The Dancer and the Masks by Bea Paige
Chapter 3
CHRISTY
Iawake with a start. Shivers wrack my body as I blink through the heavy fog of sleep and my eyes try to find a source of light in what otherwise seems like the pitch black of night. Drawing on all my senses, I notice three things at once.
It’s cold.
There’s a lingering smell of dampness and mildew.
And I’m chained to a wall.
Chained.
To.
A.
Wall.
“No! No! NO!” I shout, everything coming back to me in a rush as I remember what happened.
I’ve been kidnapped. Captured. Stolen.
They took me from the people I love. They drugged me. They’ve chained me up.
“NO!” My voice is hoarse. My throat is dry. My tongue, swollen and heavy. A thumping, pounding headache takes a hold of me and I groan. Lifting a shaking hand, I rub the pad of my fingers over my temple to try and ease the pain. Even that movement takes immense effort, given the manacles attached to both of my wrists and the chink, chink, chink of the heavy metal chain crashing like thunderclaps inside my head.
Dropping my hand, I give up on trying to rub away the pain. A tear slides down my cheek and my tongue automatically seeks it out as I desperately try to quench my thirst.
I’m so thirsty. How long have I been here? I remember nothing after Konrad injected me.
Crying is the last thing I want to do, and even though I might’ve already known my fate, had forewarning, that doesn’t change the fact that I’m scared. Knowing what’s coming and living it are two very different things.
A scream builds in my throat, but I swallow it down, forcing myself to breathe, to concentrate on what I know right here in this moment. Blinking back more tears threatening to fall, I draw in several calming breaths. The lingering lightheadedness from the drug The Masks had given me begins to ease as I regulate my jittering pulse. It still thumps, but loses its erratic beat the more I force precious oxygen into my lungs.
It’s imperative that I stay calm. I know this. So, just like I’ve trained myself to do after every vision, I ground myself in the moment. It doesn’t matter if this moment is one filled with uncertainties, with dread and anxiety. All that matters is my need to calm the well of fear inside, and not let it take hold.
“Just breathe,” I tell myself.
Pressing my back against the cold, damp wall, I draw my bare feet up, the heavy chains I’m wearing scraping across the concrete floor, chinking as I move. The sound is harsh and obtrusive in this otherwise silent room. Room? Who am I trying to kid? This is a prison, I see that now as the tiniest amount of light penetrates beneath what looks to be an iron door. I stare at that strip of light, focusing on it and what it reveals.
A stone cell. No bigger than ten feet square.
This is my fate.
This room.
These men.
The Masks.
Konrad. Leon. Jakub.
I’ve looked into the eyes of two of them, and heard the voice of the third, and I’m no better off knowing who they are, apart from the fact they believe Roger killed their father on Kate’s orders or rather their alter egos did. Beast and Grim are feared and respected in equal measure by many.
Except by these men.
Taking me is their revenge.
They came for me. They drugged me. They stole me away.
Now I’m imprisoned in their home with no idea what they intend to do to me…
That’s a lie. You know exactly what they want from you.
I do. I do know.
“You’re ours now, Zero,” Konrad had said.
Ours.
Theirs.
I’m theirs.
Konrad had shown me a glimpse of what being theirs meant. He’d touched me intimately. He did it without any thought or care, without remorse or guilt, without empathy. He stole a first of mine and tainted it. How many more firsts will he steal? Will they steal? Am I to become their plaything? Is this what my future holds? I’m to be used and abused for revenge?
Yes.
Yes, that’s exactly what they’ll do to you.
My fingers curl around the cold metal wrapped around my ankles as I try in vain to free myself. It’s a futile act, but I persist nevertheless. I’d known that The Masks were dangerous, dark, twisted men. My visions had revealed that to me, but I’d accepted that without fully understanding what it meant. I’d convinced myself that Fate knew what she was doing. That she had a plan for me, for them, for us. That she’d brought us together for a reason. A small part of me had romanticised what Fate had in store, had trusted that I’d paid the highest price already. I’d already lost my mum to Fate’s whims, and had been scarred by her capriciousness.
I believed I’d paid my due, and with that belief I’d allowed a sliver of optimism to take seed and silently grew it into hope. Whilst doing that, I’d done the one thing I vowed never to do; I had numbed myself to Fate’s cruelty, to the wickedness she could dole out when the mood took her. I had forgotten just what Fate is capable of. She had shown me as a child the extent of her savagery, and I’ve lived with the consequences of it my whole life. Fate is a wily bitch. She wears her crown of stars with pride, sprinkling love and happiness on those she feels are deserving. But like me, like The Masks, Fate has two faces, and for some reason she’s only ever shown me the barbaric one.
Pain. Anguish. Heartache. Cruelty. Death.
I’ve lived through all of it and have suffered the consequences.
Maybe Fate has chosen this path for me because, unlike everyone else, I can see my destiny and the destiny of others. Maybe it’s because I see her true face. Maybe I’m being punished for my gift that is ultimately my curse.
Maybe… Maybe… Maybe…
My shoulders drop, and I stop yanking at the shackles around my ankles. It’s futile. Even if I were strong enough to break these chains, to escape the prison cell, to find my way out of this place, away from The Masks, I know that I won’t be able to run forever.
There’s no running from Fate. No hiding.
Our fate, The Masks and mine, has been written, not in the stars— because only happy futures reside there—but sealed in death, blood and murder. She has made her decree and now I have to suffer the consequences of it. Only what Fate forgets and what The Masks have no understanding of is this: I’ve been here before. I’ve suffered before, but more importantly, I’ve survived.
* * *
“Wake up.I’ve brought you food and water,” a gentle, feminine voice says.
My eyes snap open, then slam shut almost immediately as a beam of light blazes in my face, stinging my eyes. My fingers press against my closed eyelids and I let out a groan as black spots dance behind my eyelids.
“I’m so sorry!” the voice quickly replies, swinging the light away. “I forget how dark it is down here.”
Blinking rapidly, I push upright. The uneven stone of the wall digs into my back as I move. Wincing, I suck in a pained breath.
“Are you hurt?” the young girl before me asks. She can’t be more than fifteen or sixteen years old.
Of course I’m hurt. I’m shackled to a damn wall!
That rage-filled thought slices through my mind, but I don’t voice it. Only one word comes out in its place. “Water,” I croak. The need to quench my thirst overrides everything else.
The girl nods, resting the torch on the floor by her feet. I don’t ask her who she is. I don’t even look at her for that long. Instead, my eyes focus on what she holds in her hands. I’m so, so thirsty.
“Yes, of course, here.” She places a plastic bottle in my outstretched hand. “I removed the cuffs from around your wrists whilst you slept. Drinking and eating whilst wearing them would be too difficult.”
Peeking between my slitted eyelids, I ignore every single question running through my head and concentrate on the very immediate need to slake my thirst as I press the cool lip of the bottle against my dry and cracked lips. I drink greedily, not caring that ribbons of water slide down my chin and neck.
“Easy. You’ll make yourself sick,” the girl advises. “Take slow sips. Let the water soothe you, not choke you.” Her delicate fingers press against the back of my hand, urging me to slow down. Something tells me to listen, to trust her. I sip at the water, meeting her hazel gaze warily.
“How long have I been down here?” I eventually ask.
“Almost a day. Konrad brought you down here yesterday morning.”
“I don’t remember…”
“No. You were out cold,” she says softly. There’s sympathy in her gaze. I latch onto it, desperate to understand why I’m here in this cell, who she is and why she’s brought me water and food.
“What do they mean to do to me?”
The girl chews on her lip. Indecision crossing her features. “I— I don’t know.”
She’s lying. The way her eyes flick away, avoiding my gaze, tells me as much. She knows exactly what’s going to happen to me. “Please…” I whisper.
She shakes her head, removing the bottle of water from my hand and handing me a thickly sliced sandwich filled with ham and salad. The delicious smell of bread and honey-cured meat hits my nose. “You should eat.”
“Who are you?” I ask, ignoring the rumble of hunger in my stomach and the saliva pooling in my mouth. The sandwich is pressed between my fingers, but I refuse to take a bite until she answers me. She gnaws on her bottom lip, looking over her shoulder briefly before turning back to face me. Her eyes tell me what her words can’t. We’re not alone. I swallow hard, framing the question differently. “What’s your name?”
She relaxes a little, some of the tension leaving her shoulders. “My name is Nala.”
“Nala?” I ask, my eyes trailing over her face. She’s pretty. With rosy cheeks, wide hazel eyes and long blonde hair that’s tied back off her face in a low ponytail. She’s wearing a black dress with a white pinafore. A maid’s uniform.
“That’s an unusual name…”
“It is,” she agrees with a gentle nod.
“I’m Christy,” I whisper. “Will you help me?”
“I am helping you,” she replies, cupping my hand that’s holding onto the sandwich and urging me to take a bite. “Please, eat.”
My eyes flick to the sandwich and the sudden, overwhelming urge to fill my empty stomach takes over my need to escape; after all, I won’t get very far if I don’t have the energy to move. Taking a bite, I chew gratefully, trying and failing to hide the sounds of my appreciation. She watches me eat half the sandwich before speaking again.
“That’s better.”
“Will you unlock my ankles?” I ask.
“I can’t do that. I’m so sorry.”
“Why? You don’t look like you’re happy about me being here.”
“You can’t leave. No one leaves.”
“I was kidnapped. Please, I just want to go home. You’ll help me, won’t you?”
Her eyes widen and my need to question her reaction dissolves on my lips as she shakes her head. “Finish the sandwich. You’ll need your strength.”
“My strength?” They way she says it is layered with meaning. “What do you mean by that?”
“Konrad will come for you soon.”
“Nala!” An older male voice snaps.
She stiffens, and we both look over her shoulder at the man standing in the open doorway, an old-fashioned gas lamp held aloft in front of him. It casts his features in shadows and light, the lines and wrinkles on his face distorted, making him look ancient, decrepit. When he lowers the gas lamp, the shadows recede to reveal a man that looks to be in his early seventies. Thinning, white hair covers his balding head, and liver spots dot the skin of his hands and face. He has a white goatee beard and, surprisingly kind, watery blue eyes.
“Who are you?” I snap, unable to reel in my temper. The girl before me is a child. He’s an elderly man who should know better.
“I’m Renard, the butler here at Ardelby Castle. This is my granddaughter, Nala,” he explains, turning his attention back to the girl before me.
“Ardelby Castle? That’s not in Wales.”
“Wales? No. We’re in the Scottish Highlands,” Nala says.
“I’m in Scotland?”
She nods her head. “Yes. It’s very remote here.”
“Nala enough.” Renard warns. “We need to go.”
“I know.” She looks at me apologetically. “I’m sorry, Christy.”
“Don’t call her by her name. You know the rules,” he admonishes, reaching for a gold fob watch hanging from his black waistcoat pocket.
“What’s that supposed to mean? Don’t call me by my name? What rules?” With sustenance comes anger. It’s fiery and alive and I grasp hold of it, determined not to be weak.
“He’ll be back soon. We need to leave. If Konrad finds us down here...” she says, her voice trailing off as she glances at her grandfather.
He sighs, and the kindness in his eyes is tempered with a sad kind of acceptance. “I shall tell you what I told the other Numbers—”
I cut him off. “There are more people imprisoned here?”
“There’s no escape,” he continues, refusing to answer my question. “Even if you managed to leave the castle grounds you would lose yourself in the forest surrounding it, swallowed up by ancient trees and devoured by the wild animals that roam there. The sooner you accept your position here, the easier it will be for you.”
“The other Numbers…? My position?” I look from Reynard back to Nala, who is reattaching the manacles to my left wrist. I don’t even bother to fight her, too shocked to do much else but ask questions. “Are you a Number?”
“No. I'm a staff member here at the castle, just like my grandfather. The Numbers are… more,” she says.
I watch in horror as she turns the key with a resounding click, repeating the action until both wrists are secure. “No, please. Let me go.” I beg, dropping the uneaten half of the sandwich to the stone floor, forgetting my hunger.
“I’m sorry, I have to go. Eat the sandwich. Make sure there’s nothing left. They can’t know we came. Promise me you won’t tell them we were here.”
“What will happen if I do?” I ask, hardening my heart against her fear. She’s young, just a child, and my natural instincts are to trust her, protect her, but I force those feelings away in the moment. She just reattached the manacles, after all.
“They’ll kill us.”
Shock renders me speechless. The skin on my back prickles and I know that she’s telling the truth. Grabbing the torch, Nala gets to her feet. With one last tight smile, she turns on her heel and walks past Renard standing in the doorway and out into the darkened corridor beyond. He sighs, tipping his head and lowering his gaze. It’s a respectful gesture, surprising given the circumstances.
“Welcome to Ardelby Castle, Miss.”
“Wait—”
He doesn’t. The iron door slams shut, pitching me back into darkness once more.