12. Cell | Wilder
Apounding thundered behind his eyes as Wilder struggled to sit up. Chains rattled at his wrists and kept him on his back. It was painful to blink.
When he finally could, the room came into focus.
Room was putting it nicely.
It was a cell. Thick, iron bars separated him from what appeared to be a hallway outside.
A pile of straw was squashed nearby. Several pieces of it clung to him as he finally got into a seated position.
His movements were sluggish, and nausea churned in his gut. He tried to brush himself off, but the short length of the chain impeded any real movement.
The stones of the wall bit into his back. They were ashen gray and covered in lichen.
Damp earth and rotting wood filled his nose as he took slow, deep breaths.
Wilder rubbed at his eyes, and the world seemed to wobble when he opened them again.
The last few moments before darkness sprang into his mind. Panic seized his chest.
Had he been attacked—by Otto?
The grit of the floor stuck to his palms as he pressed them to the ground in an effort to keep himself from toppling over.
“Easy …” a voice whispered in the shadows.
Wilder whipped his head to the corner of the cell and regretted it. Bile rose in the back of his throat as the pain intensified.
“I said easy.”
Wilder brought his knees to his chest and rested his spinning head between them, trying his best to stay as still as possible.
“Who are you?”
Rocks skittered, and a figure appeared outside the cell. Tall, with hair that melded into the darkness, and a crooked grin.
“Nephew, you look a little worse for wear.”
“Warick,” Wilder grumbled. “I should have known.”
“He’s not the only one,” another voice replied.
Baelwyn.
Wilder’s head spun faster, and his breathing quickened further
Baelwyn had been his ally. He had wanted to see Lyra freed just as much as he had.
Wilder’s muscles tensed as anger coursed through him.
How did he not see this coming?
“I will kill you both,” Wilder ground out, clenching his teeth again. The betrayal he felt was acid on his tongue.
Baelwyn sighed and shared a look with Warick. “It’s not what you think.”
Wilder’s eyes burned as he glared at them. “Oh, it’s not? Then why am I in a dungeon cell while you two walk free?”
Footsteps resonated down the hallway, and Baelwyn and Warick took a step back, blending into the shadows.
“Keep yourself alive …” Baelwyn whispered before disappearing altogether.
Wilder couldn’t even hear their footsteps as they set off down the hall.
They were just a blurred slip of shadow, and then they were gone.
The footsteps coming from the opposite direction grew louder, sharp, quick beats of heels on ancient stone.
A golden light grew brighter and flickered like a flame whipped by the wind.
“Wilder,” his mother called, her voice frantic.
He rattled his chains, alerting her to his presence.
His mother appeared behind the bars. A wooden torch was clutched between trembling fingers.
Tears ran like a stream down her reddened, glassy eyes.
Wilder hardly recognized the woman before him.
Queen still wore the silver gown she had been wearing the night he arrived, but it was rumpled and wrinkled. No longer did it resemble moonlight on the ocean, but more like the glow of a specter, matching the haunted look in her eyes.
“Darling,” she whispered, reaching through the bars towards him.
Wilder couldn’t stand, but clasped his mother’s hand. A sob slipped through her lips, and the flame of the torch fluttered as her shoulders shook.
“I didn’t—” she began. “I didn’t know.”
Wilder nodded. That much had been apparent.
Queen Aine had been as distraught as he had upon learning of the king’s plans for him and Lyra.
“What has happened?” he asked, steeling himself for whatever her answer might be.
The cold stones seeped into his legs, and he shivered.
“The court is in an uproar. There have been riots,” she spoke quickly, her voice trembling. “There is talk that your f—” she cleared her throat, “the king will be challenged. They want him usurped for this.”
“Who has challenged him?”
Wilder’s anger rose. He had been the one who wanted to challenge his father.
Not because he wanted the throne, but because he needed to rescue Lyra.
Someone was derailing and stealing his plans.
“No one yet,” she replied. “The nobles are rallying behind Warick.”
The pieces clicked together, and a heavy sigh slipped from his lips.
Warick had seized the moment for his own. The rising tension had been palpable in the air to everyone.
It shouldn’t have come as a surprise that Warick, who had always longed for the throne, had snatched it.
“I need to get out of here,” Wilder ground out. “I have to get to the sea.”
Aine squeezed his fingers. “The bars are spelled against magic. The only way out is with a key.”
Wilder surveyed the bars and the perimeter of the cell.
Moonlight poured through tiny holes in the ceiling. The dungeons were kept outside the castle walls, underground.
But they weren’t too deep if the collection of leaves and pebbles on the ground of his cell hinted at anything.
“Am I being kept on the east or west side?” he asked, trying to tell from the slant of the moonlight.
“Neither,” his mother whispered. Her face twisted with grief. “These are the king’s private cells.”
He took a deep breath and forced all the air out of his lungs. He had never heard of such a dungeon before.
“Where are Maelys and Ridge?” Wilder asked, feeling a lump form in his throat. “Were they behind this, too?”
Otto had betrayed him, but surely Maelys and Ridge had not.
“They were questioned by the High King and the court. He released them earlier today.”
Wilder cocked his head to the side. “And Otto?”
It physically pained him to say his name.
“Has fled,” she snapped, dashing the remainder of her tears aside. “I shouldn’t have …”
Wilder pursed his lips and focused on his mother. “What?”
“I have spies in the court,” she whispered. “It appears that Otto acted alone. Ridge and Maelys had no idea of your plans or his, and that’s why they were set free.”
“Are they safe?” Wilder asked, finding a sliver of good in this whole, horrible mess.
“For now,” she whispered.
From far down the hall they could hear the slot of a key in a lock.
“I must go,” she whispered, and squeezed his hand. “I’ll do everything in my power to see you released from these charges.”
“What are the charges?”
“Conspiracy to assassinate the King,” Queen Aine muttered, a single tear streaming down her face. “The punishment is death.”
Her last words rattled around in his mind long after she had left.
It looped around and around again as he fished through his pockets for anything of value, but came up empty-handed.
His eyes burned when he felt his chest and realized they had taken Lyra’s necklace, the last of her now gone.
Wilder didn’t think it would ever be returned to him. Even if he left this cell, his father would keep it out of sheer spite.
He was miles away from the sea, of any semblance of her, and that had been the only thing anchoring him.
Now he felt untethered.
No plans, no means of escape, and nothing of hers to hold.
The punishment was death.
How ironic life without her felt much the same. But this could not be the end.
He would not give up hope, not yet.
There had to be a way out.