Chapter 22 #2
While we stroll through the dark halls, I give him a brief history of the castle.
It’s dull information, to be honest. The castle has been here for thousands of years, refortified by terramancers every so often.
The wall surrounding it is the newest addition, having been constructed over nine hundred years ago.
A long silence drags on as we walk, both of us studying every detail we can. “There’s a secret doorway that leads down just up here. Not many people know of it. This way we can hopefully avoid any guards.”
“They wouldn’t let you in?”
I shake my head. “They would, but I think the less questions, the better, don’t you?”
He nods in agreement.
I lead him into a rarely used room that’s completely barren besides an empty black fireplace. He stops and looks around, then I point to the very subtle outline in the wall. “Do you see it?”
Squinting, he gives another nod.
I walk toward it and push against the far-left side of the door so that the other side will open up to the passageway for us.
It’s stuck.
I try again, releasing an involuntary grunt.
Unsuccessful.
“May I?” Daegan says.
I step aside.
He gives it one tight push with his left hand, his short-sleeved shirt showing off every curve of his smooth, tight bicep, and the door opens for him.
Ripping my gaze away, I walk through the passage. It’s dark in here, so I pull out a light orb from my bag. I hear Daegan follow.
“Did they put you down here… before?”
There’s nothing but silence for a moment. Then, finally, he answers. “No.”
“I’m… sorry about all that.”
“Don’t be. I chose to show you the worst version of myself, so that is all you knew. I can’t blame you.”
“Is there… another version?” I ask quietly, my head turned sideways so he can hear me.
I’m met with deep sigh. “Sometimes I think that version exists only in the past now,” he admits softly.
My chest tightens at the unexpectedly honest answer. At the thought that he’s trying so hard to save his people that he believes he’s completely lost himself.
I stop and turn to face him. He halts directly in front of me, not an arm’s-length away. “You’re doing a noble, selfless thing. That can’t possibly be the worst version of you.”
His jaw ticks as his eyes travel from my eyes to my mouth, then away from me altogether.
“Let’s keep moving,” he says in a low voice.
The passage winds around, then down a spiral staircase made of dark stone. At the bottom, I push on a black stone wall once more, and it opens with ease this time.
A cool rush of stale air hits my face.
“Bloody damn,” a deep, gruff voice says.
The lighting down here is dim, so I hold my orb out toward where the voice came from. The door opens to a deep corner of the dungeon, where only a couple of cells are spaced out. The dungeon is like a massive, cold, stone maze.
I’ve never encountered prisoners this deep in here in all the years I’ve explored.
A figure sits in the far corner of the cell in front of me, but it’s hard to make out many details.
“Hello?” I call out hesitantly.
For a moment, he doesn’t move, and I feel Daegan’s presence close beside me.
Then, the figure stands, though he’s not much taller than when he was sitting. He’s wide, though. Burly.
When he gets closer, the light illuminates his wild, coarse yellow mane of hair that falls down his back, his matching wild beard, and his rosy cheeks.
He looks… surprisingly kind, with his pink cheeks and his warm amber eyes.
The grumbling prisoner studies each of us, then lets out a grunt. “Can ya get that bloody damn light outta muh face?” he says, his voice a deep rumble.
I lower it, finding that I can see his face well enough now that he’s close anyway.
“What’s your name?” I ask. For some reason, I’m feeling an inexplainable pull toward the stranger.
He seems to stand taller, puffing out his chest. He’s at least a head shorter than me. “Gaethri of Dothron.”
“You’re a Dothronite?” I ask. I haven’t met one in years. They’re not seen outside of their mountains often.
Come to think of it… we don’t see a lot of most other kinds nowadays…
Gaethri nods with somber pride. Dothronites are smaller, burlier beings.
He may even be on the larger side for his kind, if my estimations are correct.
Most of them live under the mountains of their region, and they’re known for crafting weapons.
A small tribe of them live just outside the mountain in the woods, and they’re said to be smaller and more elusive.
They’re also known for being incredibly intelligent.
“Forgive me, but… what are you doing down here?”
“Ran his mouth one too many times, I’d say.” I jump as another voice joins us from the dark corners of the cell across from Gaethri’s.
I’m pretty sure Daegan tries to suppress something like a chuckle.
A female emerges from the shadows. A very, very, large female.
She’s taller than Daegan, but not by a huge amount.
His head probably ends below her nose, I estimate as I watch her.
And her full, vibrant, red, unruly curls that seem to have a life of their own make her appear even larger.
She grabs her bars and rests her brow against them, studying us with mild interest. Her eyes are slightly wrinkled at the corners.
“You’re a Skeldaryn,” Daegan says with a hint of disbelief. It’s his turn to be surprised now. “Or… a half Skeldaryn?” The people from Skeldar are tall. Very tall. They used to simply be referred to as giants thousands of years ago, but they didn’t appreciate being called that.
I’ve never once seen one in the flesh.
She scoffs. “You’re either from Skeldar or you’re not.”
“My apologies,” Daegan says. I look over at him and he seems to be nodding his head in a respectful apology.
Well, that’s more politeness than he’s ever shown me.
“If you mean that my blood is mixed with another kind, you’d be correct. My mother was kept captive for most of her life.”
“I’m sorry,” I say. “Where is she now?”
“Dead.”
“Oh… I—”
She waves me off with her large hand. “Don’t.”
“If you don’t mind me asking, how did both of you end up locked up down here?” I shouldn’t be so bold. They’re prisoners for a reason. I shouldn’t trust them. But something is telling me to keep talking to these people. Daegan and I share a glance, and I can tell that he doesn’t mind it either.
“Existing,” the female says.
“Existing,” the male says at nearly the same time.
They both look at each other and laugh. His, a deep, gravelly one, and hers, a deep, smooth one. Both are the kind of laugh you release when something is more sad than funny, but you don’t know how else to react.
“I don’t understand,” I say, looking at Daegan. His arms are crossed, and he doesn’t seem confused or surprised.
“The king doesn’t like anyone outside of his kind. You must know that…” he tells me.
I don’t answer him. I know the elvish royals historically aren’t good, but who’s to say the last few or even my father wanted this?
Maybe he’s just as lost as the rest of us.
Maybe he would break the curse for the good of the world if he only knew how.
I think most of us have just accepted that this is the way the world is.
But I know that things aren’t as they should be, so maybe he should too.
The curse has affected our land to its very core, poisoning it from the inside out.
I’ve read countless old books, seen thousands of drawings and paintings of the world before.
I know this isn’t natural, or right. And no one truly knows the potential it has to ruin everything.
Magic often doesn’t make any sense, and there is much we still don’t understand about it.
I want to see the stars. I know they’re still up there. And there’s a part of me that hopes and wishes for her father to be on the right side of things.
I change the subject.
“How long have you both been down here?”
“A month,” they say in unison.
I look between the two of them. “Did you know each other before?”
“We were two travelers who found themselves on… similar journeys,” Gaethri says.
I glance at Daegan, who’s already looking at me. Is he thinking the same thing as me?
“Maethrel…” he says quietly, almost a whisper.
I lift my eyebrows along with my shoulders.
“The witch?” the Skeldaryn asks in a hushed tone.
“Yes… do you know him?”
She shakes her head, her red curls bouncing with even the smallest movement. “No. But I’ve heard the legends. He’s rather old. You spoke with him?”
“Yes. We sought his help for… a task,” I reply.
“And was he helpful?”
“Yeah,” Daegan grumbles. “As he should be.”
“Why do you say that?” I ask. “Because of who his grandmother is?”
“Yeah, his grandmother,” Daegan agrees before looking away.
Gaethri lets out a thoughtful grunt. “We’re on a journey of our own.”
The female snaps her head toward him.
“We’re already locked up. What do we have to lose?” he grumbles at her.
She rolls her eyes.
“What kind of journey?” Daegan asks, crossing his arms and narrowing his eyes. Like he’s readying himself to run a full interrogation.
“The kind that can get us a death sentence,” the female remarks.
“Well, you’re not dead yet. You’re locked up in here instead,” Daegan comments.
“That’s because he doesn’t know the extent of it,” Gaethri says.
I study both of them. They look like two people who have accepted their fate and have nothing left to lose. “We didn’t ask your name,” I say to her.
“Rhydra.”
“Rhydra,” I repeat. I like it. I have a good feeling about her.
“What are you guys doing here, Rhydra?” Daegan asks.
I’m not sure how he manages to sound intimidating and sympathetic at the same time.
“Trying to find a way to end the curse,” she says simply.
My jaw hangs halfway open. I flick my gaze to Daegan, but he hasn’t reacted even the slightest bit. He continues to stare at them with his arms crossed in that same assessing way.
“Such a thing can’t be done,” he says simply. Smooth. “No one’s ever even attempted it.”
“That you know of,” Rhydra adds.