Chapter 40
The Courtesans, they whisper as if I cannot hear, always plotting my demise.
But was it not I who slaughtered my enemies at the gate?
Was it not I who crushed those who dared to bring turmoil and chaos to my realm?
Was it not I who brought the Starborne into my fold?
Let them whisper. For soon, their lives with be nothing but a whisper carried to Solrend.
Personal Journal of Queen Virtus, Ruler of the Celestial Court, Queen of Astradeon in the fortieth-year post Shattering
FOR THE FIRST TIME SINCE the alleyway in Tenebris, Astraia did not question the hunter as he pushed her through damp, dark hallways on the far side of the castle. Minimal torches dotted the walls along their path, making it hard to guess which route they were taking.
Growing up in the castle, this was one place she was never permitted to enter and was patrolled night and day by Celestial Guards.
Elion had tried to drug the Guards on one occasion so he could see what kind of evil lurked behind the walls, but the captain had caught him and made him run five miles every morning for a week as punishment. He had only been twelve years old.
The halls felt more ominous now that she was the one deemed evil.
Perhaps she was evil. Maybe her murderous sins had finally tainted her soul with no hope of cleansing the blemish.
You killed them. You.
She shook her head, driving the darkness back, focusing on her breaths and the image of Elion she had left open inside her thoughts.
Her footsteps faltered as she reached a black iron door. It was tall and thick with no handle and reeked of death. Guards stood on either side, a sword sheathed at their hip. Behind her, she felt a hand wrap around her uninjured arm, a familiar warm, calloused palm grazing her skin.
But no heat licked her spine. Desire curdled in her stomach, turning into vile malice as he pulled her toward the door.
“Prisoner for level one,” Levi snarled.
The Guards saluted, nodding at him. Then they both took a key from around their neck and placed each into two separate holes in the middle of the door.
Simultaneously, they turned the keys in opposite directions, and a loud, grating noise responded.
With a loud clank, the door opened just wide enough for one of the guards to pull on the jam with both of his hands.
With a grunt, he slid the door open wider, the hinges groaning in protest.
Pitch black stared back from the doorway.
Astraia’s breath hitched, her heart thundering in her chest as she stared into oblivion. The hunter grabbed a torch from the wall near one of the Guards and pulled her through the threshold—into the bowels of Dominion.
As they crossed, the door behind them creaked and slammed closed, a ratcheting sound blaring in the silence as the lock engaged, entombing them in the massive tower.
The firelight from the torch illuminated the stone floor beneath them, and she could just make out a set of stone steps on their left, curling downward into the depths of the tower.
To her right, she could see another set of stairs spiraling upward.
The hunter let go of her, walking to another torch on the wall next to them, lighting it. This torch was larger, perhaps endued with magic, because the flames flared to life, casting a more revealing glow across the tower.
They stood on a stone landing, and a wrought-iron fence was all that separated them from falling down at least an entire story.
She looked to her right and saw a wall of prison cells, iron bars covering the openings.
Craning her neck, she could make out more prison cells stacked on top of another landing as well as more below her.
The cells curved, angling in line with the shape of the tower.
A single stained-glass window was cut into the stone just above the main door, without any way of reaching it as a means of escape.
It was eerily quiet. Not a cough or a cry permeated the air. Either there were few prisoners left alive in the tower, or their will had been tortured out of them—probably the latter.
“Let’s go,” the hunter said, his face still hidden beneath his shining helmet.
He grabbed her left arm, pulling her with him down the stairs into the belly of the tower.
Their footsteps echoed on the stone steps, each step stripping away another strand of her freedom.
Step by step they kept descending into the dark.
The smell of dirt and mildew became stronger and she realized they must be underground at the lowest levels.
Her breaths quickened, the air too thin, and the walls constricted, threatening to crush her.
Before she could calm her panic, she was jerked to a stop in front of an iron door on her left.
The hunter pulled a black key from around his neck and put it into the lock on the door, turning it with a sharp clank.
The door creaked as it was pulled open, likely the first time in decades it had been forced to move.
The rough hand around her arm loosened, and she felt the manacle fall away from her wrist. For the first time in hours, maybe days, her arms were allowed to relax, and her shoulder slumped forward.
Before she could relish the small victory, her hands were pulled in front of her, and the other manacle was replaced, clicking into place around her wrist.
“In,” he said flatly, pointing to the endless dark inside the cell.
Her heart beat wildly, pounding in her ears, but she would not allow him the satisfaction of unsettling her.
With a slight inhale, she stepped through the iron gate, into her cage. The door creaked and slammed behind her, the sound vibrating her skull. Boot steps sounded as the hunter stepped back from her cell, and she whipped around, mustering every ounce of boldness left in her bones.
“One truth.” Her voice echoed in the deep, bouncing off the walls and flying back into her face as she narrowed her eyes on her captor.
He stilled, armor clanking as he halted midstep. Slowly, he turned and removed his helmet with one hand. His golden hair was muted in the firelight, but his molten eyes blazed.
A lump formed in her throat, but she choked it down, straining against her dry throat. Funneling her anger into her gaze, she braced her hands against the cell bars, gripping the cold steel within her chained hands. He stared back at her, his face barren of remorse or empathy.
“And this time, I won’t even request one truth in return,” she snapped.
He walked closer to her, careful to remain an arm’s length away from her cage.
“I hate you, bounty hunter. I curse the day I met you. And I swear on the Stars…” She paused, pressing her face against the numbing bars. “I will be your reckoning. Even if I have to burn to take you with me.”
THE END