Total pages in book: 85
Estimated words: 81261 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 406(@200wpm)___ 325(@250wpm)___ 271(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 81261 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 406(@200wpm)___ 325(@250wpm)___ 271(@300wpm)
CHAPTER 6
Nyssa
The collar and chains don’t reappear, but I’m in no way free. Amell turned me over to Calix, who took me back to the black castle. He gave me the grand tour, which essentially consisted of the kitchens where I’ll be working and then the most direct route back to my cell where I’ll sleep.
There’s nowhere for me to run or escape to. The castle is loaded with creatures that look at me as if I’m a tasty morsel, and now that I can feel pain, I don’t relish the thought of being chewed to pieces.
I can’t get a grasp on how things work here. I know Amell is considered king. I see human-looking creatures, but they’re more than human because they’re otherworldly in their beauty. Like, the most gorgeous supermodels times ten. But there are others who are distinctly not human. Are they demons? Reincarnated souls?
And why are there so many inside the castle (which is monstrous)? A city sits across the river, but I don’t know who lives there or what anyone’s purpose is.
What exactly is this Underworld used for since the judgment of souls is handled so efficiently?
I have no concept of time. Calix turns me over to a stern woman named Rhynda. I mean, she looks like a human. No horns, slime, or black glossy wings, but she’s terrifying in her own way. Her dark hair has been pulled back in a severe bun and she has a hardened resting bitch face. She wears no apron or chef’s outfit, but rather a fitted leather ensemble with metal breastplates and a flogger at her hip.
“You are lowest on the totem pole here in the kitchens,” she explains as I glance around, counting five other workers in addition to me. There are five wood-burning ovens with workers baking bread and what look like pastries. In the kitchen’s center, a wooden work table sits under a chandelier of rusted metal, illuminated by artificial balls of light.
So strange.
There’s a massive pantry on another wall, and I can see what look like strange vegetables, hanging hunks of dried meat, and baskets of dried plants.
“Your primary duties are to keep this place spotless throughout the day.”
“How long is a day?” I ask.
“As long as I tell you it is,” she snaps. “You are to serve any noble who requires something of you. They say jump, you ask how high.”
“What do you mean by serve? And what is a noble?”
“Are you stupid or something?” she asks, head tilted slightly.
“Not that I’ve ever been told,” I mutter.
“If a noble asks you to lick his boots, you lick until you’re told to stop. If a noble asks you to strip naked, you strip.”
“And if I refuse?”
The flogger materializes in Rhynda’s hand from the strap at her side, and she holds it out for inspection. “Then you get punished.”
Fuck.
She’s not done, though. She slaps the leather fronds against her palm. “If you disobey me in any way, you get this. If you look at me funny, you get this. If you so much as cause me a moment’s irritation, you get this. Am I clear?”
“Crystal,” I say sweetly with a deferential bow of my head, although I vow to find a way to poison her food if I can.
With me put firmly in my place, I’m given clothing to wear that matches the other workers—a pair of brown pants made of a material that feels like stiff denim and a brown wraparound tunic that ties at the side. My shoes are taken from me, and I’m given none to replace them, but I’m graciously allowed a strip of leather to tie my hair back.
I have no clue how many hours I work, but I’m hating the fact that Amell gave me a working body. I’m no stranger to hard work and can handle a ten-hour shift behind the bar with no issues.
But I can tell by the fatigue in my body that I’ve been working longer than ten hours. Without the comfort of good shoes, I’m limping by the time I’m allowed a small bowl of a tasteless, thick stew and then ushered back to my cell.
A man takes me back to the prison, and I waste no time in asking for information. He’s in his early thirties, I’d estimate, wearing the same type of clothing as me. His dark hair is long and greasy, his pale face smudged with dirt, and he smells. I’m guessing bathing isn’t something that’s offered.
“What’s your name?” I ask as we leave the kitchen.
He walks slowly so I can keep up, given the way I’m hobbling. “Will Goble.”
“Are you human?”
He nods, glancing over his shoulder at me. “The non-dead variety.”
“What does that even mean?” I ask.
“It means that I’m very much alive, whereas you’re dead.”
“How does that happen? How did you end up here?”