11. The Dungeons
11
THE DUNGEONS
" W atch your step."
Luella’s foot hovered over nothing, and she gasped, fingers grasping a firm arm in the darkness as she attempted to steady herself.
She had almost fallen, teetered right over the edge and down below.
Tharen settled a hand on her lower back, fingers spreading out against her torn slip as he righted her. She gave a sharp inhale at the touch, his finger skimming along a bare bit of her skin from how her gown had torn. The sound of her breathing was far too loud in the quiet darkness.
She itched for a change of clothes. Something clean and comfortable that smelled of home. Sunkissed ground and warm herbal tea brewed from the heat of the sun in the summertime. She would never again have such a comfort—have any of her well-loved comforts.
Head lowered, her eyes strained in the darkness as she tangled her fingers in the back of Graves’s cloak, she was careful not to touch him but needed a guide in this looming darkness she was being led through. He stiffened under the touch, her hands tugging slightly against his cloak. But he did not look back at her.
Their eyes were far better than hers, she knew. The fae were second to the humans when it came to physical prowess and senses; far more delicate creatures, sensitive to much and suspectable to many an ailment or injury. Without magic, that was a large part of why her parents had kept her hidden away. That… and out of embarrassment.
The doorway had immediately given way to a winding staircase, circling down and down to a pit of total darkness. Her throat tightened from the drop below. She couldn’t quite see the full expanse of the drop in the dark, but she could sense it. An echoing cavern of hollowness. There were no railings or guardrails to keep her safe. One little tumble, and she would fall into nothingness.
She wondered if maybe it would be a swifter end than the future she so hesitantly walked toward.
The echo of her bare feet bounced off the walls above and skittered down below. Her breath was far too loud to her own ears. Slightly panicked and short. More than just mere exertion and exhaustion. Fear. It clouded her mind and riddled her bones with little aftershocks. She was tired, she was weary, but far more than that, she was afraid.
A small niggling thought in the depths of the shadows where her magicless soul lay wished the soldiers from last night had killed her, too. She would be nothing more than an empty shell, thrown to the wolves or turned to ash in the fire pits where bodies were burned.
In exhaustion, her shoulders caved inward, steps faltering as she stumbled to the side, threatening to fall.
"Almost there," Tharen whispered into her ear from behind her. She wanted to believe him, even though she knew it wasn’t smart.
But where would she be without hope?
Just when Luella felt she could walk no more, when her feet felt like lead and her eyes drooped, they arrived at the bottom of the stairs.
Graves parted away from the front, a gloved hand reaching back for her as he turned. "This way."
Tharen shoved her forward, herding her into Graves’s awaiting arms.
The room was dank, musty, and dark—just as she had imagined. An endless sea of cages lined the walls. Iron doors with fortified bars and ceilings with low, sharp points. As she nearly fell into Graves, her bare foot splashed in a puddle of what she hoped was water. In the darkness, it was hard to tell.
A sharp crackle and fire was born. Luella whipped her head around, only to see Tharen waving a hand, red-orange flames dancing along his palms and curling over his fingers. It cast shadows on his face and made his features appear even more severe and scary. The hollows of his cheeks and the sharpness of his jaw were more pronounced.
She gulped.
He looked like one of the monsters lurking in shadowy corners that her nursemaids used to warn her of.
With his other hand, Tharen snapped a finger, and in a cascading flow, the rusted sconces attached to the walls lit up in flames. One after the other, they sparked to life at the mere wish of the Prima. He was powerful. That sort of magic… Even the most practiced of fae would take years to be able to master such an act with careless leisure. Not even a wrinkle of concentration marred his brow. He was a vetus, she was almost positive. Though the other creatures did not abide by the fae terminology, Luella knew in her bones that he was well over five centuries. It was evident in the ease of his magic, the set of his shoulders, and the knowledge sparkling in those ice-like eyes.
"After you, Princess." Tharen smirked, waving a hand in mock flourish as Graves pulled her onward.
Under the light of the flickering candles, with the warmth emitting from Tharen’s palm, she could see the cavernous space of the dungeons in vivid, orange-tinted detail. The water that dripped from the low ceiling fell in puddles along the floor, her bare feet lithely dancing around to avoid. A rather large rat scurried along, disappearing into the small hole in the cracked stone of the walls.
I will die here , she distantly thought.
No one could survive in these conditions, but as a fae—and an heirus, at that—she would meet her end by some disease long before the King could decide she was better dead himself.
Bastian had sworn she would not die, but it seemed they were determined to kill her passively anyway.
Luella’s shoulders trembled from a gust of frigid air that swept throughout the dungeons like a promise. The gallows would have been a quicker end than here…
"Surely the King can’t mean for me to live here for the rest of my d-days?" Luella couldn’t help but inquire, though her voice was soft, meek. Scared. "I’ll die of sickness far sooner than I think he’d like for a war trophy."
Graves’s thumb dug into her wrist. "We’ll keep watch. Don’t fret. King Vale will not allow you to die."
"But I might," Tharen mumbled from behind her.
"We’re not like you. The mages," she explained as she eyed Tharen, before tilting her head to gesture to Graves. "And whatever you are… The fae aren’t like you. We don’t have good senses or swift healing. All it will take is a little cold, and you may not be able to do anything for me."
"All the better," Tharen intoned. "If it was up to me, I would have run my dagger across your throat when I captured you."
"Don’t listen to him. He’s not quite… all there." Graves’s cowl caused the words to be mumbled.
Tharen raised his fire-filled fist in fury, poised to throw. "Say that again."
Graves grew silent at the threat, but it wasn’t from fear. The shadowed male seemed as deadly as the mage, just a quieter sort of deadliness. And sometimes, the quiet was far more dangerous.
Why gloat if you didn’t feel inferior in some way? Those who quietly lived and silently worked were the most lethal, after all.
From watching the pair, Luella was picking up on a semblance of a hierarchy within their ranks. King Vale was at the top, of course, and Graves somewhere at the bottom. Unsure where Tharen and Bastian fell. The Advisor versus the Prima—which title held more weight? She was inclined to say Bastian was below the King, but something about the way King Vale had threatened the vampire made her pause. Maybe Tharen was higher in rank than the Advisor? Only time would tell. And time, it seems, Luella would be having a lot of.
All of the cells were empty. It was far more quiet than she imagined the dungeon of an infamously cruel King would be. She expected each cell to be filled with raving beasts and traitors. The eery silence she was met with instead was jarring.
The hallway diverged into two paths, and Graves led her to the right, the floor slanting slightly as they descended even further.
Any further, and they might very well stumble across a gateway to the pits of the Below , she thought. The place of her nightmares. Demons and infernal beasts, with lava flowing freely in the streets and oozing from the walls—if the picture books she used to read were of any value.
The air grew even colder as they descended, and her arms pebbled with the chill. The fabric of her tattered gown brushed against her nipples, and she tucked her free arm over her chest, trying to preserve some modicum of decency. Tharen, who was walking beside her, eyed the motion; the fire in his hand seemed to burn brighter, if only for an instant, before he tamed it back down to a more controlled flame.
Graves came to a dead stop at one particular cell. It looked the same as all the others, the size of a servant’s quarters. A pallet on the ground pushed to the wall, and an empty bucket on the other side. Water ran in rivulets down the walls and collected in the cracks of the stone. She already felt the very tips of her fingers become numb from the icy coldness permeating the space.
Tharen slotted a key into the lock, pushing open the doors of the cell as he leaned against it, half in and half out, watching her take in her new home.
What was so special about this cell from all the others? She could see no difference. But it was chosen by the King for whatever reason, and she hoped she never found out. With the King’s sinister smirk as he condemned her to the dungeons, she could only suspect something was lurking in the shadows, waiting to pounce.
Graves ran his hand over the ends of her hair, the strands spilling from his fingers as he retreated. "I’ll be back." His voice, a low whisper; deep blue eyes shining in the flickering flame, the only thing she could make out from his covered form. His cloak swept behind him in his haste to leave, and she watched him go with something strange winding in her belly.
Alone with Tharen, Luella hesitantly peeked up at the mage, his thick arms crossed over his chest. His hair appeared more golden from the orange glow of the fire, less like the stark white she knew it to be. It softened his appearance and made those faint notes of vanilla seem more prominent.
"Try not to sleep too deeply tonight, Princess. Best be awake for the things that go bump in the night." Tharen knocked a hand on the wall, the thud reverberating throughout the void space of the dungeons.
Luella gulped and skirted around him, her head brushing his forearms in the small space of the entryway as she entered the cell. He shifted, blocking the door completely and filtering out the last of the light from the sconces behind him. The flames in his palm extinguished in a swift woosh , casting her in almost total darkness.
"Until next time," he taunted, leaving her in a flurry as the door clanged shut, and he retreated swiftly down the hall.
Luella sank to her knees, back pressing against the stone walls. Dampness against her thighs from the wet ground, wetting her dress and making her skin erupt with even more chilled bumps. She wrapped her arms around her legs, pulling her knees closely to her chest.
Without her permission, she could feel her body finally break down against the exhaustion battering against her, eyes drooping shut and head falling back against the wall.
A soft exhale, and Luella was asleep, though none too restfully.
Something tickled against her fingertips.
Luella scrunched her nose, burrowing further into the blanket curled around her and batting away the strange brush against her palm.
These sheets don’t smell like home , she thought sleepily.
Her nose crinkled at the offensive scent. No, definitely not the soft downy of her silken bedsheets. These were dank. Musty and old, like the moth-eaten, yellowed pages of books tucked in the far reaches of a library.
She sneezed, hand coming up to rub her nose.
Humming a soft and bleary sound of exhaustion, she rolled onto her back, kicking off the blanket from where it had been draped over her legs, the ends of the fabric bunched strangely against the iron bars of the cell. Her fingers curled, fists clenching and unclenching as she let out a yawn. Her aching muscles stretched, even to the very tips of her toes—toes that were far too frozen.
Luella cracked open an eye, seeing a stone ceiling with lines of fissures. It was dark, only a few flickering flames outside the cell that barely did anything to illuminate the space. The slow drip of water and her breath were the only sounds.
She shot up with a gasp, her hand pressed over her beating heart as she forgot all about musty sheets and a tickle on her fingertips.
"No," Luella breathed, looking around the cell she was trapped in. "It wasn’t a dream." The words were a painful moan and cry of despair as she ran her fingers through her matted hair.
Tears welled in her burning eyes. Sleep still addled her mind; shock and overwhelming tiredness caused her brain to feel fuzzy and out of sorts.
Her head fell to her knees, shaking hands rubbing against the bare, bruised skin of her legs. Purple bruises bloomed over her porcelain skin, scratches and reddened cuts littering almost every bit of exposed skin. Not to mention the dried blood. Hers… or from someone else.
Tears fell over her lashline, marking a crystalline trail down her dirty cheeks. She felt frozen. Numb. From more than just the chill of the dungeons, but from grief and trauma.
Luella knew this would be her future. She was doomed to rot in this cell until she drew her last breath. She could only hope it came quickly, onset by some disease the rats carried or a weakened immune system from the lack of nutrients and frigid temperature.
Fingers gripping the ratty blanket, she settled back down on her little mat—barely more than a half-inch pad of a worn and stiff mattress, riddled with stains she really didn’t want to know the origins of—and pulled the rough fabric up to her chin, facing the iron bars.
That was when she saw it.
Suddenly, she remembered what had awoken her in the first place.
Luella screamed. It echoed throughout the space. She jerked back, hitting the other side of the cell bars, scooting as far away as she could. She held her hands out in front of her as if to ward off the creature lying in wait in the cell right beside hers.
Horns. Big, curving horns sprouted from a mass of wavy hair that fell over tanned, glistening skin. Amber eyes gleamed in the darkness. Similar to a feline’s luminescent gaze. They reflected the light and lured her in, watching like a predator.
A demon.
Luella knew why King Vale had been so intent on her having this particular cell. They had trapped her right next to a demon.
Iron bars separated them from where their two cells butted up against each other. She could easily stick her whole arm through and reach him. He was large, far larger than any of the other males, even from his crouched position on the other side of the cell. Tanned fingers curled around the bars. His shoulders were massive. Easily the span of three or maybe even four of her. She wondered what kept him from bending the iron bars. An enchantment? The cells must have been spelled because this demon appeared far too powerful to be kept in a mere cage of iron.
He drew closer, horns knocking against the bars. Amber eyes pierced right through her. A dark brow pressed against iron as his attention never left where she was cowering far away from his reach, knees tucked to her body and hands outstretched in a mockery of a weapon. Her shoulders shook, and she felt trapped under his stare.
She flinched back from his cold stare but grew perplexed when he suddenly fell to the ground, head pressed to the dirty floor of the cell.
"Princess," he whispered. Awe clouded his voice. "You’ve finally come to me."
His voice was gentle, hands flexing against the floor as he kept his head lowered, waiting for her response.
Luella felt confused.
What was this?
This beast… this demon. Bowing to her ?
"W-what are you…" she trailed off.
The demon looked up at the sound of her voice and swallowed heavily, mouth parted as he took her in. "Gods," he drew a short breath. "You sound like an angel from the Above. Divine."
Okay. She had really lost it. Maybe she had died… or was still asleep? This was all far too strange to be anything but a dream. She pinched her thigh, hoping to wake herself up.
Nope, definitely not dreaming, if the sting in her thigh was anything to go by.
The demon’s alluring amber eyes tracked her movements. Something about the way he kept his head bowed as if to not scare her off made her think this demon wasn’t a threat. But that was absurd. A beastly creature like that could kill her in an instant, just for the pleasure of hearing her screams of anguish and the sordid snap of bones.
But he wasn’t moving, hands pressed to the dirty ground. The warm flicker of the fire did the opposite of what it did to Tharen—it softened this demon’s features, smoothing out the hollows of his cheeks and blurring the sharp edges of his strong browbone.
Luella’s shoulders slowly slumped, her hands lowering as she fisted them in the skirt of her nightgown. The demon didn’t seem to want to kill her. With every little invisible tick of time passing in utter silence and stillness, she grew more and more firm in her resolve—and more curious.
She scooted closer, a mere centimeter, and the demon’s head perked up at the action, eyes brightening in some strange look of happiness that she was comfortable enough to let her guard down.
But Luella did not grow complacent. She had learned her lesson.
"I won’t harm you. Never ," the demon vowed.
"W-why should I believe you? How do I know…" She swallowed, mouth dry as sand. "How do I know that you’re telling the truth?"
He hummed under his breath, a low purr of pleasure.
It seemed like the demon loved her voice , she thought, perplexed. What a strange creature. So unlike the stories of the demons of the Below she had grown up hearing. Creatures that reveled in suffering just for the sake of it—taking and hurting and setting fire to anything that held a whisper of goodness.
"What do you know about my kind?" he asked. He didn’t expand upon what kind he was. He knew that she knew. It was clear as day from the gleaming amber of his eyes, the curved horns, and the unnaturally large set of his frame. A warrior. A beast. Forged in the pits of the Below and crawling from pools of bubbling lava with ash on his tongue.
Luella shook her head, voice a tiny thing. "Not much."
"Then you will have to trust me. My kind, we do not take lightly vows and promises. Most especially those forged in blood." In a sudden movement, he lifted his index finger, slicing it across one of his horns. Blood beaded from the tip, and he pressed it to his chest. Right over his heart. It left a faint smudge of scarlet on his tanned, bare chest. "And this day, I vow to you. I vow to always protect you, my Princess. You have my word and unwavering loyalty. No harm should befall you—from my hand or that of another. I will give my life for yours."
Luella jerked back, stunned by the profession. A blood oath. Not just the demons used them, but all creatures. They were binding. Sacred. And a demon had just sworn in blood to not only refrain from harming her, but also to give his life for her protection.
Shuddering, overcome by some strange emotion, she felt… safe somehow. And against her better judgment, she crawled across the short distance to him, her bruised knees pressing against the iron bars. Small, pale hands curved around them, fingers almost touching his.
She looked up at him from under her lashes, and from her vantage point sitting on her thighs with a small, fear-stricken tremble to her shoulders, she felt utterly eclipsed by him. His fingers flexed against the bars at her nearness, but he did not move them from where they firmly grasped the rusted iron. He let her come to him, but Luella was too afraid to broach that last little distance between their hands, so he seemed to resign himself to breathe in her scent, eyes closed and nostrils flaring.
It was all so humble—this large creature, this feared demon, cowed by her presence and scent. Luella couldn’t wrap her head around it.
"You can’t possibly mean to give your life for mine," she breathed.
"Oh, but I do, angel." He lifted his head, smoldering. His gaze was reverent, looking at her like she was the force that kept the world spinning, like hands that held the stars up in the sky or the breath of wind that whistled through the trees.
No one had ever called her such a sweet name before. No one had ever looked at her like that before. The sobriquet was quaint. Familiar. She preened under the warmth imbued within the word, heart echoing a pitter patter of nerves.
She felt torn in two. One half of her—the broken and beaten parts desperate for affection and comfort after being so traumatized—warred with the logical side of her. He was a demon; he could kill her, reach his hands through the bars, and snap her neck in an instant. Yet, his words…they were so kind, so carefully uttered. A blood oath binding him to protect her, full of reverent intent. She felt inclined to trust him, no matter how foolish it may be.
Besides, he couldn’t harm her now. The blood oath made sure of it. If he were to break it… Luella shuddered. He would face the wrath of the gods. His body would be leeched of all magic, soul sucked from his very insides, leaving him an empty husk.
Even so. Perhaps she was desperate. Desperate for affection, safety, and security. Maybe Luella had been too broken, and in that brokenness, an intense desire for protection was born. She felt as though she could cling to him, throw caution to the wind, and allow herself to find solace in this deadly beast. It felt like it could be easy after being surrounded by such treachery the last few days. A hint of kindness, and she folded like the pages of a book, pliantly turning to the whim of the reader.
Deep within, her soul called her to him. Even if it was the shock making her pliant and numb, she had nothing left to lose, save her life—if she could even call this ungodsly existence that. Not much of a life, just the act of drawing breath and having a beating heart. Her existence was not her own; at least she owned her soul and heart and mind. She would not give those away.
Luella shook her head in disbelief. She noticed the demon’s expression had become less tense at her acquiescence, shoulders relaxing as he let out a deep breath that washed over her in a neighboring, calm wave.
He smelled of cocoa, bitter and sharp with an underlying note of sweetness. It was pleasant. Made her think of winter’s nights by the fire, stirring a wooden stick in a fire-forged clay mug filled with melted chocolate and goat’s milk.
"What do they call you?" Luella asked, in offer for tentative companionship. "I’m Luella." She decided to leave out her last name, lest this demon knew of her family and held some grudge—everyone she had run into here seemed to hate her for one reason or another, and she couldn’t bear to lose this blooming companionship and be left alone again.
"Azgorath Da’amith," the demon said, lowering his head once more, a fist coming to rest against his heart as his other hand outstretched, held to the bars between them. It hovered right over Luealla’s chest… Where her heart beat at a steady pace. It appeared to be some demon greeting.
She wasn’t versed in the ways of the Below, and she didn’t want to do anything to offend this beast and risk having him take his ire out on her. Even if he had made a blood vow to never harm her, she didn’t want to risk it. So, she copied the motion. A fist over her heart and a hand outstretched toward his awaiting palm.
The demon— Azgorath , she reminded herself—opened his mouth in pleased shock, features slackening, hard jaw and slightly slanted eyes growing soft. His dark brow furrowed as he regarded her, eyes never breaking away. His stare pinned her like a moth to a specimen board, and she licked her lips, shackled by this strange beast and his unwavering attentiveness. One who should detest her, should reach through the bars and strangle the life out of her, crush her throat in those large, scarred hands. It was more unnerving to her that he did none of these things.
Azgorath pressed his head against the bars. "I must remind myself, you don’t know what you’re doing." He sounded pained, voice strained.
"What?" she questioned, hands lowering.
In her plight to not offend him, had she anyway? She started to inch back, but he caught her hand, a spark traveling up her arm from where they touched. She jerked it back, scared, and held her hands close to her chest.
He pressed closer. It was like he was trying to meld himself to the bars, become one with them, and get as close to her as possible.
"Nothing. Forget I said anything," he paused before tacking on, "Luella." He said her name like he was tasting it, rolling the letters around on his tongue. "Lu, my Lu," he then decided, like he was choosing the name for her, seeing what fit better.
"Azgorath." Luella stumbled over his name. A demon one, that was for sure. It was a mouthful. Sounded all wrong coming from her, nothing like the delicate, lyrical fae names she was used to. "Can I call you Az?" she hesitantly inquired.
"You can call me anything. Do anything, say anything, I am yours, Lu."
Before she could settle on the weight his words held, a yawn threatened to crack her jaw, and she felt her eyes droop in tiredness. She wasn’t sure how long she had been able to sleep, but it didn’t feel like a long time. She was weary, beyond mere tiredness. It settled in her limbs and weighed down her bones. She felt she could sleep for an eternity.
Az stretched out a hand between the bars, quietly waiting for her to meet his touch. She warily answered his silent call, slowly placing her palm in his. He grasped her hand gently, thumb softly tracing along the lines on her palm. "You should try to rest some more. You’ve had a long day. I’ll watch over you. Feel at ease, my Lu."
She nodded, incredulous. The demon tracked her movements as she shifted to lie down, and she tried not to think too hard about falling asleep in his presence.
A lamb awaiting the lion to pounce.
Luella had no other choice. She faced him, head right near his lap. The only thing that separated her from him: the iron bars of the cage. She imagined that barrier was gone, envisioning a warm lap under her cheek, pillowing her head.
Like Az could hear her thoughts, he reached a hand through the bars, twining thick fingers in her hair. His touch was tender as he brushed through the strands, humming under his breath. He carded his fingers through tangles and knots, causing her eyes to shut unbidden as she was lulled to rest. Lulled by him.
Her breath evened out, and right before sleep pulled her under, she could hear faint words whispered over her like a prayer. Some language unknown to her, but she could feel the power radiating from the words, a singular echo of hushed adoration and choked-up pleas wrapped into one.