Of Trouts and Jewels | ✅

Chapter Fourteen

Again, I'm hauled through narrow corridors of tightly packed soil, although Igris yanks me harder than the woman did. There's no smile on his face anymore; instead, his lips are in one straight line.

At the end of this corridor, there's a closed door. It's made from rotting wood and doesn't fit the space properly so I can see thin bars of light on every side.

Without a word, Igris yanks the door open, flings me into the room and slams the door shut behind him.

The room is spacious, with a high ceiling that curves around my head like a dome. Like before, lanterns scatter the walls, flickering greedily. But that's not all.

The noise.

All around, there are hundreds of people, all huddled in a huge group, blocking my view from whatever lies beyond. As the sound of the door slamming echoes around the room, faces turn to mine, and that's when I realise that everyone is staring at me.

I stagger to my feet, gazing round at all of the faces; some expectant, others confused, some angry. But they all have pointed ears.

The air cracks with so much tension I can almost feel it fizz.

Then, a voice in the silence.

"¿Quién es?" It's a strange voice. Velvety and deep, but also owning power. The sort of power that makes planets collide.

"Un niño," replies someone in the crowd. And then there are shouts of 'un niño' until the echoes ring around the room.

There's a muffled cough, and the deadly silence returns.

"Tráele aqui."

The sea of bodies parts, separating to two ends of the room. Some people gesture for me to walk down the centre aisle, but it was clear from the start.

My breathing quickens as I look down the narrow strip to the man standing on the other side of the room. He is wearing a long cloak of some kind, and someone sits at his feet, someone with long, black hair.

I could notice those green eyes anywhere.

"Bea?" I call out.

The head turns, an expression of recognition of its face. Then she begins to get up, but the man's foot pushes her back down with a quick "No. Espera a que llegue."

The long walk towards them is intimidating. Whichever way I turn I can never be truly rid of all the faces.

The man's appearance gets clearer as I arrive. His skin is tanned, eyebrows thick, eyes dark and glassy, a slight stubble tracing his chin. His long, black hair tucks neatly behind his pointed ears from which two long, precious rubies dangle, catching in the soft glow the lanterns cast. His tunic is long and silky, displaying an array of all the colours of the spectrum. His feet are bare and calloused, as are the hands that hold a golden staff dug into the soil.

Bea stands up. Her hair is tousled; I catch a few rips in her shirt, and there is an ugly, purpling bruise on the bone under her right eye. Her lips are cracked, and I catch her trembling hands curled into fists.

Get the hell out of here, she mouths.

I open my mouth to reply, but the man's silky voice interrupts us.

"¿Él es tu amigo?"

Slowly, like a frightened doe, Bea nods. "No habla español."

"¿Inglés?"

Bea nods again.

"Well," says the man to me. Hearing the soft accent intertwine with his words does nothing to comfort me. "Julian." He smiles, and his blackening teeth make him look like a crocodile about to face its last meal. "Beatriz has told me a lot about you... and your group of diggers."

From far away, the door opens and closes. People are leaving the room.

"Before I go into anything drastic, I think it'd be good of me to introduce myself. I am the King of the Underworld as you can see; we are in a world below everything else."

Or hell, I can almost hear Bea say.

"But you shall call me Your Highness." The King takes almost no pause for breath. "Now look around you and tell me what you see."

He gestures to the floor. I glance downwards and gasp when I see tons of thousands of tiny stones, all glittering in the soft golden torchlight. There are rubies, emeralds, topazes, as well as many others that I can't name.

"All of these gems were stolen," he tells me. "Do you know by who?"

Glancing at him, I shake my head. All the while, I'm trying to figure out if this is meant to be a lure into a trap of some sort.

"By her!" snarls the man, whipping round to face Bea. "This girlfriend of yours had the cheek to take the stones off the very pedestal the diamond was sitting on."

Bea takes a step back, eyes wide.

"What?" I almost splutter. "You stole these stones?"

I search her face for any denial, and the worst part is that I don't find any.

"Here's what I know," the King spits to me, his grip tightening on his staff. "You and your little diggers come on a little trip and find yourself a lovely diamond. But little do you know that it doesn't belong to you. That diamond is mine!" His voice raises to a level where I flinch uncontrollably. "And this puta right here steals the stones of it and expects to not to be punished."

His staff clutters to the floor. And that is the end of everything.

He darts out and yanks on Bea's hair, causing her to screech in pain. Then he brings her hands behind her back in a tenacious grip. She struggles against him, crying out when he strikes her cheek.

"Stop that!" I yell, making a move forward. Anger soars through me, pulsing through me like a second heartbeat.

But I'm pulled backwards, hands interlocking into my arms, dragging me along the soil. I wrestle against them; I hit flesh a few times, but it's no use. Far across the room, I can see the King still with his arms around Bea. She thrashes and thrashes, and his smile gets wider.

"Don't hurt her," I bleat out. It barely leaves my lips. "Don't hurt her."

And the last thing I see of Bea is her green eyes, wide in terror.