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Darkness enveloped me in my dungeon cell. I sat with my head bowed and my eyes closed. Surprisingly, my heart was at ease, and I still hadn’t come to terms with the fact that Maximus was responsible for that change.
But he had given me back hope.
A part of me warned not to trust him. There was no way he would ever release Timotei, his favorite Trove. Yet, the more worldly side of me had noticed the need in his eyes when he talked about the item he wished me to steal. If I could get a hold of it, something told me I would be able to demand whatever I wanted.
I still had no idea what the item was. Maximus hadn’t told me more about it, though it didn’t matter—not while I was kept locked in this cell.
A week passed slowly in between moments in Timotei’s company, thoughts of Bianca and time in the cell.
As days went by, I found myself thinking of Bianca more and more, and of the fact we had agreed to meet in Alfil Park after our first, failed attempt. Dreams of her also occupied my mind when I slept, my arms around her, her mouth on mine. They filled me with a strong desire to live. The fact that I wouldn’t be able to see her made me angry.
Still, it was Timotei who occupied my mind the most. Maximus allowed me talk to my brother, allowed me to ruffle his hair, but never left me alone with him.
“How do you feel?” I found myself asking every time I saw him. I didn’t need to ask. I could see his pallor, his weakness.
“I feel fine,” he said every time, putting on a brave smile. “The food is so good. Much better than you used to make.”
We both laughed at that. Living in Mrs. Pinehurst’s attic, there had been nowhere to cook, so our daily meals had amounted to dry bread, overripe fruit and vegetables, and the very occasional hot meal at an inn.
“I have a nice room,” he said, trying to put me at ease. “And now you’re here.”
Did that make the situation better in his innocent mind? It couldn’t possibly. He should have been mad at my failure to keep him safe, not glad that I had joined him in the King’s lair. But he was just a child. How was he supposed to keep his emotions straight when the King toyed with them so shamelessly?
The faraway echo of steps let me know Bishop Dragoslav was on his way to get me. I stood and stretched my body, looking forward to getting out of the cell. I’d been here longer than usual.
The Bishop threw the door open and stood framed by it. “Come,” he said in his whisper of a voice.
I stepped into the threshold and stopped when I realized there was someone else standing off to the side. I blinked at the broad figure under the lamplight. His hands were tied behind his back, and a small burlap sack was thrown over his head. He was tall and broad, and wore a Rook uniform.
Skullflare!
I peered at the Bishop, trying to get a glimpse of his face under the heavy hood he always wore, trying to figure out the meaning of this, but there was none to be found. Instead, he got behind Skullflare and urged him forward.
Several yards behind, closer to the exit, another hooded figure stood like a guardian. It was Bishop Balan. He always seemed to lurk, forever quiet and watchful.
From my cell, we walked deeper into the dungeon, away from the winding staircase that led to the exit. We passed many closed-door cells that gave no obvious indication of life. The stone-lined hall was wide, its surface slick with moisture, growing darker and dingier the deeper we went.
At last, we reached the end, a circular enclosure like the inside of a watch tower. It was dark until Dragoslav lit a torch from one of the few gas sconces in the outside hall, then went around touching the flame to other torches affixed to the enclosure’s curving wall.
A wide, dark hole took shape in the stone floor at the very middle of the room. Its edges were ragged and shining with condensation. Why were we here? I stared at the hole, wondering about its purpose. Was this the pit Maximus had threatened Skullflare with?
The Bishop shoved the blindfolded Skullflare around the other side of the hole and turned him toward it, facing me. I stood back, a clawing dread climbing up my back.
In one swift motion, Dragoslav removed the burlap sack off his captive’s head and threw it down at his feet.
Skullflare blinked, his eyes adjusting. In a moment, he focused on me then the ragged hole between us.
“You,” he said. “What is going on here?” He struggled briefly against his restraints, but a quiet command from Dragoslav and a glance at the hole below were enough to make him stop.
“He should be dead,” Skullflare said, thrusting his chin in my direction. “Why is the King playing favorites?”
“It’s not for you to question the King,” Dragoslav said. “Your duty is to do as he commands and you have failed.”
“One week ain’t enough time to find a Trove,” Skullflare said, all the hatred in his eyes directed at me. “It’s not fair.”
“The King fed you of his blood, gave you power.” The Bishop said as he fiddled with Skullflare’s restraints.
Suddenly, the Rook’s hands were free. He pulled them forward and blinked as he rubbed the angry, red marks on his wrists. His massive chest rose and fell. His eyes darted around the room, fear growing in his features.
Did he know what this place was?
“Give me another chance,” Skullflare said. “I will find someone. I have a lead.”
“That’s not what Knight Traian says,” the Bishop said just as he unceremoniously pushed Skullflare toward the hole.
The Rook’s face disfigured into a mask of horror as his arms windmilled. He teetered at the edge of the pit. Then, he plummeted, eyes shooting a murderous curse in my direction before darkness ate him whole.
I stared down the hole, my mouth dry, my heart hammering. A thud sounded a long moment later, followed by a cry of pain and its echoes.
Unceremoniously, Bishop Dragoslav took a step forward and dropped into the pit, his cloak fluttering behind him as he fell.
What followed were the ravaged sounds of pain as Skullflare begged for his life. After a few short minutes, utter silence reigned.