringleader, she probably isn't allowed to die until then.
He realizes she is awake and begins asking her questions to fill the space, not expecting answers. It is veering on the chatty and inconsequential, which would, under different circumstances, make her laugh. He lifts her up a little so he can drip some water into her mouth from a sponge and she notices that she is covered by sheets and a blanket and very little else. She hopes they burned her clothes, but wonders what she will wear now – perhaps a toga from the sheets like the ancients – before she collapses back into the pillow under her head.
o-o-o-o
This time she is strong enough to feed herself and to ask him some questions of her own. Why is he still here? Why not an orderly? He is far too important a person to be waiting on her every time she wakes up and he is not family, not even a particularly close friend.
He tells her that at first, she was so close to death that none of his medics could have fixed her, which she accepts, although doubtfully. Then he needed to keep an eye on her, as her living conditions were not ideal to recovery. The understatement of the year, but she was sure this was still not the real reason and tells him so. He laughs a little and gets quiet, his gaze alternating between one eye and the other. He is staring but not uncomfortably so.
She reminds him of someone he knows, he tells her at last. She takes this to mean his late wife, or maybe a lover. It is her eyes, apparently, and her beauty and her idealism (she assumes he's referring to her ill-prepared and equally ill-received pleas to a small group of angry court members). He couldn't bear to see her with the light out of her eyes, in so much pain, when he knew he could end it so easily. She thinks he is an old fool, but perhaps a useful old fool. Especially as he has saved her life and is halfway to being seduced by her. She falls silent and thinks of how best to use him.
He continues to talk, trying to give her hope. When she asks what for – she will die in prison, no doubt of a rat bite the Duke isn't around to cure – he looks as though he wasn't expecting her flippancy but is highly amused by it nonetheless.
"There are prisons, and then there are prisons."
She is about to ask what that was supposed to mean, when it dawns on her. The Tower is where noble prisoners are usually kept. She shoots him a questioning look. Why hadn't she been sent there?
"Why, indeed. I think you'll find that there was some allowance for abnormal procedure given the nature of the crime."
Her face hardens in thought and she thanks the Duke before he leaves. The trial is going to be public; they are giving her weapons again and she needs a plan.
o-o-o-o
The next week finds her waking from a real bed and putting on a plain but serviceable dressing gown. She starts at a brusque knocking, and then clutches her robe around her neck as the door is thrown open and a guard enters, Duke Baird following him into the room. He stops partway into the room and dismisses the guard, who looks a little worried but does as he is bid. She watches the proceedings, one eyebrow raised, and nods her head slightly at Baird, waiting for him to speak. He smiles a little and begins, all pleasantries again.
She is a little surprised when he returns again the next week and the next, but grows to expect and maybe even enjoy his visits. He is, apart from her un-seducible, ever rotating guards, the only company she has.
o-o-o-o
o-o-o-o
Betaed by yours truly, so I take responsibility for any remaining run-ons or sudden changes in verb tense. Thanks go to Fen out of habit and because she put up with me last night while I wrote this and again today while it got posted. If I make it there, I'll be sure to thank her at the Oscars.
Sally
o-o-o-o
and now, the extras:
o-o-o-o
Delia eyes filthy, disgusting, infested, lying-in-floor-muck mattress unlovingly, turns up her nose and takes a couple of steps back.
"This mattress is..." gestures in contemplation, "...vile, putrid, mouldering, and filled with too many other beings to count. I don't share my bed."
/cough - not true.
Mattress disappears magically and is replaced by a cot. Delia pats it, unimpressed.
"This cot is lumpy and too low. The springs are broken."
Delia is poofed into the tower on top of a bed. With a headboard.
"This bed is servicable, I suppose. But why stop now? If this keeps up, I will have a King-sized Ultramatic® Adjustable Bed with electric heating and a massage built in within days!"
Sweet dreams, Delia.