Free The Toll by Jeanette Lynn Page A

on deaf
ears.
    Slumping down hours later, wet, tired
and cold, utterly defeated, I broke out into angry, noisy sobs,
curling up in a ball as I cried myself to sleep.
     
     
    ****
     
     
    The next morning I didn’t fare any
better, waking up with swollen lids and a stuffy nose. My body
protested any and all movement, and my clothes were still soaked
through. It was going to be a miserable day.
    When my eyes finally opened, I shot
up, shocked. The opening to the bridge wasn’t there, and in its
place was another cave wall. My heart wept at the sight of it,
crying out as mournfully as I did.
    “ It’ll be back tonight,
nugget, ye can bet on that.”
    My head shot toward the familiar,
disgruntled voice.
    “ You tricked me,” I
accused, rubbing my throat when my voice wouldn’t come out above a
croak. It felt thick and swollen, raw, inside and out.
    “ Isna that what ye was
tryin’ ta do ta me?” he shot back, my cage rattling ominously as he
lowered it.
    Lips clamped shut to keep from
chattering, I gave him a death glare as he slowly came into
view.
    “ I didn’t know they were
paste!” I tried to shout.
    His thick, dark grey lips quirked up,
but just at the corners. “A likely story, little nugget, but I aint
buyin’ it, so shut it. Been dealin’ wit’ yer kind fer years. Liars,
all of ya. Tricky little cheats.”
    “ I don’t lie!” I protested,
my voice cracking like a young male coming into his own.
    “ Oh, an’ I’m the belle ‘o’
the ball,” he muttered sarcastically, shoving things at me from
through the bars.
    “ I didn’t,” I gritted
out.
    “ Save it.”
    Grunting, he walked away, leaving my
cage on the cave floor, still locked, and left me to rifle through
the fabric he’d tossed through the bars.
    A half a loaf of bread was wrapped in
one, along with a flagon of what I assumed was water, and a giant
white mass of material, shaped like an odd tent with
sleeves.
    “ What is it?” I asked
myself aloud, trying to figure out which way was up.
    “ It’s dry an’ it’ll fit, is
what. So put it on before ye start ta mold.”
    “ Why, so you can sell my
clothes to the poor for twice what they’re worth?” I may have
snickered a little, but I was wallowing in self-loathing and
bitterness at the moment.
    “ Hurry up or ye’ll stink up
me place,” he snapped, opening and shutting the trunks scattered
about the space angrily.
    “ It would probably be an
improvement,” I muttered under my breath.
    Snarling, troll growled, “Get dressed,
ye have work ta do.”
    Sniffing, I made no move to dress,
plopping down mutinously on the floor. As I landed, I ignored the
disgusting squish sound I made and the discomfort it
caused.
    “ Make me.” Rolling my eyes,
I let the bread and the flagon roll out of the cage bars and onto
the floor, defiant as I met his gaze head on.
    The troll charged up to my cage and
pushed his thick, meaty arm through, yanking me to him by the front
of my bodice.
    All those things Trystan had told me
about the troll came flashing back, and true fear settled in, his
breath fanning, hot and menacing, across my face.
    Glaring at me silently, he turned his
huge fist, and I felt the stitches in the back of my dress pulling
as the fabric gathered, coming apart at the seams. Gasping, I
winced as it squeezed my chest.
    If he kept it up, I was sure it would
pop in the back and all of it would fall away like tissue
paper.
    The stitches finally did give as he
twisted it farther, and I felt my sleeves slip down my pale
shoulders.
    My hands met his over the top of my
bodice, the only thing holding my breasts from his view.
    “ Please,” I begged. “Please
don’t.”
    Eyes flashing, he snarled in my face,
the smell of ale and something else wafting across. Something not
entirely unpleasant, but strong. Maybe cinnamon.
    My limbs started shaking, and he
stopped snarling, blowing his warm breath once more across my face
as he let out a slow, even breath. Eyes narrowing, he glanced