It was impossible to judge anything in such nearly complete darkness. But it was enough to tell her that yet another new day had arrived. Good or bad, only time would tell. How many days had she been here? Two? No. This was the third new day. She’d been locked here in the darkness, in the cold, musty cavernous space, in the near silence for three horribly long days and nights. All that broke the monotony of time was when a guard came once a day to empty her chamber pot, bring her a cup of water and a scrap of bread. The guard had barely spoken to her. She’d pleaded every time to be allowed to see Nicholas, only to have the man growl, “Still unconscious.” Her stomach knotted with pain, no longer even rumbling from hunger. She hadn’t eaten anything in nearly four days. The rats always managed to get to the puny piece of bread dropped into the trencher before her. And her throat was parched. A small cup of water each day wasn’t nearly enough. But she refused to beg for more bread or more water.
