Chapter 63: Fifty-Seven

The wound in my side hurt like hell.

It had been two days since the first trial. Two days of sitting in my cell and allowing my wound to get worse. But above both of those things, I was tragically bored.

The adrenaline from the task had worn off within an hour after the task and my pain had increased tenfold in the time since. My body had been covered in beads of cold sweat and my head felt cloudy like my thoughts were scrambled. My pulse had sped rapidly in my chest and had grown faint while my breath came in short pants. I was losing too much blood that had yet to stop flowing from the wound I had been attempting to tend to with very limited resources. By that I meant none.

I had been injured enough times in my life to know what the beginning signs of blood loss and infection were. And when my nausea seemed to make the room spin on and off for hours on end I knew that it was not a good sign. After a while, my body shook so forcefully with chills that I was out of breath.

My wound was a long gash, spreading from my left hip to my navel. It wasn't deep enough to hit anything vital. But deep enough I'd need stitches—stitches that I didn't have access to. My wound was worsening rapidly in my dark and dirty cell. I was unable to clean it at all so the mud that coated my body hadn't been helping.

I wasn't waiting for Lucien to heal me as he did with my sister. I was certain I concealed my wound well when I spoke with Amarantha.

I might die here.

The thought struck me like a blow.

Death.

I'd never really thought about the notion. It all seemed so tedious growing up. Though, I suppose everyone thinks that until you actually face it.

I always believed I'd die in a blaze of glory or on a mission—I knew I'd never die a peaceful death, I didn't lead that kind of life. But infection was definitely not how I thought I'd go down.

I was certain I was beginning to hallucinate as my door seemed to sway in front of me Like a cloud with some kind of mist that looked like night itself swirled around it. But as the High Lord of the Night Court became fully corporeal before my eyes, I knew It was real.

Of course.

I couldn't be left to die in peace, Rhysand just had to rub it in.

"You here to finish me off, sweetheart?" I asked in my weakened state.

Rhysand hummed, "What a sorry state for Tamlin's champion."

"Ew," I groaned before I went into a small coughing fit. "I might be a prisoner but that was low." disgusting. That was the greatest insult anyone could deal me.

Rhysand stalked closer, crouching down next to me in the sorry corner I was sitting in, "You don't look so good." his face held such vanity, that I wished I had the energy to punch it off his face.

I got a little irritable when I was sick.

"Oh, Rhysand, no wonder you're not in favor with the ladies if that's how to deal out compliments." I had practically whispered the sentence as it was interrupted by gasps and pants. I'm sure I looked like a mess.

Rhysand chuckled—a sound that seemed to blend with the shadows. He reached his hand up and I didn't have the energy to swat his hand away as he touched it to my brow. He cocked his head, "What would Feyre say," He murmured, "If she knew her sister was rotting away down here, burning up with a fever?"

Sister. He knew we were sisters and yet Amarantha didn't. Why wouldn't he tell her?

"Go to hell," I breathed out. My throat had gone dry.

He was interrupting my inner death monologue and I found that quite rude. He needed to leave.

Rhysand raised a brow, looking at me like I was insane, "I come here to offer you help, and you have the nerve to tell me to leave?"

My eyes fluttered with the effort it took to keep them open. I tried to breathe deep, but my lungs felt like they were caving in on themselves. My head dropped as the strength I had left to keep myself upright left me.

I tried and failed to right myself again, but I scoffed at Rhysand anyway, "leave me be." I took a few breaths, "I'd prefer to die in peace."

"You made me a lot of money, you know. I figured I would repay the favor."

I managed to lift my head, using the wall behind me as support. Everything around me spun like a hurricane. Spinning. Spinning. I had to force my nausea down.

"Let me see your wound." He said too quietly.

I wound have moved my arm to cover my bloody shirt, but they were lead.

"Let me see it." He growled, If my eyes were open I was sure he would have looked annoyed. Without waiting for me to do anything he lifted my shirt only barely revealing the long gash.

The cold air hit my wound, and I ground my teeth together to keep myself from reacting. Rhysand gingerly touched a finger to the edge of my wound, and I bit my lip—drawing blood to keep from screaming. He pulled his hand away inspecting the blood that coated his fingers.

Rhysand examined my wound again, a smile appearing on his sensuous lips. "Oh, that's wonderfully gruesome." I swore at the high lord, he chuckled, "Such foul words from a lady."

I wheezed a breath, "Get out."

"Don't you want me to heal you?"

"At what cost?" I asked, my head still leaning against the wall.

"Ah, that. Living amongst faeries has taught you some of our ways." I laughed. If only he knew the half of it.

Rhysand stood, covering my wound with my shirt again. "I'll make a trade with you." the fabric set my wound on fire and I forced myself to give no reaction. "I'll heal your wound in exchange for you. For two weeks every month, two weeks of my choosing, you'll live with me at the Night Court. Starting after this messy three-trials business."

I chuckled and it sent me into another coughing fit, "I'm not a fool, Rhysand." I paused, gathering myself, "I've already made two too many bargains here." I opened my eyes finally. Looking into the violet depths of his own, "Would you like me to spell it out for you n-o. No."

"No?" He crouched again. Leaning his hands on his knees and coming closer, "Really?"

The rocks on the walls began to dance around the room, "Go away."

"You'd turn down my offer—and for what?" I didn't reply—I would have, but I thought that if I opened my mouth I would have vomited, "You must be holding out for one of your friends—for Lucien, correct? He healed you sister before, didn't he?" I shook my head, denying his accusations, "The way I see things, Danika, you have two options. The first, and the smartest, would be to accept my offer." Rhysand was now pacing around my cell—no, stomping was more accurate.

"The second option—and the one only a fool would make—would be for you to refuse my offer and place your life, and thus Tamlin and Feyre's life, in the hands of chance."

"You nearly had me until you brought Tiny-Tam into the picture." A bead of sweat rolled down my forehead and my heartbeat was beating so fast I thought it would burst from my chest.

He kneeled in front of me again, his patience wearing down, "Let's say I walk out of here. Perhaps Lucien will come to your aid within five minutes of my leaving. Perhaps he'll come in five days. Perhaps he won't come at all. Between you and me, he's been keeping a rather low profile after his rather embarrassing outburst at your trial. Amarantha's not exactly pleased with him. Tamlin even broke his delightful brooding to beg for him to be spared—such a noble warrior, the High Lord. She listened, of course—but only after she made Tamlin bestow Luciens punishment. Twenty lashes."

My stomach dropped to the floor. My fault. That was my fault. He had warned me and suffered the punishment on my behalf. Twenty lashes.

Rhysand shrugged, a beautiful, easy gesture, "So, it's really a question of how much you're willing to trust Lucien—and how much you're willing to risk for it. You already know your wound is getting infected. Maybe that wyrms mud isn't full of festering filth. And maybe Amarantha will send a healer, and maybe by that time, you'll either be dead, or they'll find your wound so infected it will be a lost cause anyway."

All things I already knew. I was just waiting for a reason that didn't involve me.

Death scared me, yes. But I had long ago come to terms with it. I often thought about it as a reprieve from my life. Mercy. My only worries about going were the implications it would have on Prythian and its people. I may hate Faeries, but no one deserved to spend their lives under the rule of a cruel queen.

"I don't need to invade your thoughts to know these things."

"You know nothing." I seethed, trying to sound as intimidating as I could in my condition.

Rhysand smiled, "You're dying." I glared at him. I knew it all ready, but somehow someone else saying it made it more real. "How much are you willing to risk in the hope that another form of help will come?"

I stared at him; my hate unfathomable.

"Well?"

I bared my teeth, "Go. To. Hell."

Swift as wind, he lashed out placing his palm flat on my cut and applying pressure. I cried out as fire lashed its way up through my body. I flashed in and out of consciousness. I didn't move—I knew better than that.

Panting as pain laced my veins. I opened my eyes, wishing I could tear him apart limb from limb. I spat in his face. "You'll pay for that."

He only laughed as he stood again, wiping his cheek with eh dark sleeve of his tunic.

"This is the last time I'll extend my assistance," he said pausing by the cell door, "Once I leave this cell, my offer is dead." I was seething, "I bet you'll be spitting in death's face when she comes to claim you, too."

He began to ripple with darkness, the stark lines of his face and body blurring at the edges.

I'd be stupid if I didn't at least consider his bargain and the consequences. If I took I wouldn't leave Feyre alone here—I knew full well she could handle herself, but if anything did happen to her...

I had been on the receiving end of a whip and I knew Lucien would be incapacitated for days to come—not that I expected him to come in the first place.

I was dying. And as much as I hated it, Rhysand was my only option other than death.

Rhysands skin began to darken into nothing but a shadow, "Wait." I whispered as the last bit of my strength left me.

For my sister. For the people of Prythian, I'd do it.

"Wait," I said again as my pants grew harsher.

The darkness around Rhysand vanished, leaving him here before me again, "Yes?"

"Five days." I spoke.

Rhysand cocked his head, "Are you bargaining with me?"

"Five days," I repeated.

"Ten days." The High Lord countered.

"A week."

He was silent for a moment, his eyes traveling along with me before he said, "A week it is."

"Then it's a deal." A metallic taste filled my mouth as magic radiated through my cell with force.

His smile grew wild and before I knew it he had placed his palm against my wound again. There was a blinding pain as my scream shattered through my ears before there was nothing at all.

─── · 。ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Rhysand was still grinning as I woke. I didn't know how long I'd been unconscious. I no longer had a fever, and my head was coherent as I sat up straight. I looked down at myself noticing that all the mud that had plastered my body was gone.

I lifted my black shirt, seeing that the wound that had sliced along the left side of my body was gone, but what startled me was the fact that my hand was covered with swirls of black ink running up to my elbow. I turned my hand over looking at my palm; now covered with an eye that looked oddly like the High Lords aside from the slitted pupil.

I looked at the High Lord, standing up as I faced him, "What did you do?"

He ran a hand through his short, dark hair, "It's custom in my court for bargains to be permanently marked upon flesh."

"I'm not a part of your court," I stated slowly as I reeled in my anger.

Rhysand smirked, "For a week every month you are." I closed my eyes as I tried not to murder him.

"Get rid of it." The only tattoo I wanted was the one I already had.

"You humans are truly grateful creatures, aren't you?"

From afar the tattoo looked like a detailed lace glove, but as you looked closer, the ink that seemed like it was void of color itself came into view. It wasn't ugly. But to have a constant reminder of my bargain with Rhysand and the fact I was his to control for a week every month was torture.

I was stupid. I should have asked if the bargain held any consequences. I sighed, pinching the bridge of my nose. Cauldron boil me, what was my sister going to think.

I looked at Rhysand, noticing he had gravitated to the cell door, "I wonder what Tamlin will think."

That was the only part about this I would enjoy—I knew the anger and annoyance that would cross his eyes would make me happy inside.

"I think I'll wait to tell him until the moments right, though," he continued. The gleam in his eyes told me enough. He hadn't done it to save me, he'd done it to hurt Tamlin. The thought wasn't unwelcome. Though, I did feel a little betrayed, oddly enough.

"Rest up, Danika," he said before he turned into a living shadow and vanished through the cracks of the door.

─── · 。ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

A/N: I know using Feyre's tattoo thing was a little cheap but I tried something else and someplot lines didn't line up, so using Feyres tattoo it is.

also this is unedited.

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