Gentle creaking assaulted my ears, but it had no effect on my eyes. Nor did the heavy footsteps that came from the source of that creaking. Nor did the gentle thud and clatter next to me. And certainly not the voice instructing me to consume whatever shit they threw into the bowl.
At the beginning of all of this, I did open my eyes. I opened my eyes and glared as harshly as I could at him—at all of the members of that shitface of a king's guard force. I hadn't remembered the name of the guard who had interacted with me the most during this ordeal; he'd said it maybe once himself. The others probably mentioned it, too, but they always wore masks or helmets, so I couldn't match names with faces. But I did remember that he had a scar running across his forehead and had the face—or, at least, what I could see of it—of an ass. So I'd named him Ass Scar in my mind.
He knew of the name, of course. I'd shouted it at him a few times in the beginning. The look on his face that he got was always entertaining—but I discovered quickly the math behind the amount of lashes they gave me. For each insult I slung, I received two lashes, whether from knives, belts, or whips. Sometimes more, depending on how irritable they were. For five insults, I could receive anywhere between ten and thirty new scars.
A few days after that, I'd learned to bite my tongue. Even then, however, I still got punished, only this time it was for not responding to them rather than offending them. My back still stung, but at least it stung less than it had a month ago.
A boot nudged my arm. Was it still bleeding? No, that healed up. Or was that the scar that was full of pus?
My eyes still didn't open. Maybe if I acted dead he'd leave me alone. That sometimes worked with the other guards.
No, but this was Ass Scar, and Ass Scar enjoyed persistence. The fucker. He was just like Morinaga, but even more annoying.
Morinaga—the reason why I was in this situation in the first place. I love you. Bullshit, he did. His...race didn't love. They were incapable of real feelings. All he wanted was my ass and mouth. Though at the moment I almost wouldn't mind seeing that desire. It was better than this...shithole. At least he had a justification for expressing his 'love.' Knowing how to read would prove beneficial in the future. If there was a future, anyway.
What was I thinking? Of course there was a future! I'd escaped from here once, and I could damn well do it again. I just needed someone who was pissed at the others enough to help. Or, better yet, Morinaga. He'd be the best option. He hated his brother—or, at least, he disliked him enough to shout at him. I'd hoped he'd visit so I could initiate my plan, but he'd never shown up. It probably wouldn't have helped at all, though, since they muzzled me most of the time. I still didn't regret biting off that arrogant bastard's ear, though. He deserved it.
Growing aggravated, I managed to peel back my eyelids enough to see the cell that had become my home a month or so ago. It made the ones we had in the fortress look like royal accommodations. Had I lain on my back, my head against the back wall, my feet would have grazed the front bars. If I lay horizontally, I would've had to prop my legs up on the other wall to fit. The ugly few weeks between winter and spring had set in, signaled by the lukewarm heat that plagued the cell during the day and the intense cold that froze the place at night. It had no windows, and the lantern outside only remained lit for a few hours out of the day. Now, however, I could see the mold-speckled dirt walls in all of their crude glory. The only thing that made an attempt at comfort was the bucket resting at the front of the cell. Though that had only been provided after I'd started pissing through the bars. My right shoulder had nearly lost all of its skin after the fifth time, and when I returned, the bucket had awaited me.
His mouth still masked and—surprisingly—head covered by a helmet, the only feature on him that I could see was his eyes, glinting with some kind of satisfaction. I probably looked five seconds from sleeping. How odd; I felt five seconds from dying.
"Oh, good," he said in that darkly happy voice of his. "I thought you were dead."
Ah, so I did look ready to die. If I had the energy to, I'd add to the aesthetic with a groan.
"Still not talking?"
My reply was silence.
He dropped the matter and crouched next to me. "Still not eating, either." His gloved hand grasped my chin and tilted my head up. "You look like a corpse."
Did my stomach growl or was I ready to vomit? Eh, it was probably both. There wasn't any food in me, but there was always blood and acid.
Ass Scar released my head and picked up the bowl that he'd dropped earlier. The slurry within was white this time. Everything up to this point had been brown; I didn't know whether to be intrigued or to hide my tongue away. He didn't give me much time for either, as he scooped whatever the fuck it was onto a spoon and poised it at my lips.
"Come on. You need to stay alive for just a little while longer."
My mouth didn't open. What was the point? I'd probably retch it back up immediately, anyway.
But that damn persistence!
He poked my cheek with the spoon. "Come on. I'll force it in if I need to."
Part of the reason lay behind my lack of energy. But if he wasn't planning on letting up, who was I to deny the fool entertainment? So I opened my mouth, and to what little relief I had, whatever had been put inside didn't taste like shit. It probably would've if I wasn't starving right now, since it was probably made of scraps of rice and half-rotted vegetables that they'd mashed together. But at least that was something.
"There. Was that so difficult?" His mocking tone made me want to hit him, but it would've been like a grasshopper attacking a bear. "I wish you would've been this way from the start. You would've been hurt less."
That's bullshit and you know it, I thought. Maybe my wounds wouldn't have been left to fester, but they wouldn't have hurt me less.
"Do you know when your execution is?" he asked.
Of course I don't. I've been locked in a cell for the past month.
"It's tomorrow."
I didn't feel the least bit of shock. I knew from the beginning that I wouldn't escape again. I'd been lucky before. One of the guards had been against the monarchy, and with a little bit of help I managed to escape with little to no issues. After that, however, they must have cleaned up the servants and guards; none of them seemed willing to assist. My only hope had been Morinaga, but for some reason he hadn't made any trips down here. Even now I questioned why. He was a prince, wasn't he? Couldn't he go wherever he wanted? Oh, but his brother was king. He'd probably forbidden Morinaga to visit because of the possibility of escape.
"You don't seem surprised," Ass Scar commented. "I suppose that's to be expected, though." He set the bowl down and leaned closer—uncomfortably close. "I won't lie, though. I'll miss you, Silver Assassin. Your screams were wonderful."
Just as I'd predicted, my stomach drove out the slurry-paste, and I retched not only onto myself but also onto Ass Scar. With a glare he stood.
"I'll let you get away with that. Your last day is tomorrow, after all." He closed the door to my cell when he exited, but he didn't leave. He turned to wave at me. "I'll see you tomorrow, Silver Assassin."
Some of that paste must have stayed in my stomach, since I managed to rasp out, "My hair's light blonde."
