Aery barely had time to raise her dagger before a second needle pricked her neck. The word spoken was Calaculla. Calaculla. But... Celaena was going to Endovier. Endovier and Calaculla were half a realm apart. They'd be separated. "Celaena..." she whispered. And then the world went black.
Until suddenly it wasn't black, but lit by dim, flickering firelight. Someone prodded her back, and she stumbled forward and fell as her shackles went tight. The overseer grabbed her by the arm and hauled her to her feet. A few of the slaves looked up at her with dull curiosity and as she passed she heard more than one whip crack.
The overseer, hauling on her arm, led her to one of the chain gangs that had an open spot. Within moments her shackles were clipped in with theirs. "Your workshift begins in ten minutes." And then chuckling, he went back to the top of the tunnel to exchange bets with the other overseer on how long Aery would last. They agreed; less than three days. Aery couldn't hear that, of course, but it was plain by the raised eyebrows of the other slaves that the men were discussing something interesting.
One tried to say something to her; she couldn't read his lips clearly enough to make it out. "You know, I can't hear anything." She said softly. "Don't try talking to me until my eyes have quit fuzzing out from the Gloriella they hit me with."
The one in front of her turned and used hand-signals. YOU DEAF?
Aery nodded.
THEY NOT LIKE DEAF WORKERS.
Aery shrugged. "It was a punishment."
PUNISHMENT FOR WHAT? WHO YOU KILL?
Aery winced, but decided to tell the truth. "Aleksander Silverheart, the successor after Hollin Havilliard was assassinated."
One of the other slaves looked at her closely. YOU KNOW AERIENNA? SHE O-K?
So did another. AERIENNA? SHE QUEEN NOW?
A third, a boy maybe four years older than Aery herself. SAVE US SHE WILL. SHE QUEEN OF MERCY. And with a lump in her throat she suddenly recognized him. Aiden. One of the street boys who'd first taught her the ways of the street, the one who taught her to conceal her identity. The one who'd taught her the sign language.
"She can't save you, when she can't even save herself. Not when she's stuck a mile below the ground in a labor camp where the average life expectancy is two weeks." She reached under the thin shirt that was all she wore and found the charm, rubbing it over her fingers to reassure herself. She didn't dare look at the others' facial expressions, except for Aiden, whose hand shot out across the chain and gripped hers in their secret handshake from his street days. She started to cry.
And then the whip cracked white-hot across her back, leaving her gasping in agony. Three times, four times, five times. Blood running down her back. Pain, bad pain. The chain went tight and yanked her along, down the tunnel further, into the mines themselves.