Chapter Nine
Daxton Aegaeon
“Gods a-fucking-bove!” I couldn’t restrain the curse escaping my splintered lips as I forced myself to turn on the cobblestone floor of the dungeon.
If the constant darkness of the prison wasn’t enough to break your spirits, then the stench of death paired with piss and shit certainly would.
I doubted these cells were ever cleaned.
Some of the dead were hauled away, but not all were fortunate enough to escape this place.
Even in death, they lingered, with nothing but their skeletons as evidence of their time spent here.
Eventually, my eyes adjusted to the shadows. I was able to faintly detect the twists and turns of the catacomb’s hallways meandering through the iron-caged holdings.
Sitting up, my hand traced the surface of the rock wall, locating a point where the iron bars of my cell fused with the rough stone.
The iron wasn’t only a physical barrier.
It was a cruel trap for those of us with magic.
Its presence stifled the flow of my powers, locking them away and gnawing at my sanity, amplifying the suffocating despair of this wretched prison.
There were undoubtedly hundreds of holdings here. I never traveled farther than my own section, so I didn’t know for certain. But I heard them.
The cries of my kin echoing through the stone haunted my waking and sleeping mind. Dryads, nymphs, and High Fae were imprisoned here, doomed to suffer under a false queen’s wrath, or worse, become a power source for siphoning magic.
I hated myself for not being able to come to their aid, but there was nothing I could do. The blackened pieces of my soul splintered, hearing their wails of agony.
“Fucking irons,” I cursed, knowing the shackles were the least of my problems.
My limbs were in a constant state of agony.
No, correction, Gods be damned, my entire body felt the effects of the enchanted metal shackling my hands, ankles, and neck.
The iron collar was a new twist I hadn’t had the pleasure of experiencing during my last visit to these dungeons.
The chains interconnected at the front, making it nearly impossible for me to uncoil my body from a half-crouched position.
I managed to relieve myself in the corner bucket, gritting my teeth to fight back a groan as I slid next to the iron bars, searching for water to relieve my cracked throat.
Anjani would return soon, and I had no doubt Minaeve would accompany her. A week had passed since Silver Meadows. At least, that was what I overheard the masked guards mumbling after the second round of Anjani’s torture.
A week.
Skylar, my brave spitfire, should be arriving in Solace soon.
I grunted, struggling to grasp the ladle outside the cell bars, resting in a leaking bucket of water. If I didn’t drink from it soon, it would drain onto the floor.
My mangled fingers were swollen and twisted. Many of them were broken on my left hand, with two of my fingernails missing on the right. Still, I managed to grasp the ladle and gulp down the refreshing— Shit.
I coughed, spewing the water from my mouth. My shoulders heaved as I gasped for air, my entire body convulsing.
“Fuck!” I swore, tasting the familiar tang of iron in my mouth.
For a moment, I contemplated not drinking the soiled source, but I hadn’t consumed a drop of water in nearly three days. I’d lasted five days without it before, but I dared not test that timeline again—not in here.
I glared at the bucket on the other side of the bars for what felt like hours. My throat splintered as I forced myself to swallow. My body’s desperation overcame the need to feel and release my magic.
Reluctantly, I grasped the ladle and sipped the tainted water.
The collar shackled around my throat rubbed my skin raw.
The tension of the chain prevented me from shouting, swallowing, or even breathing without constraint.
Every gulp I managed to take strained my throat.
The iron particles infiltrated every inch of my body from the inside out.
After draining the contents of the bucket, I lay back against the stone, feeling defeated, but refusing to give up.