Days passed without any word from Eostre, and Aros began to imagine the worse. There was no way of knowing if she was even alive.
She was strong woman. She’d find a way to survive. He had to be confident in that.
Aros and his brothers were tired, weakened from malnourishment, and were beginning to lose all hope.
After the guards brought their only meal of the day; a tray of cold porridge, bread, and stale ale and stagnant water, he stood from his place in the sticky, wet hay, and rushed to the door.
“Tell your king I have a message for him,” he shouted to the guard who barely paused to hear his plea.
“And, what would that be?” the guard asked, chuckling.
“Tell him, the gods will abandon us if we side with Einar.”
The guard glanced at him, frowning as if he were speaking a foreign language. “Enough of your yammering,” he said.
“Aye,” the other said. “No one around here cares about your gods. In the Citadel, King Rollo is god.”
“And, that pretty little miss of yours is worshipping him sure enough.”
Aros’ face paled at those words. “What do you mean?”
The guards laughed once more and headed for the door. “Whatever it is, you better thank her for keeping him from chopping off your heads and tossing you over the edge of the realm. He’s this close to doing so.” The guard held up his hand, with his index finger and thumb held barely an inch apart.
Once those doors slammed shut, rage boiled within Aros’ gut. He snarled, wrapping his hands around the bars of his cell, and willing himself to resist the urge to shift. Becoming a Wolf at that moment would do nothing but further weaken him.
“Keep your head about you, there, boy,” Sarsa, the dryad said, stepping to his cell door, and peering at Aros with those glowing, yellow eyes of his.
Aros looked to him, his idea bubbling forth from his mouth before he could restrain himself. “I have a plan,” he said. “To get us out of here.”
Magnus groaned. “Great,” he mumbled.
“Another plan?” Helgi said. “Nothing you’ve conjured up has worked so far.”
Sarsa glanced to his right, where the twins were being held, and back to Aros. “I’m listening.”
Aros licked his lips, and leaned forward. “Your butterfly friends. Let me send a message with them to the fae folk outside the Citadel.”
“What are you on about?” Sarsa said, narrowing his eyes.
Aros raked a hand through his hair, sighing. “I read something once about dryad magic.”
“And what? Why would the fae help you, boy?”
“I know how they can reclaim the Citadel,” he said, secretly praying he was right. “This was once their home, and they were driven out. I have connections that can make it so that they reclaim this structure, and drive King Rollo back east.”
A huff came from Sarsa, and he extended his arm toward him, it lengthening like that of a growing tree branch.
“Why not?” Sarsa asked, a low chuckle coming from his cell. “I’ve been locked in this blasted dungeon for nearly three years. What’s a shitty plan if it actually works?”