The rope around his wrists is made of hemp. Long-dead, but the material remembers the living plants it once was. Clumsy in his distress, Bellamy takes three tries to unravel the rope by magic. His relief is short-lived. Yanking the burlap bag from his head reveals the cell is just as dark without the obstruction.
“Focus,” Bellamy repeats.
Clutching the necklace under his shirt, he moves along the wall. Every other breath is a hiccup, and he can’t feel any other plants in the vicinity. He can’t see any magic. Maybe that’s just his panic clouding his senses.
Should he scream?
He wants to scream.
A few steps later, he reaches a corner. The room is small. Faint impressions emerge from the shadows as his eyes adjust to the darkness. There’s a barred window in the door across the cell. The room or hall outside is dark too, but not as dark as in here.
Bellamy makes it two steps towards the door before his foot catches and he tumbles down. He lands on top of something softer than stone, but still firm beneath him.
Warm. Breathing. Alive.
Bellamy feels around and finds broad muscles under a thin cotton shirt. A shoulder, an arm. Lower down, the most firmly sculpted abdominal muscles Bellamy has ever felt. He jerks his hand away when he touches a cold metal belt buckle.
A person. Bellamy landed on a person. He isn’t alone in the cell.
Bellamy scrambles from the man’s body, falling to his knees beside the stranger. He touches the body tentatively again, then yanks his hand back. “Sorry!”
The figure doesn’t respond, and horror seizes Bellamy.
Is he dead?
The man is warm to Bellamy’s touch, but maybe he only recently died. Maybe Bellamy’s trapped in a cell with a corpse.
Bellamy takes two deep breaths, trying not to hyperventilate, and reaches out again. There’s the firm abdomen. The muscular chest. Finally, the man’s throat. Bellamy fumbles for a pulse, and his fingers brush over a twisted cord and leather collar, as well as loose strands of long hair.
Bellamy’s own heart pounds so hard, it’s difficult to tell whether he feels a pulse in the other man or not. “Please just be unconscious. Don’t be dead, I can’t deal with you being dead.”
He reaches higher, and when he touches the man’s full lips, he finally has his answer. Warm breath sighs steadily over his fingertips. Bellamy’s relief is nearly painful. He rocks back on his heels, overwhelmed.
He’s not alone down here.
Bellamy doesn’t know who this person is, but if he’s been captured by the same insane people, surely he must have some cause or motivation in common with Bellamy. Even if it’s only utter confusion at being captured for no good reason, and a desire to escape.
“Hey, wake up,” Bellamy says, gently shaking the man’s shoulder.
There’s no response. Bellamy shakes the man harder, but he doesn’t dare raise his voice. Shakes harder still, until the man’s head knocks a little too loudly against the stone floor.
“Sorry,” Bellamy whispers again, and sits back to start piecing together the evidence.
The man’s sleep isn’t natural. He could be injured, though Bellamy doesn’t feel blood anywhere. Or he’s been poisoned, though his breathing is calm and he isn’t feverish.
Or something magic is keeping him asleep. Bellamy touches the collar again. Leather and another type of cord braided together and buckled around the man’s throat. Some sort of null-collar or control collar, maybe?
That’s one fault in Bellamy’s talent. He can’t see null-collar charms or other negating magic. He’s also never seen an enchanted object that could keep someone asleep before, but Draskoran law is far more permissive than Silaisan law. Maybe this collar is what’s keeping the man asleep?
One way to find out.
Bellamy catches himself before he unbuckles the collar. Maybe waking the man up is a mistake. If he’s dangerous, Bellamy is trapped in a small room alone with him.
But Bellamy’s already trapped in enemy territory, with no allies. Nobody knows where he is. How much worse can it get?
Bellamy rubs his stinging eyes and reaches for the collar.
?
