Page 16 of Taken By The Dark Three
A timid knock rattles the door. A slot slides open, and a pair of distrustful eyes peer through. “Wake up,” says a guard. The panel clangs shut, followed by the scrape of a key in the lock.He steps in, a tall figure with dull silver hair. His expression is neither cruel nor kind; he’s simply a functionary, doing his job. He tosses a small bundle of bread and dried fruit at my feet.
I gather the meager rations. “Changing tactics? You want me fed now?”
He doesn’t rise to the bait. “Court’s orders. You can’t serve Orthani if you die of starvation.” His tone lacks sympathy. “Commander Vaelith wants you intact. Don’t make trouble, and you’ll be moved to the corridor for a routine health check.”
I snort. A routine health check in Orthani’s prison likely means another chance for them to poke needles into me or pry for weaknesses. Still, my hunger gnaws at me, and the bread in my hands is better than fainting from lack of nourishment. I break off a hunk, forcing it down with small sips of water from a battered cup the guard leaves behind.
When the door slams shut, I allow myself a few minutes to eat in peace. My throat remains sore from shouting at Zareth the previous night. He cornered me with psionic force, testing how far my mind can bend. The memory of his smug face stirs a nauseating blend of fury and reluctant fascination, something I plan to bury until it’s useful. I won’t let him see how he unsettled me.
I finish the bread, wipe crumbs from my lips, and rise. My legs still tremble slightly, but I refuse to show weakness. A swirl of determination flares in my chest at the thought of Ai. She’s the reason I walked into Orthani in the first place, only to end up in these shackles. I have to see her, confirm she’s alive.
Another knock resounds, followed by the guard’s return. He unlocks the door more cautiously this time, as if expecting me to pounce. “Time to move,” he says.
Two more guards stand outside—evidently no one trusts me alone with a single escort. Fine. The corridor beyond my little cell is carved from dark stone lit by flickering lanterns. Each stepof my boots on the ground echoes in the hush. The guards flank me, weapons at the ready. I keep my face neutral, storing each sight for future reference.
We pass rows of identical doors set with heavy locks. A reek of damp air clings to the corridor, punctuated by faint moans or curses from other prisoners. My pulse thrums with dread as I think of Ai locked behind one of these doors. She’s too young to face such cruelty.
After several turns, the corridor widens into a small annex. A table stands in the middle, and a stern-faced dark elf woman dressed in a practical gray uniform organizes rows of bandages and potion vials. Her hair is braided close to her scalp. She barely acknowledges me, focusing instead on the guard carrying a clipboard.
“The purna,” he announces. “Health check, as ordered.”
The woman nods, gesturing me forward. She’s short for a dark elf, but her posture is firm, exuding authority in this cramped medical station. “Hold still,” she instructs, pressing two fingers to my wrist. She’s feeling for my pulse, or maybe checking for erratic magical surges.
I watch her in silence, reading the tension in her stiff shoulders. She’s no friend, just another piece of Orthani’s machinery. She prods my bruises, lifts the edge of my shirt to inspect old welts from the electric rod. I let out a hiss when she presses too firmly on a sensitive spot.
She doesn’t bother apologizing. “Bruising will fade in a few days. She can still walk and function, so no further healing required. The court wants her stable.” She jots a note on a small parchment.
“Perfect,” the lead guard says. “We’ll move her back.”
My throat tightens in frustration. More captivity. More waiting. My chest pulses with the need to find Ai, to confirm she’s unharmed. I coil that urgency into a single question. “Whatabout the other purna you captured?” I angle my voice in a casual attempt. “She’s younger, might need medicine.”
The woman’s gaze flickers with something like pity, but she covers it swiftly. She glances at the guard and shrugs, feigning disinterest. “Not my concern. Next prisoner.”
My teeth clench. “Take me to her. She’s my responsibility.”
The guard laughs. “Responsibility? In Orthani, prisoners have no claims on anything.” He waves me forward, dismissing my request.
I consider flinging myself at him, a reckless bid to see Ai. But the corridor is cramped, lined with armed men, and every stone here hums with dampening wards. Even if I conjured a fraction of my power, they’d subdue me easily. My anger simmers. I need a better approach.
They steer me back through the twisting hallways, closer to my original cell. I memorize every arch and alcove. Then, to my surprise, they turn a corner I haven’t traversed before, halting in front of a thick door. One guard raps a coded knock. Another unlatches a bolt.
The door creaks open to reveal a narrower corridor. It’s less musty, with a faint draft of cooler air from a grated vent near the ceiling. Something about the hush beyond stirs my instincts, like we’ve stepped into a more restricted block of cells. My heart thumps faster, hoping Ai might be locked somewhere here.
The lead guard gestures me forward. “Move.”
I follow, eyes darting for clues. The corridor’s walls are etched with wards far more elaborate than the ones near my cell. They swirl in labyrinthine patterns, spiked with runic symbols that hum at the edge of my hearing. High-level arcana. Possibly used for containing strong magic or unstable captives. Guilt twists in my gut, imagining Ai forced to endure this at her age.
We pass a cluster of smaller cells, each door reinforced with double locks. Faint scratching or whimpers come from within. Ican’t see inside, but the hush is eerie. The guard halts me near one of the last doors. My pulse leaps—maybe Ai is behind it. But he moves on, continuing down the hall.
At last, we round a bend, and a softer voice echoes from the end of the corridor: a child’s murmur, breathy and indistinct. My heart lurches. Ai. I jerk forward, but the guards seize my arms, pinning me in place. My eyes lock on a smaller figure standing near an open cell door. She’s no taller than my chest, her hair a pale silver that glints under the lantern glow. She wears a tattered shift that reveals delicate arms crisscrossed with faint bruises. Ai.
“Let me speak to her,” I demand, struggling. “Just a moment.”
The guards hesitate, exchanging uneasy looks. Orthani’s soldiers are used to violence, but a trembling child is a different matter. The lead guard barks an order: “Stay back. She’s being moved for a routine check. The court says we can’t risk purna collusion.”
Ai lifts her head. Large, luminous eyes fix on me across the gloom. Something raw breaks inside me at the sight of her trembling form. She’s holding a ragged scrap of blanket, her slight shoulders sagging. She whispers my name, though it’s barely audible above the shuffle of boots.
A thick-limbed guard behind her scowls, shoving her forward. “Move.”
