Chapter 8 #2
Internally, I scoff. This castle is my home. I know every nook and cranny. Even though I’ve only visited the dungeons a handful of times, I know how to get there.
The guard opens the door to the office, and I lead us to the bowels of the small mountain that we call home. The dungeon’s entryway is hidden in the back of the castle, disguised in a stone wall. The door creaks open as I place my hand to it, the magic recognizing my touch.
The descent is dark, every step downward steep and treacherous as the light recedes, but we make it to the bottom of the stairs without incident. Despite the chill outside, the air down here is sticky with humidity. The cloying scents of urine and body odor hit me, and my stomach quivers.
I extend my hand to summon a ball of light, but the guard stops me.
“No magic,” he says gruffly.
“Why?”
“King’s orders. No magic from you.”
King’s orders, my ass. He stole the throne. He’s a false king at best.
I bite back the words. “What would you have me use, then? I can hardly see down here.”
He removes a lantern from the wall and lights it with the telltale black flame of House Serpent. I all but snatch it from him. Even though we rarely held prisoners here before, the lanterns were always kept lit. Now, it only illuminates the path ahead by a few feet.
A shudder works its way through me as I pass cells of prisoners, all of them dressed in dirty, fraying formalwear. Wedding guests.
“Help, please,” someone cries.
“Quiet!” the guard snaps.
I wince and cast my gaze downward. There is nothing I can do. This must be the real reason Cora wanted me to come down here. To see who else is trapped in this castle. They watch me pass them with intense, hate-filled stares. If only they knew I was in a cage of my own.
The little girl is asleep in the corner of a cell, an empty plate of food and a container of water by the cell door. Like dogs in cages. Even so, some relief comes from knowing nobody is starving or dying of thirst in our dungeons for not paying their taxes. Or attending a wedding.
She doesn’t stir as I come to a stop in front of the cell. The rhythmic sound of deep breathing comes from the corner. In the cell beside her, a female deer hybrid sits against the wall, shrouded in shadows.
“Eliza, right?” I ask quietly, hoping not to wake the sleeping girl. She dips her chin in silent confirmation. I survey her cell, but don’t find an empty plate or water. “Where’s your water?”
She tilts her head toward the cell next to her. The girl’s cell. It’s then I notice a second plate beside her sleeping frame.
“Thank you,” I say. “For watching over her. I’m sorry you’re down here,” I say, but I regret it when I remember the necklace around my throat that connects my every move to Marik.
“Can you get me out?” Eliza asks. Her voice is soft, timid.
“I—I’ll need to speak with my husband,” I say, trying not to choke on the words.
She tilts her head. “Are you okay?”
The question unnerves me. She should be looking at me the way the other prisoners are, with hatred brimming underneath the surface. But instead, she looks at me with curiosity.
I ignore her question. “I came down here to see if the girl is okay,” I say. “Are you?”
She shrugs, leans back against the stone wall. “It could be worse.”
“Yeah, it could be,” I agree. The last time I was here, it was well-lit. I’m lucky that Cora has kept her dark creatures out of here. I shiver as I imagine cambions lurking in the shadows. “Where do you live, Eliza?”
“Hollowfield.”
It’s a lie, and a good one at that. Comprised of humans and hybrids, Hollowfield is large enough to go unnoticed in. The perfect town to say if you don’t want someone to corroborate the truth.
“That’s not too far from here. You said you’re a teacher, right?”
She nods, but nonverbal lies always slip past my net.
Even if she had answered, it would have been a truth.
She did say she was a teacher. Lying is an art and so is learning to detect it.
I need to be smarter with my questions, but it’s hard to think with the dark sigil embedded in my skin and this collar like an anvil around my throat.
I want to beat my head against the cell bars.
“What age did you say, again?” I ask. I glance at my nails, trying to act casual.
“Young children. Five and six.”
Her head is tilted back, still resting against the stone wall behind her, but her gaze hasn’t left mine.
There’s not a shred of fear to be found for someone lying to the High Queen.
Mother, the cocky gaze, the confidence…It seems so familiar.
“That must be nice. Rewarding, even. Do you have any children of your own?”
“No, Your Highness.”
Truth.
“Maybe someday then,” I say wistfully. “Are you originally from Hollowfield?”
She refuses to break her stare. She even leans forward, the dirt beneath her shifting with the movement. “No, Your Highness. I’m originally from the City of Sand.”
Truth. Although citizens live freely across the kingdom, most tend to live in or near their primary courts. But a deer hybrid originally from House Serpent’s court? Alarm bells chime.
“What made you come here?” I ask.
“To see you,” she says simply, pleasantly.
My heart begins to beat faster at the truth in her words. I breathe in through my nose and force the air back out in a controlled exhale. I don’t know what could set Marik off to peer through my mind, but I need to do whatever I can to prevent that from happening.
Right now, I know something isn’t right. And I need to get out of here before I accidentally clue Marik into it.
“I’ll check on some more water for you,” I mumble, then head back to the guards and out of the dungeon, leaving the liar behind.
Ispend the rest of the evening trying to recall everything Eliza said in the throne room and in the dungeons. But the same questions continue to resurface—Who is she, and why is she lying?
Not that it should matter. Not really. Why should I care, when I should be focusing my energy on finding a way out of here? But I finally have something else to focus on, other than my own shitty situation.
So, the next day, I find myself descending the dark stairs once more after Marik gave me his “permission” to visit the dungeons again.
The little girl is still sound asleep, her small frame tucked into a tight ball against the back wall of the cell.
Eliza is in the same position as she was yesterday—seated on the floor, legs tucked to her chest, hands and chin resting on her knees.
Her eyes follow me as I stop in front of her cell.
“I see you got some more water,” I say quietly.
She clears her throat before speaking. “Yes. Thank you, Your Highness.”
I look around for a plate, but the floor of her cell is empty, save for the bowl of water. “Have they brought you food?” She tilts her head toward the sleeping girl in the neighboring cell, toward the plate that sits discarded on the floor beside her. “Thank you, again. How is she doing?”
“She cries herself to sleep.” Truth.
My chest tightens. All I want is to scoop the girl into my arms and return her to her family. Her parents are probably sick with worry.
“Eliza, about yesterday,” I say, changing the subject. I don’t know how much time I’ll get down here. The guards could walk past at any moment, or Mother forbid, Marik. “What did you mean when you said you came here to see me?” The question gnawed at me all night as I tossed and turned.
She tilts her head. “I came here to see you, Your Highness.”
Mae always hated being called Your Highness. “Please, call me…Mae.” The request tastes like metal on my tongue.
Eliza raises a single eyebrow. “You want me to call you Mae?”
I nod and force myself to swallow. “What did you mean yesterday?” I ask again.
Her eyebrow drops and she goes still. “I meant what I said. That I came here to see you.” Truth.
I step forward, wrapping a hand around steel. “That’s the third time you’ve said that. What do you mean? You moved to the Deer Court to see me? I’ve only been on the throne for a few months now.”
“Yes,” she says, but it’s a half-truth. Instead of something snagging on my net, it merely brushes against it.
I place my other hand on the bars of the cell. What I really want to do is open the cell door and wring the truth from her. “Is your real name Eliza?”
“Yes.” Liar.
I don’t know who this female is, but I know she’s from House Serpent and she’s lying about something.
My stomach drops. What if she’s a spy for Marik?
What if this was all a test? What if she’s reporting my interest back to him, and that’s why he even let me come down here? I place my hands to my sides.
“Well, it was a pleasure to meet you, Eliza,” I say with a half-smile. I straighten and walk away, trying desperately to stifle the panic, to calm my heartrate.
“Mae,” Eliza calls. The name sends a shock through my system. I turn. Eliza stands at the edge of the cell, fingers wrapped around the bars as she stares at me. “I like your necklace.”
“Thank you,” I say, touching the cool black metal on my collarbone. “It was a wedding gift from my husband.”
Her features shift, turning into something darker. “It’s beautiful.”
I offer her a tight smile before turning and walking away, her lies echoing through my mind.
The mud under my shoes squelches as I walk back to the stairs, and I let my dress trail along the ground.
Marik will likely frown when he sees the mess I’ve made.
Perfect. I veer from the path and walk through a puddle, dragging the cream train through its sludge.
“Please,” a voice whimpers. “Help us.”
I chance a glance down the tunnel. No guards in sight.
The cell is dark, but there’s enough light for me to see that it’s crammed with emaciated bodies all wearing tattered formal clothing now covered in dirt and mud and what I’m assuming, based on the smell, is likely waste. The contents of my meager lunch churn in my stomach.
“Your Highness, please,” a young woman dressed in a gown that was once the color of the sky begs, forearms straining as she grips the cell bars.
“There is a girl on the brink of death. Please, show some mercy.” Her voice wavers at the end, and her desperation makes me equal parts horrified, sad, and furious.
It kills me to be so trapped. So unable to help. “I—”
The woman jerks her head to the left. A guard lumbers down the walkway, torch of black flames illuminating his dark armor.
“Your Highness, it’s time,” he orders.
I nod to the woman in silent promise, but I have no idea how I can help when everything I’m doing is being watched. When I’m a prisoner, too.
“Champagne? Wine?” Marik asks across the formal dining table. He’s enjoying a nice, thick steak while I choke down bread.
Last week, he began demanding that I join him for dinner. The first few nights, my body was forced to dress itself and walk down the stairs to sit with him at the large oak table. I was just grateful he didn’t make me use the sigil.
The last few nights, I’ve taken myself. I hate it, but it’s easier. I waste so much time fighting it, and all it manages to do is leave me exhausted and hopeless.
“No.”
No, thank you, his voice commands inside my mind.
“No, thank you,” I say mid-chew, stale bread in my mouth.
He eyes me with disgust, then takes a sip from his own glass of red wine. “You’re the High Queen, Elle. You should enjoy a glass of wine every now and then.”
I am no High Queen. I am your prisoner. I flex my jaw and swallow the retort. It’s what he wants, I’ve learned. He likes the fight. Instead, I ask, “What do you plan to do with the prisoners?”
He glances down at his plate and saws a piece of steak with his fork and knife. His crown rests beside him on the table. How I long to shatter it into a million pieces and make him choke on every single one.
He stabs the steak with his fork and brings it to his mouth. He pauses mid-air, and a drop of blood falls back onto the plate. “What would you have me do with them?”
I blink. I wasn’t expecting that response. “Release them.”
He plops the bite in his mouth and chews in contemplative silence, then goes back to sawing his meal with his knife once more. It scrapes against the ivory plate, and I wince.
“And why should I?”
I rip a piece of bread off as I consider how to respond. The question is maddeningly simple, the answer even more so. Obvious, even. At least, it is for a good person. But Marik isn’t good. He is evil. Corrupt. Despicable.
“You were once a decent male,” I say, appealing to the male I once knew. Or at least, the one I thought I knew. Maybe this is who he’s been all along, hiding, waiting to strike. A fucking snake, through and through.
He purses his lips, shrugs his shoulders. “That was a long time ago.”
I resist the urge to bang my fist on the table, opting instead to dig my fingernails into my thigh. As much as I long to yell all sorts of foul obscenities at him, I remain silent. This is not the time to bite.
I go back to my bread, ripping another piece off, and plopping it into my mouth. I nearly choke when he speaks again. “Would it make you happy if I did?” he asks, glancing up from his meal.
I hesitate. If I say yes, will he say no to spite me? If I say no, will he honor my request to let them go anyway? I take a swig of my water and decide to take a chance on the male I once knew. “Yes.”
“Why?”
“They’re innocent. They did nothing.”
He stares at me, unblinking. Finally, he nods. “I’ll release them tomorrow.”
My mouth goes dry at the truth in his words. “Really?” I ask.
He grunts in confirmation, then goes back to his dinner. “Thank you,” I whisper. Neither of us speaks again for the rest of the night.
Marik follows through on his promise. Which means I was able to follow through on mine to the woman in the cell.
I visit the dungeons the next day to make sure. All traces of the prisoners are gone, even the little girl and the liar. Every cell is empty. No more sounds of soft crying, of people rustling in their sleep. Just the steady drip of water falling to the muddy floor in the darkness.
I breathe a sigh of relief, but it’s short-lived. My questions about Eliza Rainey were never answered. Who was she? Why was there a Serpent hybrid in our dungeons pretending to be someone she wasn’t? Was it all a test, orchestrated by Marik? Is that why he agreed to release the prisoners?
Or am I overthinking everything?
I shake my head. No.
But why else would he release the prisoners?