The bars did not move.
Exhausted, he fell to his knees. Tiny stones dug into his tender flesh. Great, gasping breaths rocked his body. He was no beast. He was a man. It was too easy to forget that.
Jasper took stock of his body. Cuts, scrapes, bruises, aching muscles. They could all be healed and ignored. He was not wearing a shirt. This would be a problem, considering how cold it was in the cell. There was little light to see by, other than a few sconces burning at the corners of his vision. His pants were appropriate for the lack of heat, but he wasn’t wearing shoes.
He was likely to freeze in this dungeon long before he died of starvation. However, he refused to dwell on such thoughts. Lingering in this cursed place was not in the plan. He would find a way out if it killed him in the process.
“Are you done yet?” a tiny and high pitched voice asked from within his head.
Of course. Of course she would awaken now of all times. Jasper raised a hand to rub his forehead. He spoke aloud to his creature, although he rarely did so. “Yes. Yes, I am done, Bluebell.”
“Oh good. You were quite frightening.”
“I am sorry to frighten you,” he grumbled.
“That’s quite all right. I understand sometimes you need to release a little anger. It’s not an emotion I’m particularly fond of, but I have seen many humans express such feelings. Perhaps, if you would like, we can talk about it. I have heard that such assistance is appreciated in times like these—”
“Bluebell. Please,” Jasper interrupted the incessantly annoying Fairy. “Let me think.”
“Now?”
“Yes, now.”
He heard an exasperated sigh, and thankfully the Fairy shut up. They made a pact long ago; if he asked for the space to think, she needed to respect that request. Otherwise, she would never stop talking, and he would slowly descend into an abyss of insanity.
Not that he didn’t appreciate her. He did. She was a sweet little soul who had somehow managed to stay as innocent as the day she was born. Perhaps it was simply a Fairy trait; Jasper didn’t rightly know.
But at times like these, he wanted to reach into his own head and wring her neck. Bluebell didn’t understand human emotions. Fairies were always on one extreme end of the spectrum; infinitely happy or infinitely sad. They were consistent in feeling the wrong emotion at the wrong time, such as being happy about waking up in a cage. It wasn’t her fault.
He wanted to blame her for it though.
Jasper expelled a long, slow breath and tried to calm his raging thoughts by grounding himself with the information he had. They were in a cage. He was sore, likely from the battle and gods knew what else. He was alive. That was something good to think about.
Memories were returning quickly now. He remembered the darkness and flames. But more than anything, he remembered dark eyes and red irises. Malachi. Jasper let out another long breath.
Of course it had been Malachi. What better way to get to the Five than to take one of their best soldiers out of the picture? The battle may have been targeting Wolfgang, but he and the Five had underestimated the Void’s intelligence. Malachi had a back up plan in case the Magician had been powerful enough to beat back his forces.
The Five should have known. Jasper should have known. Going headlong into battle without considering all the possible variables was unnecessarily dangerous. How many times had he drilled that into his head? Into Lyra’s?
“It’s not something you could have controlled, Jaspy,” Bluebell whispered.
“I thought I told you to be quiet,” Jasper said, amused. He had never truly been angry with her. She was like a child. Though she might argue and do things he disagreed with, Bluebell always had good intentions.
She sighed. “Being quiet is very difficult when you’re forgetting the important stuff.”
“What important stuff am I forgetting?”
“That you aren’t alone.”
In theory, the words were encouraging. He was never alone because he had a sparkly, little voice in his head cheering him on at all times. But, realistically, Jasper knew that he was going to have to battle through Malachi and all his men alone. It was a heavy weight upon his shoulders.
He sighed and ran his fingers through the mess of his hair, which was so snarled he nearly trapped himself in it. “Thank you, Bluebell.”
Those were the only words he could give her. He appreciated her support, but in the end there was little she could do for him.
“No, Jasper,” Bluebell said with another long, drawn out sigh. “Are you blind? Did Malachi take your eyes when he dropped us here?”
“Well, it is dark—”
“Jasper, there’s a person in the cell next to you.”
For once, Bluebell sounded like an adult. The words registered slowly in Jasper’s brain. Another person? Instantly, a chill danced down his spine. Doubtless, it was due to the eyes of prisoners upon him. There was always the chance it was one of Malachi’s goons, however, and he didn’t want to be lulled into feeling secure.
He tried to force himself to look. He really did. But turning to see who was watching him seemed eerily close to finding a monster underneath his bed. He was reminded of the many times he had searched the shadows of Lyra’s room, certain something was going to jump out at him. Inch by inch, he pivoted to glance over his shoulder.
He had failed to notice the multiple cages in the cave. They were lined up side by side, each the same size as his cell — a meager five paces across. The line of cages glowed in the darkness like jagged teeth, disappearing into the shadows far beyond his vision. There were too many to count, but most were full. He could hear the moaning of prisoners far down the line.
A
