TURNS OUT, the castle did have a dungeon, or something very close to it.
The coven guards hauled me down a long set of stairs and into the cellar of the log castle. The only light came from torches that were barely lit. Unlike the prison cells in the golden temple, which smelled of vomit and piss and desperation, this cellar smelled of mold and forgotten food and damp soil. The floor itself was old packed dirt, and the walls and wood posts were covered in thick cobwebs. The ceiling was low, and I had to duck to avoid knocking myself unconscious with a wooden beam.
I knew they were going to search me and confiscate my weapons. I couldn’t let them get the magecraft. It had saved me from the necromancer priest, and I still needed it. If the witch king and his cronies wore them, why couldn’t I?
I would have to make Ada understand that I was keeping it for the greater good.
So I looked for my chance as they pulled me into the dimly lit cellar, and I tripped over my own feet. I slipped out of their grasp, and as I pitched forward my clever, thieving fingers slipped the magecraft out of its pouch and into my boot.
“Stupid, half-breed bitch,” said one of the guards as he yanked me to my feet. “Can’t you even walk?”
I winced as the magecraft’s metal clasp pinched the skin on the side of my calf.
“It’s not my fault I can’t see in the dark,” I said, searching their faces for any indication that they had seen what I had done. Their faces revealed nothing.
“Move!”
The magecraft’s sharp metal clasp sliced into my skin, and I could feel the warm wet blood drip down my leg. But then I could feel the familiar warmth of my healing magic as it worked to counter the cut. I was grateful for my blood magic, but I was also grateful for my tall leather boots.
My new home was stacked with bags of rice, grain, soft meat preserved in jars, used and broken furniture, dusty old books and rat droppings. It wasn’t a real prison cell, but it was probably the only room in the entire castle with no windows and a very large iron door.
If I were them, I’d have put me in here, too.
It seemed that stinking prison cells were my lot in life. That’s if I were to have a life. I wiped off a small wooden bench so I could sit on something other than damp soil and rat poop and took a look at my leg.
My sock and calf were wet with blood, but my wound was already healed. Only a small white line was left as evidence of a cut. I pulled my sock off and examined it up close, wrinkling my nose at the copper smell. It must have been a deep cut for so much blood. I tossed the wet sock into the corner and slipped my boot back on. I wasn’t about to put on a blood-wet sock. Unfortunately, my change of clothes was still in Torak’s saddlebag with the rest of my supplies. The leather of my boot stuck to my skin, and I could already anticipate the chaffing it would cause, but I had no other choice.
While the guards had taken away my pouch and all my weapons, they’d missed my magecraft.
I smiled as I held it and let it swing like a pendulum.
I could hear water trickling nearby and the sound of tiny feet scurrying in the walls as I sat in the corner of my new prison and watched door. The only light came through the cracks between the door and the wall.
I knew with all certainty that someone was going to come through that door, I just didn’t know who or when.
They wanted to execute me in two days because I had fought back when the queen had tried to kill me. I wouldn’t give up so easily. The Heart of Arcania was still in the necromancer’s possession, and I was the only one who could get it away from him. I was also the only one who’d seen the other side and seen our real enemy. I had to warn them somehow.
I didn’t have time to feel sorry for myself. People depended on me. Jon depended on me. Somehow I would make it right.
Ada had done all that she could for Jon, but she had also said that all we could do now was wait. Wait for Jon to wake up, or to…
I couldn’t bring myself to say it. Even to myself. The high witch had said that Jon should have been dead, but that something or someone had kept him alive.
He was going to be okay. He had to be. I couldn’t panic.
Why had the witch king come to Gray Havens? Surely he could have had me killed by his coven guards without having to make the journey himself. My mother had escaped, too, but the witch king had not left Witchdom to come after her. So why make the journey now? I had killed his wife, but I knew he had not been devoted to her. He had intended to take me as his second wife. It didn’t make sense. I was missing something.
The hum of voices echoed from somewhere on the castle grounds. I jumped from the bench and pressed my ear to the door. It was chanting, and it wasn’t in the common tongue, so I knew it was the witches. It was the same rhythmic chanting I’d heard from the witches who had followed us out of Witchdom. I still didn’t understand what they were saying.
A stack of old books caught my eye, and I crossed the room without thinking and picked up a large leather bound book. It cracked as I opened it, and I flipped through the thick yellowed pages. As my eyes adjusted to the darkness, I could make out that it was written in Witchtongue. Even though I couldn’t read it, I rummaged through the pages, not knowing what I was looking for.
Another flat-looking book caught my attention. It looked like one of the history books from Rose’s book collection.
I rubbed the dust from the cover with my sleeve and opened it to the first page. It was hard to see, but it looked like a map. I ran to the crack in the wall next to the door and held the book in the light. It was a map, a very detailed map of Arcania. It looked like one of the maps from Rose’s collection, but upon closer inspection, I realized that this book was older than any book I’d ever seen.
The ink was faded and had been completely absorbed into the paper in some parts. But what really drew my attention was that there appeared to be no reference to the six realms. Even though it had been written in Witchtongue, I could easily make out the shape of the country and the markings for villages and towns that I recognized. I recognized Lunaris, the capital of Witchdom, but no borders indicated what territory the witch realm occupied. Only the mountains were indicated.
I changed position to get a better view. I didn’t know what I was looking for, but something compelled me to keep looking.
I flipped through the pages until I found a drawing that depicted a battle scene. The artist had depicted the fear and desperation on the faces of the fallen in a way that was hauntingly accurate and disturbing. There were two types of warriors, some with swords and some without them. I strained to decipher the words scribbled below each drawing, but the ink was smeared and worn, and it was impossible to make it out. Still, it was obvious that some great battle had been fought between the nations.
Flipping through more pages, I found more detailed battles and even some images of children. One drawing depicted three horrified women strapped to a stake and staring aghast at the flames that burned at their feet and up their bodies. The images were disturbing. They were all depictions of death, and most of the dying and the dead were witches.
Was this an accurate depiction of the past? What had really happened?
From what I’d learned from the witches, the steel maidens had been forced to help in the fight against the steel and metal weapons of the humans. I could find no drawings of witches with weapons in the book.
As disturbing as the drawings were, I found that I couldn’t stop flipping through the pages. I felt I was about to discover something important. I skipped a few more pages until I landed on a drawing that made my blood run cold.
It was a map that occupied two pages, and it depicted ships from the north, south, and west, all converging towards Arcania. The boats all flew miniscule flags, but the images had deteriorated, and I couldn’t identify the symbols. But I could make out the symbols on the ships. I could see heraldic badges with lions, trees, eagles and snakes, horses, swords and a dragon. They were the emblems of the six different realms I knew today.
The next page showed the ships on the shore and it was clear that human soldiers with long swords were engaged in the mass murder of witch children and their families.
I knew in my heart that I was staring at the truth. Fawkes had been telling the truth all along. I’d been lied to all my life. We had all been kept in the dark. The original humans of the six realms had come to Arcania from another land. And it looked as if they had murdered the witches who lived here when they had invaded.