But Herdan hadn’t denied Corin was at Ashbrin. That was something. What had his brother pieced together? What didCorin suspect, or hope to find there? Hannes would never admit to any of it.
Niel let them lead him down the stairs. The dungeon door was guarded, and the man stationed there unlocked it and opened it just wide enough for the knights and prisoner to slip inside before the door clanged shut behind them. They descended into the dank, stale dungeon, lit by sputtering torches that barely illuminated the crawling dark. The cells, carved into the bedrock, were spaced far enough apart that no prisoner could see the others. Into a cell he went. The rough-hewn floor was strewn with straw and a moldy pile of it was heaped in one corner to use as a bed. There was a privy-bucket in the corner and a stack of blankets that had seen better days.
Melchior drew out the key to use on Niel’s wrists, but Herdan stopped the younger knight with a hand on Melchior’s forearm.
“Best not,” Herdan said. “They’ll want him already bound when they come to get him.”
Two lone knights on horseback traveled far faster than an army of marching soldiers. Corin could return at any hour. Or he might have lingered at Ashbrin, and be days from arriving. No way for Niel to know.
“But he’s in the cell,” Melchior said softly. “Surely…”
“All the same, lad. I know it’s an unpleasant business. Let’s be off.”
Melchior gave Niel an apologetic look. The two knights locked the door to the cell.
And then, Niel was alone. Or nearly. The cage bothered him less than the shackles. He couldn’t escape, but he was alone inside the bars. Nobody could touch him here. Death might be waiting for him, up in the castle, but for the moment, he could rest.
“New boy,” another prisoner shouted, from the cell he thought was next to his. “New boy, what you in for?”
“Shut up afore I knock your teeth in,” another yelled.
Niel ignored them, and curled up on the straw bed, and let himself fall into the black oblivion of sleep.
Nightmare
There were no windows in the dungeon. No way to know what time had passed.
He woke to find a plate with stale bread and boiled vegetables had been slipped beneath his door. He ate, and then stripped his boots off to see if the snowy march to Liron had cost him any toes. A childhood in Eyron had provided him with a thorough education in frostbite. He’d guessed correctly there was cold damage, but saw no black skin. He’d keep all ten toes, but they were already blistering. Not that it was likely to matter, in a day or two. Dead men didn’t need toes.
If there was one good thing about the cold, it was that the foul smell coming off Niel and the other prisoners was easier to bear than it would have been in the heat.
He inspected the cell in the dungeon’s sputtering light. No gaps in the bars wide enough for anything other than an arm. No loose stones or loose hinges on the door.
Nothing else to do but wait for his execution. He wrapped himself in the blankets and went back to sleep.
This pattern—wake, eat, putter, sleep—repeated twice, until Niel could not have possibly slept more. He studied the patterns in the stone wall, finding shapes and letting his mind wander. Where was Ayla, just now? He hoped she was warmer than Niel. And cleaner.
For a moment he let himself daydream what it could have been like, if he’d run with her, like she asked. But that was too painful to consider for long. Imagining a life with her filled him with a longing so intense it felt like he couldn’t breathe. She was free. That was all that mattered. Niel could not afford to dream.
Would the Aronthians use Niel’s death to fuel their war? They would need someone else from the Arevon dynasty—Niel’s bloodline, the one he shared with the royal family—if they wanted to conquer the whole country. Well, it was his father's problem now.
He slept, again. Fitfully.
He was dreaming of a march through the snow, but he wasn’t trying to get to a specific place. He was trying to find a unicorn. Always, it seemed to be just out of his reach. In the logic of dreams, he knew just where it had been, and no matter how fast he ran he seemed to get no closer to that point until the unicorn was already gone.
“Well, isn’t this a shame,” Hannes’ voice said.
Niel jerked awake, heart thundering, and took a gasping breath of air. He was having a nightmare, like any other.
Except the shadow of a man blocked the grate of his cell, standing outside and watching him. The hairs rose on the back of his neck.
“You aren’t here,” Niel whispered, trying to convince himself he was still dreaming. If he could just wake up…
Hannes chuckled.
“I had business in the city. Almost didn’t believe it, when they said they’d captured you. And I hear it’s to be the headman’s axe. Shame you went so wrong.”
Hannes fumbled with something at his belt. And then Niel heard the scraping of a key fitting into a lock.
