Chapter 5: The Transaction

The timber groaned again overhead. Dust fell in a steady stream now. Tomas’s eyes stayed fixed on Elinalise. She saw the decision settle in them. It wasn’t personal. It was just math. One unknown variable against four known lives, plus his own.

His grip tightened on his sword. He didn’t point it at her yet. He raised his voice instead, calling out toward the ceiling with a raw, strained shout.

“We’re in here! Don’t collapse the entrance! We have a fugitive!”

The words hung in the dusty air. Anya gasped, her hands still clamped over her children’s mouths. Her eyes went wide with a betrayal that cut deeper than fear. Bertram and Maren just stared at Tomas, their faces slack with confusion. Elinalise didn’t move. She had expected suspicion, maybe even a demand for her to leave. This was cleaner. More efficient. A transaction.

The scraping and kicking from above stopped.

“Say again?” The sergeant’s voice was clearer now, sharp with interest.

Tomas swallowed. He kept his gaze away from Anya. “I said we have a fugitive hiding with us. A noble one. I’ll hand her over. Just let the rest of us go. We’re just civilians.”

A moment of silence passed. Then the sergeant barked an order. “Clear this debris carefully! I want an opening!”

The sounds changed from random kicks to coordinated scraping and lifting. Men grunted with effort. Stone grated on stone. A long sliver of grey daylight pierced the shrine, spearing through the dust motes. It widened into a jagged hole.

Elinalise finally moved. She stood up slowly, keeping her hands visible. There was no point in running now. The hole was directly above the rubble-choked entrance tunnel. Any attempt to bolt would just meet the soldiers coming in. The curse-warmth pulsed through her, a constant companion to the cold dread solidifying in her gut. So this was how her stealth ended. Not in a fight, but in a bargain.

Tomas finally pointed his sword at her. The blade trembled slightly. “Don’t try anything,” he muttered, though it sounded more like he was convincing himself.

“I won’t,” Elinalise said. Her voice was flat.

Anya found her own voice, a choked whisper. “Tomas… what are you doing?”

“What I have to,” he said, still not looking at her. “They find us with her, they kill us all as conspirators. They find us because I turned her in, maybe we walk out of here.”

The logic was sound, Elinalise supposed. It was the logic of a conquered city where survival was the only currency left.

A helmeted head appeared in the new opening, blocking the light. The sergeant peered down into the gloom. His eyes adjusted, taking in the scene: the huddled family, the wounded guard with his sword, the lone young woman standing apart. “Everyone up here. Now. Slowly.”

Tomas gestured with his blade. “You first.”

Elinalise walked toward the rubble pile that led up to the hole. Her legs felt detached from her body. She climbed over the broken stones and splintered wood, her hands scraping on rough edges. Strong hands reached down, grabbed her arms, and hauled her unceremoniously up into the blinding light of late afternoon.

She blinked, her eyes watering. She was surrounded by four Grenville soldiers in scarred leather armor and blue surcoats. Their faces were hard, bored with the routine of rooting out survivors. One kept a firm grip on her upper arm.

The sergeant was a broad man with a broken nose and a thick beard streaked with grey. He looked her over with a practiced, dismissive eye—the filthy cloak, the tangled hair, the fine features under the grime. “You’re the fugitive?”

Before she could answer, Tomas’s voice came from below, strained with effort as he tried to climb out with his bad leg. “She is! She’s been lying about who she is. Claims she was a laundress but her hands are all wrong. No accent. She’s got a fever on her too, like some sickness or…”

The sergeant held up a hand, silencing him. His eyes had narrowed on Elinalise’s face. He took a step closer, peering at her. He reached out a calloused hand and pushed back the hood of her cloak, then brushed some of the dirt-caked hair from her forehead and cheekbones.

A slow recognition dawned in his eyes. It wasn’t personal recognition; he hadn’t served in the castle guard or attended court functions. But Grenville soldiers would have been shown certain portraits during their briefings. Key targets. The royal family.

“Well,” the sergeant said softly. A grim smile touched his lips. “Rats in the walls do find shiny things sometimes.” He turned to one of his men. “Get irons on her. Now.”

The soldier produced a pair of heavy manacles from a pouch on his belt. The iron was cold and rough as they clamped around Elinalise’s wrists with a final click that seemed louder than the collapse of the shrine.

Below, Tomas had managed to haul himself out, sweating and pale. Anya followed, helping the children up. Bertram and Maren came last, moving like sleepwalkers.

The sergeant ignored them for a moment, his full attention on his prize. “Princess Elinalise Dragonheart,” he said, testing the title. “Lord Crell said you were ash in the wind. He’ll be pleased to know he was wrong.”

Hearing Crell’s name spoken so casually by this man sent a fresh spike of heat through her core, though her face remained still.

Tomas took a limping step forward. “Sergeant… our agreement? You have her.”

The sergeant finally looked at him, his expression turning dismissive again. “You did a service to His Lordship Grenville,” he said, his tone formal and empty. “Your cooperation is noted.” He made no move to let them go.

Anya stepped forward, clutching her children close. “You said we could leave.”

“I said I wanted an opening,” the sergeant corrected mildly. “Your man here did all the talking.” He scratched his beard, looking over their ragged group—the wounded soldier, the woman, the two small children, the elderly pair who looked ready to crumble into dust themselves. “But you know what? Fine. Go.” He waved a hand toward the ruined street.

They didn’t need telling twice. Tomas grabbed Anya’s arm, already turning away, his head down.

“Wait,” Elinalise said.

Her voice stopped them all for a second time that day.

She looked at Tomas first, then at Anya and the children behind him.

“You get your safety,” she told them. Her voice held no anger. It sounded like she was commenting on weather. “It cost my freedom. That was your trade. Make sure you spend it well.”

She wasn’t sure why she said it. Maybe to see shame on his face. Maybe to make them remember this moment beyond just their own relief. She saw Anya flinch. She saw confusion flicker in Maren’s old eyes. Tomas refused to look back at all. He just kept moving. He led them away through the rubble without another word. They disappeared around a collapsed wall. Gone.

Elinalise watched them go. A part of her felt strangely empty. She had stepped into their circle hoping for something—alliance, a moment of shared humanity, maybe just a break from being alone with her curse and her thoughts. Instead she became their ticket out. That was fine. It was what people did now.

“Sentimental,” the sergeant observed. He didn’t sound impressed.

“Observant,” Elinalise corrected quietly. She turned her head to look at him. The manacles felt like they weighed a hundred pounds each. “What happens now?”

“Now you take a walk,” he said. He nodded to his men. Two of them took positions on either side of her, gripping her arms again just above the elbows. The other two fell in behind. The sergeant led the way.

They marched her out of the Riverwalk District, away from the forgotten shrine. The late afternoon sun cast long shadows from broken spires and blackened timbers. The air still carried the smell of smoke and decay, but also now the sharper scent of occupation—cooked meat from soldier camps, the oily smell of armor, the sound of foreign voices shouting orders.

People saw them pass. Other survivors hiding in shells of buildings watched from cracks in walls or from under piles of refuse. Their eyes tracked the Grenville patrol, then fixed on the manacled girl in their midst. Whispers followed, like dry leaves skittering over stone. They caught someone. Who is she? Looks young. Another noble?

Elinalise kept her chin up and her gaze straight ahead. She focused on putting one foot in front of the other. The inner heat was worse now, fed by adrenaline and humiliation. Sweat beaded on her temples and trickled down her back under her clothes. She could feel it, and she knew the soldiers flanking her could probably smell it too—that strange, persistent fever-scent that had given her away to Tomas.

“She’s sweating like a pig in summer,” one of the younger soldiers muttered to the other. “Maybe she is sick.”

“Don’t matter,” the other grunted. “Lord Crell will want her healthy or not.”

They crossed what had been Merchant Square. It was a charnel house now. Bodies had been cleared from the main thoroughfares, pushed into stinking piles at the edges where crows feasted openly. Grenville soldiers manned checkpoints at every major intersection, their blue banners hanging limp in the still air. They saluted as Elinalise’s sergeant passed, their eyes curious as they took in his prisoner.

The castle gates came into view ahead. The massive iron-banded doors stood open, one hanging slightly askew on broken hinges where it had been battered down. Grenville guards in cleaner armor stood watch here, their postures rigid. The banners of the Dragon Kingdom were gone, torn down and burned. In their place, the silver hawk of House Grenville flew from every tower.

As they approached the gate, Elinalise felt a bizarre sense of dislocation. This was her home. Every stone of this approach was familiar. She had ridden down this very path on horseback after hawking trips, waved at from these walls by guards who knew her by sight. Now she walked it in chains, a prisoner being delivered to her own hall.

The gate guards snapped to attention as the sergeant halted before them. “Prisoner for Lord Crell,” he announced, his voice taking on an official tone. “Identify as Princess Elinalise Dragonheart.”

The lead gate guard, an officer with a plume on his helmet, stepped forward. He looked Elinalise up and down with cold efficiency. He reached out and roughly tilted her chin up with a gauntleted hand, studying her face against some mental image.

“Matches the description,” he confirmed after a moment. He dropped his hand. “Lord Crell is in the west wing, organizing the treasury inventory. Take her to the lower receiving hall. He’ll be notified.”

They passed under the gatehouse tunnel, out of the sun and into deep shadow. The familiar cool dampness of the stone enveloped them. The sounds changed too— the echoes of booted feet were sharper here, mixed with new sounds: the clatter of crates being moved, voices calling out inventory numbers, the scrape of furniture being dragged across flagstones.

They didn’t take her toward the great hall or the royal apartments. Instead they turned down a side corridor that led to what had been called ‘the lower receiving hall.’ It was really just a large, windowless antechamber used for receiving minor petitioners or holding prisoners before they were brought before her father for judgment. The irony wasn’t lost on her.

The room was bare now except for a single wooden chair placed in its center and two braziers burning low by opposite walls. The sergeant pushed Elinalise toward the chair.

“Sit.” It wasn’t a request.

She sat. The wood was hard and unforgiving. One of the soldiers attached a chain from her manacles to an iron ring set into the stone floor behind the chair with a heavy padlock. The metallic clank echoed in the empty space.

“Wait here,” the sergeant told his men. “Don’t talk to her.” He gave Elinalise one last look, then left, his boots echoing down the corridor as he went to report his success.

The two remaining soldiers took up positions by the door, leaning against the wall with practiced boredom. They didn’t look at her after that initial positioning.

Elinalise sat still in the chair. She tested the chain once—it was short, allowing only minimal movement of her hands into her lap or to her sides. Escaping wasn’t an option right now anyway, not with two guards at the only exit and certainly more beyond it.

She used this forced stillness to take stock. Her mind, which had been running on pure instinct since Tomas shouted, began to work again in a more deliberate way.

Her identity was known now, completely blown apart. That avenue—of moving unseen as a common refugee—was closed forever. Crell would see to that once word spread that she had been captured alive.

Her father’s seal still rested safely inside its hidden pocket sewn into her shift against her ribs. They hadn’t searched her beyond a cursory pat-down for obvious weapons when they manacled her. That meant they still saw her as just a girl, a political prisoner, not someone who might be carrying something valuable on her person itself. That was one advantage left, small as it was.

The curse simmered away inside her, a constant reminder of why all this was happening. It made thinking difficult sometimes, like trying to concentrate while sitting too close to a fire. Right now it felt like that fire had been banked with fresh coal after all that walking and stress.

What would Crell do with her? He had let her go before deliberately, to let her curse run its course in obscurity and scandal according to his twisted plan for infamy instead of martyrdom. Finding her alive and captured changed things though He couldn’t very well let her go again now that she was officially logged as a prisoner in Grenville custody That would raise questions from his new masters

He could kill her quietly That would be simplest But then she would become a martyr anyway if anyone ever found out And Grenville might want to keep important prisoners alive for public displays—trials, executions to cement their rule

Or he could keep her alive somewhere Some hidden cell Letting time and exposure slowly strip away any dignity until she became exactly what he wanted: a living storybook villainess people whispered about

She realized she didn’t actually know what Grenville itself wanted from all this Did they know about Crell’s little side project with Grand Mage Kaelon? Or did they just think they were conquering a rival kingdom for its land and wealth? Where did she fit into their plans?

Time passed Measured only by drips from somewhere in some corner and by occasional shifts from one guard leaning against stone

Her arms began to ache from being held awkwardly by manacles She shifted slightly trying to find some comfort but there wasn't any

Finally footsteps sounded outside approaching briskly Not one set but several

Both guards straightened immediately pushing off from wall

Lord Crell walked into chamber first He wore different clothes than last time she saw him—richer fabrics darker colors trimmed with silver thread that mimicked Grenville livery without quite adopting it fully His expression today wasn't smug or theatrical like before It looked focused almost irritated like man interrupted during important task

Behind him came two people

One was Grenville captain she recognized instantly despite soot-smudged armor: same man who gave servant's cloak during feast hall betrayal His face remained neutral professional but she thought she saw faint flicker something when his eyes met hers maybe recognition maybe pity It was gone too quickly analyze properly

Other person wore plain grey robes tied simple cord around waist He wasn't old but not young either maybe forty His hair thin receding already He carried small leather satchel over shoulder His gaze landed on Elinalise immediately not scanning room like others did but fixing directly on her as though examining specimen already

Crell stopped few paces away from chair He folded hands behind back looking down at where she sat chained

"Princess," he said His tone lacked mockery now It sounded almost weary "You are proving remarkably difficult kill"

"I'm told it's family trait," Elinalise replied Her voice sounded hoarse from dust thirst but clear enough

Crell's mouth twitched Not smile Exactly "So it seems Your father also took lot killing" He glanced over shoulder at Grenville captain "Captain Varek you may recall Princess Elinalise"

Captain Varek gave short stiff nod "My lady" He didn't elaborate further

"This," Crell continued gesturing toward robed man "is Mage Adrion Attached Lord Grenville's personal staff"

Mage Adrion stepped forward without being prompted further He moved with quiet purpose kneeling floor before Elinalise though careful stay just outside range where chain would allow lash out if she tried His eyes studied hers then drifted lower as though looking through skin muscle bone into whatever churned inside

"You feel heat," Adrion stated It wasn't question "Constant Deep It flares under stress yes?"

Elinalise said nothing She didn't need confirm what he clearly already sensed

"May I?" Adrion asked raising hand slightly

Crell answered for "Proceed"

Adrion placed hand few inches above Elinalise's collarbone where throat met shoulder He didn't touch skin She felt sudden pressure there anyway like warm palm hovering too close fireplace Then prickling sensation spread outward from spot following paths veins arteries She couldn't help small intake breath sharp involuntary

Adrion closed eyes concentrating His brow furrowed After moment he withdrew hand opening eyes looking up Crell "It's same signature Grand Mage Kaelon's working Stronger than expected frankly given time elapsed Usually such curses degrade few days without reinforcement anchor"

"Kaelon always did thorough work," Crell remarked dryly "Can you verify its nature fully?"

"Yes Given hour proper examination Could confirm all parameters fertility immortality aspect pain triggers rest" Adrion stood brushing nonexistent dust robes "But preliminary reading matches report received It is Dragonheart bloodline curse exactly designed"

Captain Varek spoke then first time since greeting "Designed do what exactly?" His tone held professional curiosity soldier assessing new weapon potential threat

Crell answered though he looked at Elinalise while saying "To ensure royal line remembered certain way To twist legacy into joke rather than tragedy" He paused letting words hang "Among other things"

Varek absorbed this information face giving away nothing "I see Lord Grenville will need full report"

"Naturally Captain" Crell turned attention back Elinalise "Princess you find yourself unique position You are prisoner war belonging House Grenville now But you also carry... condition makes you special interest certain parties"

"What parties?" Elinalise asked She kept voice level ignoring racing heart pounding against ribs

"Parties who study such things Parties who might find living cursed immortal valuable research subject" Crell's gaze became speculative "Lord Grenville himself has expressed personal interest given magical investments currently undertaking"

"So I'm be laboratory rat," Elinalise said flatly

"More like prized specimen," Crell corrected "Your survival after initial casting proves curse stable That makes you useful beyond symbolic value" He gestured toward manacles "These temporary Captain Varek will take charge custody until Lord Grenville arrives week time decide final disposition"

Elinalise looked past Crell directly Captain Varek "Is true?"

Varek met gaze held second longer than strictly necessary before nodding once "Yes My orders secure you keep alive unharmed until Lord Grenville's arrival"

There small emphasis word unharmed Not safe Not comfortable Just unharmed For purpose later use

"And after Lord Grenville arrives?" she pressed

"That depends Lord Grenville," Varek said simply "But likely continue custody under my supervision location secure remote away capital Possibly northern garrison Blackstone Keep"

Crell smiled thin humorless smile "Blackstone Quite place Cold Isolated Perfect someone needs disappear quietly while remaining technically alive property state"

Elinalise processed information rapidly So they weren't going kill immediately They wanted keep alive study maybe use somehow That bought time Time could use maybe exploit That also meant they would transport somewhere Possibly outside city itself That presented opportunities escape maybe during transit certainly better odds than locked deep within occupied castle But also meant leaving behind city only home knew every hiding place every secret passage All advantages familiarity gone

"Where father's body?" she asked suddenly changing subject entirely

Crell blinked caught off guard question Then recovered smoothly "Burned With rest palace dead Funeral pyres past two days cleansing taint old regime" His words deliberately cruel stripping away any chance proper burial mourning

Elinalise felt white-hot flash anger so intense momentarily overwhelmed curse-warmth itself She forced breathe through clenched teeth letting anger settle back down smoldering coal added fire already inside Good Let burn Let fuel next part

Mage Adrion spoke again addressing Crell mostly though technical explanation included others "Should note condition appears exacerbate under emotional distress Stress anger fear seem amplify physiological symptoms Recommend keeping calm stable environment possible minimize... episodes during transport study"

"Episodes?" Captain Varek asked sharply "What kind episodes?"

"Manifestations curse," Adrion explained choosing words carefully "It designed cause considerable discomfort pain If triggered sufficiently may produce visible physical reactions sweating trembling possibly vocalizations Could complicate transport draw unwanted attention"

Varek frowned considering logistical problem "Can suppress temporarily? Sedation?"

Adrion shook head "Unwise given unknown interactions magic Might destabilize curse entirely rendering specimen worthless Or kill outright Best manage environment avoid triggers"

Crell looked between mage captain clearly impatient technicalities "Manage then Captain That your responsibility You have week prepare secure transport route contingent capable handling delicate cargo"

Varek gave another stiff nod "Understood"

Crell turned leave then paused looking back Elinalise one last time "You should know Princess Historical records already being amended Official story will state Princess Elinalise died defending father brave but futile gesture Your capture today never happened far world concerned You already ghost So whatever happens next happens silence That part my gift you Infamy requires audience after all"

He didn't wait response simply walked out chamber footsteps fading quickly Mage Adrion followed after giving Elinalise final curious glance like naturalist noting rare beetle

That left only Captain Varek two guards still stationed door

Varek waited until Crell's footsteps gone completely Then he moved closer crouching down so eye level with seated chained girl He kept voice low enough guards wouldn't overhear clearly

"Listen carefully," he said His eyes held intensity now stripped away professional neutrality "I don't agree methods I don't approve curses mages playing gods But orders orders I will follow them That means getting Blackstone Keep alive unharmed"

Elinalise stared back him saying nothing waiting see where going

"Blackstone week journey north Road dangerous even without occupying army patrols Territory still contested bands loyalists hiding hills Plus usual bandits deserters" Varek spoke quickly efficiently laying facts "My squad twelve including myself Small target less noticeable also means less protection Things happen roads People get lost Prisoners escape during ambushes sometimes especially if manacles keys get misplaced advance"

He let those words hang moment watching see if understood implication

Elinalise understood perfectly He offering chance escape during transport But why? Why risk treason for girl he barely knew whose kingdom already lost?

"Why?" she whispered question aloud

Varek's expression didn't change "Let's just say I prefer clean fights dirty magic And I owe debt" He didn't elaborate whose debt or why He stood up straight becoming Captain Varek again voice returning normal volume "Guards Prisoner remains chained here until I return with proper cell assignment Two hour shifts Stay alert"

"Yes sir," both guards chorused

Varek gave Elinalise final unreadable look then left too leaving alone again with guards silence pressing down like physical weight alongside manacles chain

But something new stirred inside alongside heat anger grief now A fragile thin thing called hope