Chapter 6: The Cell

The sound of Captain Varek’s footsteps faded down the corridor. The two guards by the door settled back into their bored postures. Elinalise sat in the wooden chair, the chain from her manacles cold against her ankles where it pooled on the floor before climbing to the iron ring. She kept her face still. Her mind churned.

Varek’s offer hung in the air between the drips of water and the shifting of leather armor. It was a thin thing, made of implication and vague words. Things happen on roads. Keys get misplaced. He had crouched to deliver it, his voice low. That meant he didn’t want the guards to hear. That suggested secrecy. But secrecy could be a component of a trap just as easily as a genuine offer.

Why would he do it? He was a Grenville captain. He had helped her once before, handing her a servant’s cloak in the chaos of the feast hall instead of cutting her down. He said he owed a debt. To whom? Not to her. They had never spoken before that night. Maybe to someone else in her family, some past favor from her father that she never knew about. Or maybe he simply hated Crell and the mage’s work enough to sabotage it. I prefer clean fights to dirty magic. That part had sounded true. His distaste when Adrion examined her had been a subtle tightening around his eyes, a slight stiffening of his shoulders.

But a soldier’s personal distaste didn’t usually extend to treason. Letting a royal prisoner escape would mean his head if he were caught. The risk was enormous. The reward for him was unclear.

Unless it was a trap. Crell might have orchestrated this whole scene. Let Varek dangle the possibility of freedom, make her cooperate during transport, lull her into a false sense of alliance. Then, at the last moment, they would spring it. Capture her again, or kill her during the “escape attempt,” providing a clean end with no messy questions from Lord Grenville about why a valuable specimen had died in custody. That felt like something Crell would do—a layered, cruel joke where hope itself was the weapon.

She shifted her wrists inside the manacles. The rough iron had already rubbed the skin raw. The movement made the chain clink softly. One of the guards glanced over, then looked away when he saw she was just adjusting her position.

She had a week before transport. A week in Grenville custody inside her own castle. That was the immediate problem. Surviving that week without giving them a reason to kill her or drug her or decide she was more trouble than she was worth. Mage Adrion had recommended a calm environment to minimize “episodes.” She needed to appear manageable. Bored, even. Defeated would be best.

The curse-warmth pulsed in time with her heartbeat, a low-grade annoyance that was becoming as familiar as her own breath. She focused on breathing slowly, trying to will the heat to recede. It didn’t work, but the act of concentrating on it helped quiet the whirl of thoughts about Varek.

Time passed in a slow drip from the ceiling in the far corner. She counted drips for a while, then lost count. The guards changed once. Two new men came in, nodded to the first two, who left without a word. The new guards were younger. One kept sneaking looks at her when he thought she wasn’t looking. She kept her eyes on the floor between her feet.

Footsteps returned eventually, heavier and in step. Captain Varek walked back into the chamber with four more soldiers flanking him. He carried a ring of iron keys in one hand.

“On your feet,” he said. His tone was all business again, stripped of the earlier intensity.

Elinalise stood up slowly, her stiff muscles protesting. The chain pulled taut between her wrists and the floor ring.

Varek gestured to one of the soldiers with him, a stocky man with a scar across his chin. The soldier stepped forward with a smaller key and knelt to unlock the padlock securing her chain to the ring. The metal clicked open. He gathered the loose chain links in his hand to stop them from dragging noisily.

“Move,” Varek said, turning toward the door.

The two guards from before fell in behind as Varek led the way out into the corridor. The stocky soldier walked beside Elinalise, holding the chain leash-like so it wouldn’t trip her. The remaining three brought up the rear. A procession of seven soldiers for one chained girl. It felt excessive, which meant they were taking no chances or putting on a show.

They walked through corridors she knew intimately, but everything was wrong. The tapestries depicting Dragon Kingdom history were gone, leaving pale rectangles on stone walls where dust had collected less thickly. In their place were Grenville banners, the silver hawk looking aggressive and out of place among the gentle stone carvings of dragons and vines that adorned the archways. The suits of ancestral armor that had stood in niches were gone too, probably melted down for scrap.

They passed a crossing hallway where a group of people in plain grey tunics scrubbed at a dark stain on the flagstones with stiff brushes and buckets of water. Their heads were bowed, their movements weary and automatic. Elinalise recognized one of them—an older woman named Lissa who had worked in the linen stores for years, always with a kind word and a spare sweet for young princesses who wandered where they shouldn’t. Lissa looked up as the soldiers passed, her eyes dull with exhaustion. They flickered over Elinalise’s face without recognition at first, then widened slightly. A spark of something—horror, pity—flared in them before she quickly dropped her gaze back to the stain she was scrubbing, her brush moving faster.

They were using her people as servants. Of course they were. It was practical. Who else knew how to clean this place, where supplies were stored, how the kitchens worked? But seeing it made the heat in her core flare with a fresh spike of anger that traveled up her throat. She clenched her teeth and forced herself to look straight ahead at Varek’s back.

They descended a narrow spiral staircase, one used mostly by servants moving between the main floors and the cellars. The air grew cooler and damper with each turn. The sounds from above—distant shouts, the dragging of furniture—faded away, replaced by the echo of their own footsteps and the drip of groundwater somewhere in the stone.

At the bottom was a heavy oak door banded with iron. A Grenville guard stood beside it, spear in hand. He nodded to Varek and produced a key to unlock it.

The door swung inward on groaning hinges, revealing the castle dungeons.

It wasn’t some vast, dripping oubliette from stories. It was a short hallway with six iron-barred cells, three on each side, built into the thick foundation walls of the keep. They were used rarely—for drunk nobles who caused a scene at court, or for holding prisoners awaiting my father’s judgment, she thought with another twist of irony. The space was clean, relatively speaking. The straw on the floor looked fresh, and there was no overwhelming stench of waste; someone must have been ordered to maintain it for expected prisoners of war.

Four of the cells were empty. In the farthest one on the left, a shape huddled under a thin blanket on a wooden pallet didn’t move as they entered.

“That one,” Varek said, pointing to the first cell on the right.

The stocky soldier led Elinalise to it and used another key from Varek’s ring to open the barred door. It swung outward with a metallic shriek that echoed in the confined space.

“In.”

She stepped inside. The cell was about eight feet square. The walls were solid stone except for the barred front. A pallet like the one in the other cell lay against one wall, covered with more fresh straw and a folded woolen blanket that looked military-issue. A wooden bucket sat in one corner.

The soldier followed her in just far enough to unclip the chain from her manacles. He backed out quickly and slammed the door shut, turning the key with a final-sounding clunk.

Varek stepped up to the bars. He looked at her through them, his expression unreadable in the dim light of the single torch burning in a sconce halfway down the hall.

“You’ll be fed twice daily,” he said formally for the benefit of everyone listening. “Water once in morning and evening if you finish what you’re given earlier.” He paused slightly before adding his next line, his eyes holding hers just long enough to be deliberate “The journey north is long and requires you to be fit for travel.” He said it flatly “So no attempts at starving yourself or causing trouble.” He glanced at his men “We clear?”

A murmur of assent came from them

Elinalise understood it was coded It wasn’t just an instruction about food It was about maintaining strength for whatever plan he might have It was also telling his men she wasn’t to be mistreated

She decided to test him Right then With an audience

She took half a step closer to bars keeping her voice low but clear enough for those nearby “Captain” she said “A question about… travel logistics”

He raised an eyebrow slightly “Ask”

“The northern road” she began choosing words carefully “You mentioned it is dangerous Are there specific… checkpoints along route? Places where security might… lapse?” She watched his face

Varek didn’t blink “Security won’t lapse” he said firmly “But terrain is variable Rockfalls are common in passes after spring thaw Ambush sites exist Road narrows at Black Gorge” He delivered information like briefing “My job is navigate those hazards”

He hadn’t taken bait directly But he had given information Rockfalls Ambush sites Black Gorge where road narrowed He had listed hazards which could also be opportunities

“I see” Elinalise said simply

“Good” Varek turned away “First meal comes at dusk” He looked at stocky soldier “Corporal Bren You have first watch Others dismissed”

The soldiers filed out except Corporal Bren who took post on stool beside dungeon door pulling out whetstone beginning sharpen his dagger with methodical sweeps

Varek left without another look back His footsteps faded up stairwell

The heavy oak door thudded shut leaving Elinalise alone in cell with only sound of whetstone scraping steel and faint breathing from prisoner across hall

She walked over to pallet sat down gingerly Straw rustled beneath blanket She leaned back against cold stone wall pulling knees up to chest as much as manacles allowed

So Varek’s offer seemed real His coded responses confirmed it He hadn’t denied possibility instead gave tactical details His order about staying fit pointed same direction

But real didn’t mean safe or simple It meant he intended try something during week-long journey through contested territory That journey itself would be perilous even without escape attempt Grenville patrols loyalist bands ordinary bandits And if escape failed if she got recaptured Varek would execute for treason and she would likely find herself in far worse situation than this cell Maybe delivered directly back to Crell or Grenville mages who wouldn’t bother with calm environments

She had week here first She looked around cell Nothing useful Bars were thick iron set deep into stone lintel Door lock looked sturdy Pallet straw could maybe hide small object but she had nothing Bucket was just bucket

Her father’s seal still pressed against ribs inside hidden pocket They hadn’t found it during capture They probably wouldn’t search her now unless she gave them reason It was only thing she owned

Across hall shape under blanket stirred finally Rolling over with groan revealing gaunt face man maybe fifty His clothes were fine but torn filthy nobleman probably captured during initial assault He opened bleary eyes looked at her for long moment then closed them again turning face toward wall

No ally there Just another broken piece of old world

Corporal Bren sharpened his dagger rhythm never looking up

Elinalise closed her own eyes not sleep but think Plan was forming fragile outline First survive week Appear docile cooperative Manage curse flares as best she could Second during transport stay alert for Varek’s signal whatever it might be Third when moment came run Not just run but disappear completely into wilderness north where even Grenville wouldn’t easily follow

Fourth then what? Vengeance remained but needed more than anger needed means needed power Curse was power according Crell and mage Adrion A terrible one but power nonetheless She didn’t understand it yet but maybe understanding was next step after survival

She opened eyes again looking at torchlight flickering on bars It would be long week