He waggled his quill at a door. ‘Through there.’
A female guard led her down a narrow stairway of worn stone to a shower chamber and told her to strip and release the tie holding her braid.
Scarlen noticed the name badge said Miss Goolan before she perused the sterile grey surroundings as she got on with the task, then she took the bar of white soap offered and stood beneath the small dark hole in the ceiling, expecting a cold welcome to prison.
A spray of warm water was somewhat surprising, causing her to blurt her thoughts before thinking. ‘Ooh, I thought it would be freezing.’
Miss Goolan’s face fell flat, even her sharp cheekbones didn’t move. ‘What, because we’re all bastards here?’
Dionne entered the shower to Scarlen’s side as the guard gathered their clothing to shove into a cloth sack. ‘The water is syphoned from the bay, then warmed so inmates can’t condition their bodies to match the cold temperature of the bay to aid escape.’ She tapped the side of her head. ‘There’s always method in the madness here.’
Seeing as Scarlen had no intention of escaping, and figured her father had to find her soon, she appreciated the warm trickling water defrosting her slim body.
Thoughts drifted back to the judge at the sentencing. Panic had rushed Scarlen, and in that moment she had declared her truth, but the judge wasn’t having any of it by that time, accusing her of fibbing and adding an extra week to the sentence for insulting the king.As ifPrincess Adoria stood inherdock. But she had. And had she been honest when first arrested, she would be slipping into her yellow silk pyjamas instead of a forest-green tracksuit. At least she felt cosy.
‘Follow me.’ Miss Goolan led the women to a table lined with green clothing and brown trainers. ‘Take nightwear, underwear, footwear, and one mat wear.’
‘Mat wear?’ questioned Scarlen, perusing the items.
‘Shorts and a t-shirt.’ Miss Goolan gestured at the tight brown bun at the back of her head as she offered Scarlen back her hair tie. ‘Best to have short hair in here. Harder to tug. You might want to think about a bun.’
Scarlen took the band and started to braid her damp hair. Her preferred style. ‘Why are the shorts and t-shirts called mat wear?’
‘They’re for sparring days.’ Miss Goolan placed a piece of paper on top of the pile of clothes Dionne held. ‘This is your timetable. You’ll soon get used to everything, but where it saysjobs you’ll be in the silent system for the first month, so you can ignore that.’
Scarlen gathered some clothing, not understanding much of what was said or why she would be required to spar with someone, then glanced at the piece of paper placed on her pile to see wake-up times, lessons, mat time, and family time among the weekly schedule.
Family time?Who would visit her?
‘Quick psychological evaluation, then dinner, and as it’s late, you’ll go straight to your cell.’ Miss Goolan led her to another room, this one small with hardly any light.
A wrinkly woman with gaunt eyes rolled an orange ball across a steel desk before Scarlen had a chance to sit. ‘Eat that.’
Scarlen picked up the hard item, giving it the once-over before rolling it back. ‘You peel it, and I’ll eat it.’
A wolfish smile flashed, then Scarlen was told to leave.
Having little to say about how her state of mind was assessed, she simply waited outside by Miss Goolan until Dionne was ready to leave.
They were taken to an empty canteen and given a metal spoon and a hearty meal of chicken stew.
‘If you don’t return the spoon, you’ll be punished, likely taken to the pillory or a dark cell. No excuses, so always mind your spoon in here.’ Miss Goolan went over to the large barred windows to watch the splashing of rain against the panes.
Whatever a dark cell was, it didn’t sound pleasant.
Thunder met the sky at the same time as lightning, but Scarlen paid attention to her food, enjoying the feeling of a settled and full stomach once more as a couple of the other prisoners who had arrived on the boat with her came in to eat.
Dionne gasped quietly as the courtyard lit up from the storm. ‘That’s Bear Vyer.’
Scarlen followed her eyeline to see a young man locked in a metal frame upon a post, his hands and head poking out of wooden holes, and legs limp, no doubt from standing too long. He was drenched from black hair to amber tracksuit bottoms, his pale muscular chest laid bare. A white Ring around his neck. ‘Who’s he?’ she whispered.
‘Since his mother died, the leader of the Rebels, I guess. Poor bastard. He was forced to watch his mother take one hundred lashes, then left tied for a week before they burned her alive. King’s orders.’
Surely not. Hanging was execution. Scarlen knew all too well how cruel her father could be. She’d been at the receiving end of his coldness many a time, but the law was the law. ‘That’s illegal.’
‘Word is, the king hated the leader of the Rebels more than anyone. They want him off the throne, don’t they? And the king’s not a fan of shapeshifters. Says they’re troublemakers, but we shouldn’t worry, as there aren’t many of them left. Bear’s got ten months left until his twenty-third birthday.’
‘Why is he out there?’
