by Helene Gadot
Caged
Arcane Prison Book 1
Helene Gadot
This is a work of fiction. Similarities to real people, places, or events are entirely coincidental.
CAGED
First edition. April 10, 2020.
Copyright © 2020 Helene Gadot.
Written by Helene Gadot.
Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright Page
Chapter One | Allegra
Chapter Two | Allegra
Chapter Three | Sterling
Chapter Four | Allegra
Chapter Five | Gavyn
Chapter Six | Allegra
Chapter Seven | Archer
Chapter Eight | Allegra
Chapter Nine | Sterling
Chapter Ten | Gavyn
Chapter Eleven | Archer
Chapter Twelve | Sterling
Chapter Thirteen | Allegra
Chapter Fourteen | Allegra
Chapter Fifteen | Gavyn
Chapter Sixteen | Allegra
Chapter Seventeen | Archer
Chapter Eighteen | Archer
Chapter Nineteen | Allegra
Chapter Twenty | Allegra
Chapter Twenty-One | Allegra
Chapter Twenty-Two | Gavyn
Chapter Twenty-Three | Allegra
Chapter Twenty-Four | Sterling
Chapter Twenty-Five | Allegra
Chapter Twenty-Six | Gavyn
Chapter Twenty-Seven | Archer
Chapter Twenty-Eight | Allegra
Chapter Twenty-Nine | Allegra
Chapter Thirty | Sterling
Chapter Thirty-One | Allegra
Chapter Thirty-Two | Allegra
Chapter Thirty-Three | Archer
Chapter Thirty-Four | Allegra
Chapter Thirty-Five | Gavyn
Chapter Thirty-Six | Allegra
Chapter Thirty-Seven | Archer
Chapter Thirty-Eight | Allegra
Chapter Thirty-Nine | Sterling
Chapter Forty | Allegra
Chapter Forty-One | Gavyn
Chapter Forty-Two | Allegra
Chapter Forty-Three | Allegra
Chapter Forty-Four | Archer
Chapter Forty-Five | Allegra
Chapter Forty-Six | Sterling
Chapter Forty-Seven | Allegra
Chapter Forty-Eight | Allegra
Chapter Forty-Nine | Gavyn
Chapter Fifty | Allegra
Chapter Fifty-One | Allegra
Chapter Fifty-Two | Sterling
Chapter Fifty-Three | Allegra
Chapter Fifty-Four | Archer
Chapter Fifty-Five | Allegra
Chapter Fifty-Six | Gavyn
Chapter Fifty-Seven | Sterling
Chapter Fifty-Eight | Allegra
Chapter Fifty-Nine | Allegra
Chapter Sixty
Chapter Sixty-One
Chapter One
Allegra
A TOMATO SMASHES RIGHT into my chest, the juice soaking into my horrible red dress, the pulp sliding down the skirt to plop at my feet.
But I can’t stop my song, or it’ll be worse than a soft tomato next time. I’m already covered in sticky egg shells and other slop. Just like every week when they force me to perform.
My stomach growls, tempting me to grab the squashed tomato and shove it in my pocket for later.
I keep my face blank as I push through the last verse of the song, trying to focus on anywhere else other than the hell that is this place, ignoring the leers and heckling from the guards I’m entertaining.
It’s my least favorite day of the week and has been for years. Ever since they found out I could sing, I’ve been forced to come here and put on a show for the people who keep us captive in this sad place.
But they’re impossible to ignore with their taunts and hateful smirks. There are ten tables full of humans stuffing their faces with delicious juicy food and pounding back ale, lantern light flickering on their faces.
When I reach the final chorus, I eye my audience, trying to watch out for where the next attack will come from. There’s always a surge of thrown food and sometimes worse when we close out.
All the prisoners here are just monkeys for the guards to play with however they wish. And they usually choose particularly cruel ways to amuse themselves.
Instead of applause at the final note, a metal mug of ale sails past my head and crashes right into Zakar’s face.
I wince and rush over to grab his arm when he starts to topple over, reaching for his bleeding head, the guitar clattering to the ground. I scoop the instrument up for him and shuffle him towards the exit.
Laughter chases us through the door, both of us leaning on each other as we limp from the room.
Another guard waits for us right outside the door. She sneers at us when she sees the state we’re in.
Like it’s new.
We look like we rolled around in garbage or the floor of a privy every single time we perform for the bored drunken guards who resent they’re stuck here with us. They have to come up with creative ways to keep themselves entertained and us miserable.
“Better make sure those clothes are scrubbed clean before your next performance, or you’ll end up singing naked.” She shoves my back to get me to walk faster, even though I’m carrying a guitar and half-carrying Zakar with these ridiculous heavy skirts weighing down each one of my steps.
I don’t respond past a respectful dip of my head. It’s better not to respond. All it does is rile them up, give them a reason to lash out.
Not that they need a reason.
Zakar straightens and pulls away from me, muttering his gratitude under his breath as the guard herds us across the yard to the hole in the ground we spend our nights in. He looks like he just survived a massacre with blood streaked across half his face and staining the front of his neck, disappearing into the black of his tunic.
I shiver as the chilly wind picks up and the wet spots on my dress make me even more uncomfortable. The dying and trampled grass stab into my bare feet and I hide my wince with each step.
It’s better not to show weakness here. It only makes us more of a target.
Zakar and I grimace at each other as we pass the punishment cages, set out right by the whipping post where seven people are curled up in their corners, trying to find a comfortable position with their raw backs exposed. Their whimpers and grunts of pain make my stomach roll and the still healing scars on my back twinge.
They don’t let us shift to heal completely, wanting us scarred. We can transform to our animal forms when they want to experiment or when it’s the only thing that’ll save our lives and they want us to live a little longer.
Otherwise, our animal sides are constantly buried inside us, trapped by the collars around our necks.
Same goes for the vampires and demons and mages. Anything making us other is stripped from us.
It’s illegal to have magic in Ravenswood.
If you’re caught or denounced as an Arcane, you’re sent to one of these snake pits, our only crime being born.
TREPIDATION GROWS WITH each step as we near the hatched doors leading down into the earth where we’re locked up at night.
It may be the only time we’re away from the guards’ watchful eyes, but I hate being locked up underground, unable to see the sky or feel the breeze hitting my face.
The guard unlocks and opens the door as I eye the key with longing, wanting nothing more than to rip it from her hands, stab her with it, and free everyone inside.
But I’ve tried to escape before, and it only ended up with me being whipped so badly they reached bone and then dumped into the solitary pit for three weeks.
The guard shoves us inside, causing us to almost tumble
down the stone stairs. I suck in a sharp breath, hating her touch on my skin, swallowing a scream, worried that if I start, I’ll never stop.
The door slams shut above us, the creaking thud of the lock sliding into place making my stomach lurch.
I eye the blood still leaking from my best friend’s temple. “Come on. Let’s get that wound taken care of.”
Zakar’s shoulders slump even lower, exhaustion and pain on his bronze face. “It’s fine, Allegra. I’m all right.”
“I know. But you still need a poultice. Stop arguing and come on.” I’m not giving him a choice.
No way am I going to let him get an infection and die.
He huffs but stumbles after me down the dim stone hallway, past the other cells filled with starving and broken Arcanes. The ones without doors barely glance up as we pass, lost in their own pain and exhaustion. The dungeon is always a depressing place as we’re all trapped together and separated from fresh air and sky and everything other than dirt and stone.
Arcanes are meant to connect with the world, with nature, with the sun and moon and trees and sky. Very few handle the underground very well.
Tahira sighs and shakes her head when we push through the door of her cell and sees Zakar’s bloody face. “Those bastards. If only I could give each and every one of them syphilis. I would if I had access to my magic.”
She clucks and mutters to herself as she plucks different herbs from her door, her lined face set in grim frustration.
After nudging at Zakar until he sits on the floor, I dip an old rag into her bucket of water and clean the blood off his face and neck.
I’m so tired of this. Of cleaning blood off people I care about or myself. Of putting up with the constant pain and humiliation filling every single day.
At least I have these two people. Without them, I’d be lost.
Zakar reaches up and covers my hand with his own. “It’s just a little cut, Ally. I’m okay.”
His gray eyes pierce mine, his the color of storm clouds passing over the sun, bright in his sun-bronzed face.
Even though he works in the mines, his skin always remains the beautiful gleaming color of a statue.
Not that I’ve ever seen a statue except in the books passed around down here in secret.
I rub my thumb against his cheekbone before pulling away, his hand releasing mine to drop back into my lap, stroking my knee. “I know. But just let me do this.”
The clouds in his eyes darken as he nods. “Okay. Whatever you need.”
I swallow hard, the lump in my throat refusing to go down.
Tahira breaks up our staring contest as she bustles over with a fragrant bandage coated in different healing and cleansing herbs. I help her tie it around Zak’s head, cringing at his flinch.
“Keep that on all night and tomorrow you should be fine.”
Zak sighs as he pokes at the bandage. “I’m fine now.”
Tahira scowls at him with her hands on her hips. “Don’t make me smack you, boy. I have taught you better all these years that you can’t play around with any open wounds. Especially in this nastiness we live in.”
Zak never took to her teaching us healing the way I did. It bores him.
He ducks his head, but the edges of his lips quirk. “Sorry, Tahira.”
She snorts. “You’re not sorry. I see the mischief in your eyes. Now you two get out of here and let an old woman sleep.”
Zak and I help each other to our feet and I eye him carefully, watching for any sign of lightheadedness, but he seems steady.
And a bit frustrated with all the hovering and worrying, but I don’t care. He can deal with it.
We hug Taira and thank her before heading towards our cell. He has his own, but he hasn’t used it in a long time. Neither of us like to be alone.
Even when Rowan was still alive, he stayed with us most of the time.
But since Rowan died, Zak only leaves my side when we’re working, when he’s forced to.
I think he’s worried I’ll do something reckless.
Again.
But the last time I did something reckless, someone got killed. I’m not planning to relive that.
Zak reaches for my hand and squeezes it as we slip through the dungeon halls, stopping us both in front of our door. “Sorry for being an asshole.”
I shrug, turning to face him, our hands still threaded together. “You didn’t offend me. There’s nothing to apologize for. Living like this is enough to make anyone grumpy.”
He grimaces. “I let it get to me too much today.”
I shake my head with a snort and pull him through our door. “How often have you had to talk me down on a bad day? I’d say it’s your turn. You stay patient more than anyone else in this place.”
Something I’ve come to rely on over the years. He keeps me calm when everything around me is going to shit.
No matter how much I regret Zakar being caught and brought here, I believe without him to grow up with, I would’ve given up a long time ago.
Before he arrived, all I had was Tahira. There were no other children here.
It was just me. Alone.
No playmates, no friends. Just terrifying adults too lost to their own despair to care much about a scared child and guards who treated me like I was nothing but an annoying animal they liked to kick around.
But then Zakar showed up, only a little older than me when I was eight and he was ten.
They shoved him in with me and we’ve been together ever since.
We turn our backs to each other and strip off our clothes and dunk them in the bucket of water we keep in here for cleaning, climbing back into our dreary uniforms, still damp from their last wash.
Zak groans behind me. “I hate being angry. It makes me itch.”
He tells himself that, but I don’t believe him. I think he’s scared of his own anger. Scared of what he’ll release if he gives in to the lure of rage. Every now and again I see it, something dark and dangerous, flickering in his eyes. And every now and again I’m tempted to push him until he snaps, wanting to see him in all his furious glory.
Maybe his anger could raze this place to the ground.
But it’ll have to wait for another day.
I sink onto our small pile of blankets and rags that we’ve turned into our bed, looking up at him. “I know. Come on. Let’s get some sleep and end this wretched day.”
He steps over and drops to the floor beside me with a huff before flattening to his back. I use his chest as a pillow and start humming a song, trying to force comfort into him. It takes a moment, but he finally wraps his arm around my waist and pulls me closer, losing some of his stiffness and relaxing.
I hide my smile behind my arm, relieved I could tease him out of his mood, rare though it may be.
He joins his voice with mine and together, we’re able to drown out some of the sounds of misery surrounding us.
Tucked in close together, we’re able to combat the chill coming off the stone walls and find sleep, even with the moaning and screams and shouts coming from other cells.
Just like we do every night.
But the next morning, after I say goodbye to Zakar for the day, news awaits me in the kitchens, everyone all but buzzing with the information.
A new cart of prisoners is due to arrive.
Chapter Two
Allegra
ONCE THE GUARDS HAVE broken their fast, we’re all brought outside to witness the new arrivals.
Tahira and I exchange a look filled with dread as the prison cart rolls through the gates. I search the crowd for Zak with the others on the mine detail, but he’s hidden somewhere in the mass of bodies.
I hate it when they bring in new people. It’s always so heartbreaking when they’re kicked out of the back and we watch the realization hit them that they have arrived in hell.
Maybe they’ve heard rumors of how bad the prisons are, but the reality is always so much worse.
I’ve lived my entire life in this
cruel place and every single time new prisoners arrive, they’re always horrified and shocked.
I have no idea how bad things are outside these walls, but they’re clearly better than here. Even if those with magic have to hide a major part of themselves or live life on the run. It’s got to be better than this. I have to believe that or I’ll go mad. If I’m not already.
Guards pour into the yard and get into position as the cart jerks to a stop, sending the prisoners stumbling into one another even though they’re packed so tightly in there, they only have enough room to stand.
Their stench makes my nose wrinkle, their unwashed bodies and fear reaching us all the way across the yard. There’s no telling how long they’ve been cramped in there, traveling town to town to pick up Arcanes who’ve been caught by local constabularies.
From what Tahira and other prisoners here have told me, regular village law enforcement may have plenty of collars to capture Arcanes, but they don’t have the facilities for holding them long term. Or regular human criminals.
The guard who hit me with a tomato last night pulls down the ramp attached to the cart and unlocks the door, yanking prisoners through the door and shoving them into the waiting arms of the ring of guards surrounding the cart.
I reach out for Tahira’s hand, my throat tight and pulse racing. She squeezes back, her grip harsh from her own helpless rage.
There have to be at least thirty of them stuffed into the small cart.
The guards have the whips unfurled, snapping them at the backs and heels of the Arcanes stumbling from the back, squinting against the burning sunlight.
One of the prisoners breaks away from the others, snarling, his dark skin ashen.
A vampire.
He’s probably starving. They all show up here like that, almost mad in their need for blood.
The collar around his neck doesn’t strip away his thirst or the necessity of it to survive. It only strips away his arcane strength and speed, making him as weak and slow as a human.
He doesn’t even flinch when the whip slashes through his shirt to his back as he tries to take a bite out of one of the guard’s throats.
Before he makes contact, two Arcanes from the prison cart grab him and haul him back.
