The Dungeon
Tobias slumped against the bars of his cell, his jaw throbbing with each beat of his heart.
He wasn’t sure the last time he’d seen Brontes—hours, maybe days.
Without any windows to spy the rise and fall of the sun, time had lost significance to him.
There were plenty of other sensations to occupy his attention—the swift swelling of his face, the metallic taste on his tongue, the unbearable ache of each bloody chasm in his mouth.
Pippa whimpered from her nearby cell, and he crept his hand between the bars, which she quickly grabbed and squeezed.
Pippa scrambled to the front of Her cell, arms outstretched between the bars.
A satchel hung from the warden’s shoulder, and he rummaged through it, pulling out three sweet rolls and placing them in Pippa’s eager hands.
Next, he brought a waterskin to her lips, and she gulped it down greedily, the clear liquid running rivulets down her dirt-stained cheeks.
As she turned her focus to her rolls, the warden unhooked a ring of keys from his belt and opened Tobias’s cell.
Tobias’s feet scraped across the dirt floor, propelling him to escape, but there was no use.
He was trapped in the cell’s corner, helpless as the warden stalked closer, not even an arm’s length away.
He crouched low to the ground, and Tobias could barely breathe, clawing at the dirt as he braced himself for the agony to come.
“Can you chew?” the man said.
Tobias’s jaw throbbed as if on cue, and he shot his torturer a scathing glare.
“Can you swallow?”
Tobias didn’t respond, muscles flexed and hands trembling. The warden dug through his satchel, and though Tobias prepared himself for a blade, three more sweet rolls appeared. The masked man offered them to Tobias.
“Brontes is in a meeting with General Stratos.” He cocked his head at the offering. “Eat. Leave no trace behind.”
Tobias’s eyes flitted between the masked beast and the rolls in his grasp. It’s poisoned. His empty stomach growled in protest.
“You need sustenance,” the warden maintained. “I don’t know when my next visit will be.”
Don’t do it. But he was already salivating.
Pippa was sucking her fingers, her food long devoured, and against his better judgment, he tore the rolls into pieces and stuffed them in his mouth, allowing them to soften before swallowing.
The masked man revealed his waterskin, and Tobias snatched it up and gulped it down, sucking every drop until the skin went dry.
It wasn’t nearly enough, but the warden pulled the skin away and brought forth another treasure—a small vial half full of a shining blue liquid.
“Drink this,” he said.
Poison. Tobias was flexed yet again, lips curled in disgust.
“Purgar,” the masked man said, as if he could hear Tobias’s thoughts. “An elixir infused with Her Holiness’s light.” He uncorked the vial with a pop. “We cannot make you as you were. Brontes will grow suspicious. But this should hasten your healing and ease the pain somewhat.”
Tobias vaguely remembered purgar from his time in the tournament, unleashing memories of sickness, blood, and other horrors he longed to forget.
His instincts still warred within him, but he snatched up the vial and swallowed the elixir in one swig.
At first it was tepid and tasteless, but it carried a sharp tang on its way down, tingling the back of his throat.
The warden pocketed the empty vial, offering Tobias a curt nod. “I will continue to steer his hand away from more lethal methods.”
“Kill him,” Tobias growled, his words lathered with disdain.
The masked man was quiet for a moment, something odd, almost weak reflecting in his eyes. “Brontes is guarded at all times by a squad of ten at a minimum, often more.” He rose to his feet. “I am no match for such numbers. And I cannot fail—not while Her Holiness requires my service.”
Without parting, he abandoned the cell, locking it behind him with a demoralizing clank. He looked Tobias in the eyes one last time, and despite his act of kindness, Tobias’s insides roared with hatred.
“Rest and recover, Your Highness,” the warden said. “Your queen awaits your return.”