Page 26 of A Spell of Bones and Madness
“If the guards wake and I am caught it could still work as a distraction. Kohl will want me taken to him—I am still his wife after all.” Katrin’s heart sank at the thought. It was pointless—their marriage—she had only gone through with it to save her family, to regain some semblance of the throne that was supposed to be hers, and still they had to flee the castle.
“I am more of a distraction. My father will want me above all others.” Farah’s voice was firm, unwavering.
“We will go together then. Farah and I can handle the guards here, Katrin, you and Chloe slip down to the dungeons.” The naurach unsheathed a small blade from his ankle.
“Ok, but we must be quick. The feast tonight has worked to our advantage, but it also means people could be shuffling back to their chambers still,” Katrin whispered to them all.
Creaking filled the hall as Katrin opened the doorway, scanning for anyone in addition to the two sleeping guards across from them. When no other sounds echoed along the castle walls, she let out the smallest of sighs, grateful for the soldiers of Spartanis and their indulgence in liquor. Leighton and Farah nodded behind her, both with weapons in hand, and Chloe prowled behind her to the locked door. Reaching down to the belt of one of the sleeping guards, Katrin lightly clutched the ring of keys, quickly picking a thick bronze one.
The guard began to mumble and Leighton mouthed, “Go,” before covering the male's mouth and nose, dragging his blade across the guard's throat. Farah made to do the same, but Katrin was already through the door. Only muffled screams let Katrin know Farah had succeeded.
Down and down Katrin spiraled, Chloe padding just by her feet, light and soundless as a feather. The air began to turn sour, sweat and feces filling the air. It was more difficult to breathe the deeper they went into the ground, trickles of water seeping in through cracks in the stones, making it harder to race down without the smacking of boots on the granite reverberating in the stairway. There were one hundred steps down to the dungeon. Katrin knewthis because she used to hide down here to avoid her mother when they were in an argument. One hundred creaking wooden steps. It was treacherous, but she knew the places on each to place her foot to avoid loose boards or those whose sound would alert a guard below.
They were almost there—so close to the end, so close to seeing Ander.Shit, she thought as the shadow of a moving soldier cascaded across the archway at the bottom of the stairs. Katrin took a misstep, her foot sliding on a wobbly stair peppered with small rocks that proceeded to roll down the remaining ten steps.
“Hey! What are you doing down here, miss? Members of court are not allowed in the dungeons,” the guard called to her. Katrin moved from the shadows.
“You dare ask me what I am doing in my own dungeons, traitor?” She inhaled deeply, taking in the man who stood before her, no longer in Alentus gold and turquoise, but Morentian red and black. This was personal. Every guard, every former member of the Spartanis—the very men meant to protect her people, to protect her—she wanted to feel their deaths. Starlight would be a mercy, a quick kill as they turned to fiery ash.
Katrin unsheathed the sword from her hip, the metal glimmering in the low light and flickering flames of the dungeon. She imagined what his blood might look like dripping from the sword, the sweet sense of pride and justice she would feel swelling in her chest as she took his life for what he did to her—to Ember, to Iason.
“Oh I will be rewarded when I bring you to King Athanas.” A terrifying grin swept across the guard’s face, and he drew his sword in turn, inching closer to her.
Katrin lunged and metal clanged against metal. She had trained alongside this soldier in the rings these past five years, he knew how she fought, knew she was a formidable opponent. She was sorry she could not say the same for him. All it took were four swings and the guard—who was obviously still drunk—lost his footing, and her sword sliced directly across his throat.
The guard sputtered, his hand flying up to cover the gash across his jugular. Crimson liquid seeped down his uniform and Katrin gripped the front of his shirt, kneeling so her eyes met his.
“You will rot in the dungeons of Aidesian, and I assure you, my father will put you in the worst of them. For what you did to me, what you did to my sister, and most importantly, what you all did to Alentus.” Her hands and forearms were now covered in the hot blood that pooled on the floor below them. She spit in it before standing back up.
Turning toward the end of the corridor, heavy breathing came from down the dungeon’s corridor. Chains dragged along dirt ridden stone floors, coughs came from behind bars at the end of the hall.
“What whispers come tonight in the shadows? Who joins the darkness that feeds this far below ground?” rasped a deep voice. It was choppy and hoarse, but so distinctivelyhis.
Chapter Nineteen
Ander
No one should be down here at this time—it was night, at least he thought it had to be. Freezing temperatures loomed in the dungeons half the day and Ander could only imagine it was when the sun set, turning his bruised skin blue and his tears to tiny crystals on his skin. The soft padding outside the dungeon was peculiar for those who frequented the dungeons. Usually they barged in, fire steaming in their eyes, ready to begin. Yet, these footsteps were light, a stark difference to whatever loud noise had awoken him.
It had almost sounded like a scream—and not his own from a nightmare, nor those that lingered in his head from the golden cuffs that bound his limbs. No, this was a guttural, strained scream.One you would hear on the battlefield as the enemy's throat was slit, right before their eyes would bulge and they’d realize they were about to bleed out. Had another prisoner met their end tonight?
The footsteps kept coming, tapping along the stone floor until they reached outside his cell. Someonewasdown here for him. As long as it wasn’ther.Ander could fight through the pain for another day if it was from Edmund or Khalid or even Kohl. But if it was her, he might truly succumb to the sweet lure of death that hung in the air around him.
Bright light illuminated the dungeon as the figure flashed some form of power against the door. “Shit,” they murmured, trying once more to blast the thing open. Rattling the padlock with their hands, attempting to break it open. “Why won’t this fucking thing open? Gods dammit, what is this even made of? Fucking get this far to be halted by a piece of metal.”
The voice sounded familiar, raspy, yet with a sweetness about it. Similar to a flower, but one that if touched would poison your skin. Sweet, but deadly.
“That won’t work.” Another figure came into view. They were both blurry. Ander was too tired to focus, too ready to slip into the unknown of death itself to care.
“I thought I told you to stay upstairs,” the first one hissed, gripping the other’s wrist.
“Well, if I stayed upstairs you wouldn’t know how to open this.” The second figure ripped their arm away, taking out a blade and pressing it firmly into their palm before touching the lock. The door creaked open, but not before he realized who the first voice belonged to.
Death it would be.
By her hands.
The woman was back, and everything about her had him scurrying into the corner, as far as his chains would let him. Shining copper hair laced through the chocolate of her braid, the slim curves of her body were hugged tightly by leathers, and those eyes—those gods-damned amber-flecked eyes. Fiery light radiated off her as she stormed in through the creaking wood and iron door, flinging it farther to reveal the other cloaked figure. Usually the woman worked alone. Apparently she had grown weary of reveling in his downfall herself—wished to share the pleasure she got from breaking him bit by bit with someone else.
