The Last Flame - Crystal Bow

Chapter 17

Buckie groaned and twisted as he tried to get to sleep. His entire body ached and waves of pain came up from his ankle. He'd tried to set it and failed horribly; it was clearly broken, not just dislocated, and it was starting to become a yellowish color. Buckie could tell that it was infected.

The King visited early in the morning. It had been a few days since Buckie broke his leg and he glared at the King from the bed. He didn't have the energy to go over to him.

"Hello, Buckie." Saphaer grinned. "I've come over for my weekly rounds, as I do."

"Shut the fuck up." Buckie spat. "You're torturing me, you don't get to talk to me like I'm your fucking friend."

"Someone's angry." The King tilted his head. "I thought you were still young. You know some very colorful language, boy."

Buckie flipped up the middle finger at him and looked up at the ceiling.

"Hey, Buckie, a few questions? All trivial, I swear."

"No." Buckie spat.

Saphaer went on and asked anyways. "What's your favorite color? Mines is purple."

Buckie was silent. He refused to give him the satisfaction of answering.

"Oh, come on. I could just not come here at all, you know." Saphaer shrugged. Buckie huffed. "I wish you didn't."

There was silence and Buckie looked over to see that the King had left. "About time." He scoffed, looking up.

++++

Buckie wasn't sure when he fell asleep but when he woke up, he found bread across his cell on the floor. Buckie groaned in pain and frustration and pushed himself up, hobbling over to the bread. He didn't wince as much every time a thorn pierced his foot. His feet were numb after all of the pain, and the soles of them had started to grow tough.

Buckie ate his bread and returned to his firm mattress, only tripping once on the way. He stuck his hands out to catch himself and hit the floor with so much force that one of the thorns pierced his hand and went through. Buckie stared at the bloodied tip of the thorn through his hand. He threw up.

Buckie felt nauseous when he got to his mattress and he pulled the thorn out, staring at the gushing blood. He tore a piece of his dirty clothing and wrapped his hand, wincing at the pain. He was going to die of infection if he kept this up. Buckie went to sleep. He refused to cry.

The next morning when Buckie woke up, for the first time since he moved cells, he struggled to shake off the lethargy. Buckie pushed himself up to a sitting position and looked across the room. No bread, not this time. He looked down and unwrapped his hand when he saw the blood had stopped.

Buckie stared at his wound in shock. It had fully healed over. As Buckie checked his other wounds, he found that he had completely healed-of course, his foot was twisted and healed wrongly, but it didn't hurt anymore.

The vomit was cleared up but the blood wasn't. Buckie felt nausious looking at it. He held his hand for a moment before looking around. Nobody was there.

Buckie laid down and went back to sleep. He refused to cry.

++++

The next week, Saphaer didn't come. Buckie wondered if he had taken his warning, and for the first few hours, he was relieved.

But Buckie found himself bored. Without hobbling around-he could barely call it pacing, now that he was a cripple-and hurting himself, there wasn't much to do. And if he did pace, it left him bleeding and injured. Still, Buckie refused to cry.

++++

The third week, Buckie was still alone. He had never spotted the servants when he was fed; he was starting to think that they used magic to feed him, and he was starting to catch on.

He'd been falling asleep fairly soundly recently, especially as the new moon came.

Buckie, bored and a little bit lonely, gave himself a challenge to find a way around the thorns. It was no use, however, because his feet were too big and the thorns were far too close together. Buckie clenched his fists and sat down on the firm mattress. He sighed and went back to sleep. He refused to cry.

++++

On the fourth week, Buckie tried to apologize .

"I didn't mean it!" He yelled. "I'm sorry! Please come back...I'm lonely..."

It was no use. There were no signs of response. Buckie cupped his face in his hands and pushed back tears.

He returned to his mattress. "Alright, Buckie. You're stuck in a hellish cell filled with thorns. You haven't interacted with anybody in a month. How are you going to get out of this?" He paused and then let out an angry groan. Now he was talking to himself! Still, Buckie refused to cry. He closed his eyes and went back to sleep.

++++

By the fifth week, Buckie snapped. He lay on the mattress, sobbing quietly to himself. It didn't matter who it was; he needed to talk to somebody. Even the crazy Blighted fae from the dungeons would be welcome. Buckie whimpered and curled into himself, sobbing pitifully as he thought about himself.

Is this what he'd been reduced to? Every rib was outlined against his shirt, he'd grown so skinny that he could fit an entire loaf of bread in the shirt longways and still have room. His face was gaunt and filled with tears, his hair a mess of thorns and blood clots and tangles. The cell was covered in blood, the smell of it filling Buckie's nostrils with each breath. His blood.

He had several scars that would never heal on their own. He had one in the shape of a star on his palm from when the thorn had pierced it. His feet were covered in scars and bruises and blisters. His hands were calloused and Buckie paused for a moment. What awaited for him after this? He had no possessions as it was and he wasn't likely to make it out alive. Buckie closed his fist around part of his shirt. It hung loosely and would be easy to rip off. He could simply...free himself.

Buckie let out a sigh and released his shirt. No, he would fight on. Tears poured down his cheeks once more and he curled up on his bed.

++++

On the sixth week, Saphaer came.

"You-You bitch! You came back!" Buckie was practically in tears. "Please...don't leave again..."

Saphaer blinked slowly. "Alright. Well, are you prepared to talk now?"

Buckie sat down as best he could on the firm mattress. "Sure. Let's talk."