Chapter 25: A Game of Masks
Chapter 25: A Game of Masks
"Yes, Oliver shouted, his voice cracking through the cages like a whip. "Stay away from me, diseased rat! Useless garbage!" His words sliced the silence, shocking not only Velma but also the other prisoners packed tightly in the rusted iron cages. Her swollen face twisted in confusion, eyes searching for a reason, a hint of truth, but all she saw was a stranger wearing her brother's face. One of her eyes, bruised and bloodied, fluttered shut as she stumbled back, pain consuming her expression.
A soldier barked an order as he stepped into the cage, then kicked Oliver hard in the chest, sending him crashing into the cage bars. The timing was perfect.
Just as Oliver hit the metal, the nobles arrived. They were young, no older than twenty, with pride stitched into their spines and arrogance in their eyes. Robes of high quality, dyed deep with indigo, crimson, and emerald, fluttered slightly as they walked. Each bore the sigil of their house upon their chest—embroidered seals of ancient bloodlines, some polished with generations of power.
Two of them bore the signet of the Vontell branch family, the same lineage Seraphina cane from, but seen as far lesser. Their noses turned up as they scanned the caged slaves like cattle. A few of them scoffed when they saw Velma.
"Ugh. That one looks half-dead."
"Probably full of lice."
"Reminds me of a mangy dog I once had put down."
Their laughter was as hollow as their empathy. Then one noble pointed beyond Velma, gesturing at another girl curled up near the cage corner. "That one," he muttered. "She's still fresh."
Oliver stood at the edge, his hands trembling. His mind echoed with guilt, whispering accusations at what he had just done. Even if it was necessary, it still tasted bitter. 'I'm sorry—I'm so sorry.'
These were words his mind screamed, but his tongue was too tied to release.