Dragon Blood

Forty-One: Promise the Child

Jonathan watched helplessly as one of Draco's men threw another bucket of water over Skylar. He pulled at his chains with what little strength he had left, but he knew it wasn't going anywhere. Unfortunately, that wasn't what he was most worried about. What worried him most was that Skylar didn't react. She just shivered, but otherwise her chin rested on her chest. She made no noise, didn't fight the binds that held her to the chair, nothing.

This was the third day of the treatment, and everyday they did something different to her. The first day they whipped her thighs and back, the next day they'd cut into her stomach, now today they doused her with water every hour. At least, Jonathan assumed it was day by day; there was no sense of time down here in the dark.

There worst part was they weren't doing any of this to get something out of Skylar, they were just doing it to cause her pain. There was nothing either of them could do to make them stop. Although Skylar had shrunk into herself to the point where she wouldn't even talk to him after the soldiers left, although she'd hardly spoken to him to begin with. They'd tossed her on the floor and she'd curled into a ball and cried. After that she'd retreated into herself. She wouldn't tell him where she'd been, or even if she was hurt. She didn't eat either, not that the food they were given was at all appetizing.

"Leave her alone," Jonathan snapped through the dried blood and broken nose. He was miserable and he hurt, but he hadn't given up, not when he saw Skylar. He couldn't give up when she was there, she needed him.

The man scoffed and threw the empty bucket at him. The projectile hit him square in the forehead and pain exploded behind his eyes in a sea of stars. The second soldier laughed as he untied Skylar from the chair. He pulled it out from under her and she sort of crumpled to the ground. Jonathan hung there, blinking through the pain, watching her slowly give up. It broke his heart.

"Shut up, Sir," the first soldier sneered, and then spat at Jonathan's feet. "We'll leave this here, I think, until we come back down with the next bucket. So you can watch her slowly freeze."

The soldiers chuckled as they left the cell, leaving one of their two torches behind. It burned in the corner illuminating the cold, damp cell, and the wet girl curled into a bar on the floor. Jonathan wanted more than anything to go over and hold her, but his arms, which he hadn't been able to feel for days, were still locked above his head.

"Skylar," he whispered to her. She didn't move, just continued to shiver. "Love, please sit up."

There was a small bench that she would fit on if she curled into small enough of a ball, but she hadn't used it yet. She seemed committed to making herself as miserable as possible. He couldn't sit by and watch it any longer, especially now that he could see it happening, instead of just sensing it in the darkness. He could see the clammy pallor of her once beautiful skin. Her face was dirty and covered in blood. Dark bags hung beneath her eyes, and the strange clothes she wore hung in tatters around her once full frame.

He mustered up his strength, what little of it remained, and snapped. "Skylar! Get up, now!"

His voice echoed through the dungeon, but apparently cut through whatever fog had been clouding her brain. She shifted slightly and opened her eyes so the familiar blue orbs glared up at him. Luckily, those eyes were still full of life, as if someone else was behind them. Anger filled her gaze, not the weakness she'd displayed so far.

"Leave me alone, Jonathan," she croaked. It was the first thing she'd said to him since she'd said his name when she arrived. Even though she wanted him to stop talking to her, he saw it as improvement.

"No," he answered sharply, his voice raspy. "I won't leave you alone. Why are you giving up?"

She shook her head slowly, still laying on the ground. "I have no reason to go on." But her eyes didn't leave his face.