TOWERS AND CHAINS
All persons detained pending trial shall be treated with dignity regardless of the nature of their alleged offence.
–Vallennan Detention Code, Article III
It had been more than a day of travelling when Sebastian felt the carriage cross the final bridge into Thorne Keep. They hadn’t stopped, hadn’t let him out once. Through the iron bars he could see the tower he knew so well – it loomed above him – all dark stone and faceless windows. The crimson and black banners of Thorne streamed from the battlements, the dagger wrapped in thorns stark against the red. Not long ago, when he’d returned home from the Isles, he’d felt pride when he looked at them. Now they mocked him.
Sebastian had stayed on his knees, but his body was in agony. His bound wrists were throbbing. Pain seared through his shoulder where he’d slammed it into the door, over and over. He’d known it wouldn’t break before he did. But he couldn’t stop.
Voices sounded from outside.
“Lord Thorne said the tower,” one said.
“He deserves the dungeon. That’s what she’ll be getting.”
Kara.
The voices drew closer. He braced – ready to attack. When the doors swung open, he surged forward, his muscles screaming, blood roaring in his ears. Four soldiers were on him in an instant.
“Don’t–” he snarled, twisting away, but the ropes bit deeper into his wrists, and a knee drove into his ribs. Agony ripped through his side. He choked back a cry.
“Get him out.”
They hauled him bodily from the carriage, his knees scraping against the rough stone courtyard.
“Walk,” one of the guards barked.
Sebastian didn’t.
Fuck you.
Instead, he threw all his weight into one shoulder, forcing a soldier off balance. For one second, he was free – until a crimson-lit fist caught him across the face. Pain exploded as blood streamed from his nose.
Doesn’t matter. Keep fighting.
But before he could recover, they struck him again, another knee to the gut. He dropped. He couldn’t breathe; bile rose in his throat and he coughed hard.
“This is how House Thorne treats its own?” he spat venomously.
“You’re not one of ours anymore,traitor,”one snapped. There were hands on his shoulders, his elbows – dragging him upright.
“Careful,” another cautioned, “the captain wouldn’t approve – he’s still the Lord’s son.”
“That stopped mattering the second he spilled Thorne blood,” the soldier on his left retorted.
Even through Sebastian’s anger, the words jolted inside him.
I killed my own men.
He couldn’t think about that right now. Guilt could come later. With a shove, they marched him towards the main doors.
I’m not going to make it fucking easy for you.
Sebastian dropped his weight, dug his feet into the ground, twisted and writhed. But without his magic, he was weak. Weaker than the men holding him, their crimson flaring. The heat of their magic flared against his arms, and their grip became steel. They passed the main hall. Servants averted their eyes. A steward flinched when he caught him staring – shame, maybe. Or fear.
This had been his home. Now it was his prison.
He was panting by the time they reached the tower stairs. Every breath sent a stabbing pain through his side. They’d broken his ribs, he was sure of it. But he still made them work and struggle for every step.
