The Dark Flower (Azriel x OC)

16. Bargaining (Persephone)

With the end of the first trial, Percy wasn't led to the cell she'd been occupying for however long she'd been here. Instead she was thrown in with Feyre, who was deteriorating nearly as fast as Percy. 

The wound to Feyre's arm never stopped bleeding. Percy didn't know much about healing, but even she knew that was a bad sign. Even the blood from her back had stopped flowing so freely after the first day. 

Feyre didn't eat and Percy didn't have the strength to force her. Not when she didn't eat either - she couldn't stomach it anymore, and on the rare occasions that she tried to eat, she wasn't ever able to keep it down. It had made her sickeningly thin, her arms and legs resembling toothpicks. 

Feyre was the only one of them that spoke, though it was slowly becoming less and less common. 

The two had decided to stay curled together in the furthest corner of the cell, in a failed attempt to stave off the brutally cold temperatures of the dungeons. Percy could feel the heat coming off of Feyre from fever. Fever, that as much as Feyre would deny it, came from infection. 

"The door," Feyre wheezed from beside her. 

Percy's head twitched slightly in question. 

The room seemed to drop several degrees in temperature and Feyre let out a soft, fearful sound at something. A third heartbeat echoed through the small cell. Someone was in there with them. 

"What a sorry state for Tamlin's champion." Percy shuddered at the sound of Rhysand's voice. Of course, he was here. He'd had an unnerving fascination with Feyre from the moment they'd met. 

Feyre wrapped her good arm around Percy's shoulders dragging her closer. Percy didn't miss the way Feyre angled her body in front of hers either. That small attempt at protecting her warmed Percy's half dead heart. It was a useless gesture though. Between the two of them, Feyre's life was far more valuable. She held the key to their freedom. Percy was just a threat to hold over her father's head. 

Cold fingers brushed across Percy's brow, making her flinch back, pressing tighter against Feyre. "What would Tamlin say," Rhysand murmured thoughtfully, "if he knew his beloved was rotting away down here, burning with fever? Dying alongside the daughter he's already decided is a lost cause? Not that he can even come here, not when his every move is watched." 

"Get away," Feyre snapped, her voice pitifully hoarse. 

"I come here to offer you help, and you have the nerve to tell me to leave?" Rhysand asked mockingly. 

"Get away," Feyre repeated. 

"You made me a lot of money, you know," Rhysand told her. "I figured I would repay the favor." 

Percy shook her head faintly against Feyre. They shouldn't take anything from him. It would come at a cost higher than they'd be willing to pay. 

"Let me see your arm," Rhysand commanded her quietly.