by Lisa Daniels
My first thought was to go upstairs and ask where I should sleep. That thought was quickly dismissed. The last thing I was going to do was try to find a guard in the dungeons and try to explain my situation. It seemed impossible that many people knew about my current circumstances, and the idea that they would think I was an escaped prisoner, or worse, a toy, made me look for my own solution.
There were plenty of beds.
It wasn’t ideal, but given the good condition that most of them were in, I figured sleeping in one of the cells wouldn’t be the worst thing to happen to me since coming to the palace. Not by a long shot.
Entering one of the cells closest to the kitchen, I looked around. The bed looked like it had never been used, and I shuddered to think how much work it would take to get rid of the dust. There was nowhere in the cell to place the torch.
Returning to the kitchen, I grabbed a couple of candlesticks. Of course there were no candles, so I would need to improvise. I grabbed a worn broom on the way out. Placing the torch in one of the hallway holders, I set to work making sure there was no dust or straw on the floor where I planned to set up some kind of light receptacle. It had to be far enough from the bed so that the place where I slept wasn’t at risk of catching fire. Almost everything was stone, so I felt certain I would be safe with the light across the small cell against the wall. Next, I balanced the torch on the candlesticks, using the spikes to hold it so it would not fall. Putting a small pot on the floor upside down, I put one of the candlesticks on top of it. Another pot rested at the end of the torch to catch anything that melted or ran down it. Having been burnt a couple of times while exploring the floor, I knew that the fat at the core of the torch would run down. Best not to have that on the floor in case it stuck, or worse, caught fire.
I moved around the room, trying to generate enough of a breeze to knock the torch over. Once it became apparent that the thing was solid, I moved over to the bed and began to prepare it. I ended up having to take it back to the kitchen because there wasn’t enough room in the cell to remove the dust without risking burning the blanket. Taking it to an area of the room that was still very dirty, I began to get rid of the dust. That took me far longer than I had expected and by the time I was done, my nose wouldn’t stop itching. I sneezed my way back to the cell and placed the blanket down on a small bed. Carefully, I crawled on top and found that it was just as uncomfortable as it looked. Still not the worst I had experienced. The blanket wasn’t big enough to cover the straw and me, so after a few minutes of unsuccessfully trying to get comfortable, I got up and walked into one of the other cells. Pulling the unused blanket off of the bed, I returned to the kitchen to clean it.
By the time I finally returned to my chosen cell, I was absolutely wiped out. I lay down and fell asleep, the scratchy blanket giving me a warmth against the dampness.
I had some bizarre dreams that night. In it there were monsters that shifted between humans and animals, and they seemed to follow me. The servants kept taunting me, pushing me toward the monsters who grabbed me. I managed to escape and found the guards. They kept their backs to me as I pleaded with them. The worst part was when Mrs. Teasdon came out and entirely ignored me. She talked to the guards about how sad it was that I was taken. When I shouted to get her attention, she turned with the guard. They pulled out their swords as the woman looked me in the eye and said, “You would be better off dead.”
I woke screaming in the tiny cell, my heart racing and sweat running down my face. Looking around, I tried to determine if I was awake or still sleeping. When I saw the open door to the cell, I knew that I was alright. Flopping back onto the bed, I tried to calm down. When it became obvious that I would not be getting any more sleep, I decided to get up and back to work.
There were some supplies in the kitchen. Clearly someone had come down and left them, but they had not bothered to say anything to me. There was no note or anything else. One thing was clear. This was not meant for prisoners. It was enough food to feed one person for several days. I gave a sad nod of my head. They really were just going to leave me down here with no one to talk to. They really were leaving me to fend for myself, doing as little as necessary—just enough to keep me from leaving the floor.
The time passed just like the previous day. I worked hard cleaning the kitchen and preparing it for food to arrive. I had no idea when that would happen, but I wanted to be ready when it did.
For several days, I worked to restore the kitchen. Every night I experienced the same nightmare and woke screaming. After three nights of this, I began to dread going to sleep. As much as I wanted to dismiss it as no more than a fear of my current situation, I had experienced premonitions enough times to know the difference between one of those and a simple nightmare. The fourth night when I lay down to sleep, there was a soft humming noise. Too tired to explore, I curled up and tried to convince myself that nothing was amiss. I hardly needed one more thing entering my nightmare. As I began to drift to sleep, the sound seemed to get louder, and I felt comforted by it.
I had the same nightmare, but just before waking, someone in my dream took my hand. Gently talking to me, he led me away from the humans and the shifters. His voice was soft and warm with a hint of sadness to it. I soon woke, the sweat still beaded on my face, but my heart was not racing nearly as much as it had the other time. Looking around the cell, I was able to more quickly remember my predicament. The nightmare had changed, but it still bothered me. Where had I been going? Was the person leading me actually a demon taking me to a harvest? I knew that women with premonitions were more susceptible to the supernatural forces. It was not entirely uncommon for them to die in their sleep. Maybe that was what had caused their premature deaths.
Rubbing my fingers against my forehead, I muttered, “Well, if the demon makes the premonitions bearable, I don’t know that I would mind being taken away. It couldn’t possibly be worse than the nightmares.” I knew that I was entering very dangerous territory.
Only weak women would give in to the summons of a demon, that was what my mother always said, and she pointed to herself as the best example of it. She would laugh after telling her morality tale, “You don’t think that I was always like this, do you? Once I was as clever and talented as you. Now…” She held out her hands as if to prove she was right. These few minutes of serious conversation never lasted long, and she usually undermined herself by whatever she did after the discussion. It was almost impossible to imagine my mother as anything other than the person I knew, but a part of me heeded the warning.
“Maybe that is why she told me, though. So many times.” My mother had cared for me in her own strange way. Perhaps there was some kind of curse she had brought on herself that kept her from being the woman she wanted to be. I never asked and she never offered specifics.
After that, the creature would enter my dreams, comforting me and leading me away from the cruelty of the humans. After a few nights, I began to try to talk to the creature, but I no longer seemed able to talk. We moved a little further away every night, and I found myself more interested in learning where we were going than in protecting myself. He was kind and open, telling me that humans could be fantastic, but they tended to be terrible. When I woke, I rarely remembered everything he said. All that remained was a bit of peace in my panic.
A few days after the voice had appeared, more food was delivered. I was still yet to see anyone else, but I did not feel as alone as they perhaps wanted me to feel. Down in the bowels of the dungeon, something had found me and was letting me know that everything would be alright. There was still the fear and uncertainty, but I also felt safe for the first time since I had left home.
Chapter 3
A New Prisoner
I had no way to tell how much time had actually passed, to know when it was night or day, or to even keep track of when I should eat. My body became the sole indicator of when I should complete all of the necessary tasks to stay alive. And I found that oddly satisfying. Work seemed t
o go a little better and I felt well rested. I knew that part of this was because I no longer had to sleep lightly to hear people coming into my room. The closest thing I had to indicate the passage of time was the fact that I had woken from that nightmare more than a dozen times before anyone came down to check on me. More food had been delivered once or twice, but I never saw the person who brought it. Nor did they ever leave a note to tell me anything. For about two weeks, I had no contact with anyone else, and it was wonderful.
As I was working on fixing an unsteady table, I heard footsteps. Unsure who would be entering so far below the surface, I prepared myself to come face to face with the same man who had brought me down here. I got off the floor and began to brush myself off. The person who entered the kitchen as I wiped my hands on my apron was a completely different guard. The first guard had been coldish, but understanding. More importantly, he took no specific interest in me. This guard had a demeanor that was far less kind, and the way his eyes traveled over my body made me incredibly uncomfortable.
I smiled at him, “Good day. How can I help you?”
His leer made me want to crawl under one of the tables, something I briefly considered doing. “Oh, I like these pleasantries. No one told me that the traitor had caged someone so beautiful. Almost like you are here just for me.”
A shiver went up my spine, but I kept the smile on my lips. “Have you food for me to prepare? Is there anything in particular that I should make for the prisoners?” I chose my words very carefully, trying to make it clear that I was only interested in working. It was obvious that he had not brought food, but I hoped that he would say that they were bringing some down or that they planned to use my services to start taking care of the floors above me.
He began to walk toward me, his hands touching the furniture as he moved around the table, “Why be all business, love? We should get to know each other first. Then we can talk—”
“Excuse me,” a voice called out from just outside the room, causing the guard to stop and turn. The voice continued, “How long exactly do you hold people before you choose to feed them?”
The guard looked at me, “Who do you have down here? I thought you was being punished.”
I shrugged, “I was alone. Perhaps he followed you down?”
The guard gave me a confused look, then rolling his eyes, he walked out the kitchen door. I quickly followed, my curiosity piqued. If someone else was down there and the guard didn’t know who it was, what could that person’s motives be? The guard stopped in the hallway, turning around like a fool looking for whomever had called to us.
“Over here,” I saw a hand stick out between the bars of one of the cells and wave at us. I immediately walked over as the guard stood still.
“Hello,” I said as I approached the bars, thinking perhaps it was another guard come to talk about what was going on. I noticed that the door was closed, and I frowned. My eyes moved from the door to a man who had just flopped down on the small bed.
The man cut a fine figure. His short-cropped hair was a strange mix of black and red that I at first thought was the light reflecting strange shadows. His face was clean-shaven, and his jaw was angular, but there was something soft about it. His cheekbones stood out like you would expect on a statue of the perfect man. It was difficult to tell how tall he was, resting on the bed, but he was in perfect shape. Calling him lithe would not do his body justice. The clothes he wore fit perfectly, bulging in a few places, hinting at the muscles under them. The way he was dressed looked like he was part of the royal family. He gave me a wave. “Hello.”
That was when I noticed his eyes, which shone in the darkness of the cell, apparently absorbing all of the light from the torches around us. They were an impossible combination of green and yellow that seemed to be as deep as a jungle.
“And how can I help you?” The words pretty much said themselves as my brain was processing the sight before me. It appeared to me that one of the nobles, or perhaps one of the princes, had come down to the dungeons. I had no idea why he would, but it was the only explanation I could think of for the arrival of someone so obviously of a higher station.
The guard approached, “How did you get here? What kind of prank is this?”
“I think you can quickly figure out your own answers,” he gave a lazy smile, his eyes still trained on me.
“Listen here, I don’t know who you are or why you are down here, but I’m—”
“Just harassing the help. Yes, I heard. But I believe that I am entitled to a meal.”
I tilted my head to the side as the guard grabbed the bars. He was getting angrier by the second. “I don’t take orders from you, so you had best go back upstairs and—”
“Oh, is it my choice now? I’m allowed to just release myself and go back out into the city to continue stealing, killing, and disobeying the law in any way that I see fit?”
The guard stopped, then frowned. “Are you saying you are a criminal? A prisoner?”
“Well,” the man stood up, and it was incredibly impressive. Beside me I heard the guard gulp as the man in the cell reached his full height. He wasn’t the tallest man I had ever seen (my father was taller), but it was the way his body moved that was intimidating. His eyes had only flicked from mine a couple of times. Now that he was standing, I began to feel a bit like a mouse in front of a cat. There was something about him that definitely reminded me of a predator. He walked nonchalantly to the bars and leaned against the wall. “Do you often get people roaming into the prison, going down a couple dozen floors, and locking themselves into a cell? If so, I am certain there are cities who would love to know how you convince your criminals to do it.”
“Don’t be stupid,” the guard was trying to gain control of the situation. “Of course we don’t have that. All of our prisoners are caught and brought in here.” He appeared to be proud of that last part.
A thin grin spread across the man’s face. As he spoke, the grin continued to expand. “Well, there you go.”
“What do you mean? I’m not going anywhere.”
It was almost impossible not to laugh at the guard’s lack of understanding. I managed, but I also had a reason not to upset him. If I had thought that the man in the cell had a good reason, he soon proved he didn’t care. His laugh echoed around the corridor. Wiping an invisible tear, he looked at the guard, “I feel quite certain you won’t be staying down here. In fact, considering how much time you have spent already, they are going to be looking for you soon. You may not have the captain anymore, but the second isn’t any more lenient, and he knows her.” The prisoner indicated me as his eyes shifted back to me. “What I meant was you have your answer, Spoon.”
“Your name is Spoon?” I turned to look at the guard, whose faced was a bright red.
“Of course my name isn’t Spoon, you stupid girl.” His hand grabbed my arm. “Do—”
I never heard what he was going to say as the prisoner’s hand shot out of his cell, grabbed the guard by the front of his armor, and yanked him hard against the bars. The sound of his skull connecting with the metal reverberated around the halls, and I imagined that I felt it through the floor.
The guard staggered back, blood trickling down his head.
“Now, little man, why don’t you run along upstairs and get that taken care of? I would like to have a nice chat with this lovely young woman, and then a meal. It has been a while since I ate.”
“I’ll return and then you will pay for this.” The guard staggered toward the stairs.
The prisoner waved a hand, “Sure. You tell them that you were beaten up by a prisoner and see how well that goes. You will be out on the streets faster than you can think of a response to any insult. Run along now and pretend that you fell down the stairs. I’ve no doubt that they will buy that.”
With a glare, the guard disappeared.
I turned back around and looked at the prisoner. “Why did you call him Spoon?”
He gave me a gentle smile, but answere
d with a question, “What is the sharpest kitchen utensil? Generally speaking.” The last thing was said almost like an afterthought, as if he didn’t want me to spend a lot of time thinking about it.
“Most people would say a knife, but—ohh,” I began to nod, “and a spoon is generally considered the dullest.” I smiled at the insult, somewhat ashamed that I hadn’t picked up on that faster. “It is quite brazen for a prisoner to insult a guard. Then again, you clearly are in a very different position from most prisoners. Or at least I imagine so. I don’t really know anything about how this stuff works.” I gave him an apologetic smile. “Sorry, if you have questions, I am not the right person to answer them.”
His smile was different, but still a bit frightening with his intense eyes. “Don’t worry. I don’t bite.” For a second, my eyes flicked to his teeth, and an image passed through my mind that caused me to blush.
I had never had that kind of thought before.
He moved closer and he seemed to be observing me from the cell, almost like I was the one in a cage and he was the one in control. “It is a figure of speech. If I can make exceptions.” His voice was low and warm, but the innuendo was over my head.
“That’s quite alright,” I pulled a hand near my neck, almost like I was trying to protect it.
“I was…” his words faded away. I looked up, and as soon as his eyes met mine, he gave a low bow, never breaking the eye contact. “I am Braxton. Short-term resident and curious prisoner of the woman before me.”
I smiled despite myself. Men had always taken an interest in me, but none had acted quite like this. I was a bit out of my element trying to deal with someone acting so gentlemanly. “Hi, Braxton. I am Arabella.”
