Chapter Nine
The soldiers surrounded Allyssa. One seized her arm, dragging her out of the Throne Room. She didn’t fight back or respond, thankful she hadn’t been killed right there on the spot. In the hallway, the reality of the situation crashed down into her. Soldiers were taking her to the Russek dungeon. Not knowing what awaited her in the bowels of the castle made the situation infinitely worse. She was going to be sick. Her fingers tingled, and her arms went numb. It felt like someone was banging a stick against her head. The soldiers marched along hallway after hallway, making it seem like she was caught in a never-ending maze.
Once they locked her in the dungeon, it would be near impossible to escape. She had to try before it was too late. Up ahead, there was a door on her right. Just before reaching it, she purposely tripped. As she fell, her fingers clutched onto the hilt of a nearby soldier’s sword. His arm snaked around her waist, yanking her body against his. A sharp pain shot through her hand as he pressed his knuckle against a pressure point, making her release the sword.
“Looks like we got a fighter,” one of the soldiers said. “Check her for weapons.”
One roughly patted her down. “She’s clean.” Allyssa didn’t feel very clean after having hands roam over her body. Still, she kept her face blank, trying not to show fear.
“Cover her head,” someone else ordered. “She doesn’t need to know the layout of the castle.”
“And here I thought we had a mere princess on our hands,” the man holding her said.
“Never underestimate your enemy,” another responded with a dark chuckle. “Especially considering who her father is.”
If they knew who her father was, then they knew she wouldn’t give up. She was a fighter—just like Darmik. A soldier pulled a cloth bag out of his pocket and shoved it over her head, cinching it around her neck with more force than necessary. Her breathing sped up. She made herself breathe slowly so she wouldn’t hyperventilate. Never show fear, her father had drilled it into her. No matter how dire the situation or how scared you are. Fear empowers your enemy. Someone shoved her from behind, and she resumed walking. A firm hand was on her arm, guiding her. She heard a door scraping against the stone floor, and then she was led down a flight of stairs.
“Prisoner for processing,” a gruff voice said, pulling her to a stop.
It would be so much easier if she could see. Clearing her throat, she announced, “I am the princess of Emperion.” Her voice came out muffled from the cloth bag covering her head. “My kingdom has made no move against Russek. It is Russek who threatens to invade us. Let me negotiate peace between our lands so we can save our people’s lives. Do not lock me in a cage like an animal.” Her heart pounded, and her breathing came out in loud, raspy gasps. She would not faint like some wimpy girl.
“We’ll take it from here,” someone else said.
It sounded like a door opened ahead of her. Large hands clutched her arm, yanking her forward. A moment later, a door slammed shut behind her, and a rancid stench assaulted her senses. She tried not to breathe in the smell of sweat, vomit, and bodily waste. As she was led deeper into this hellhole, a soft hiss followed by a distant scream made the hairs on her arms rise.
The person holding her laughed. “Just another day in paradise.” They stopped, and metal grated against stone. The cloth bag was removed from her head, and she was shoved into a small room. The door banged shut. “Enjoy your stay,” he sneered through the square, bar-covered hole in the door. The bolt slid into place, locking her in, and he strode away, leaving her alone in the cell.
The desire to sit down and sob in this ten-foot-by-ten-foot room was overwhelming. But she had to be smart and think of a plan. Keeping her mind focused would help her survive this ordeal. What did she know about being a prisoner? A year ago, Rema had told her about the brief time she spent in King Barjon’s dungeon. Granted, her mother had never gone into specifics, but she said when life seemed impossible, one had to hold onto hope. Allyssa needed to keep her spirits up and not allow the situation to break her. She refused to give in to her fear. She would be strong—like her mother.
Darmik always insisted she remain analytical with the end goal in sight. Steeling her resolve, she glanced about the room. Her dressing closet was larger than this space. At least there was a straw cot. Well, straw on the ground in a semi-rectangular shape that vaguely resembled a bed. A used chamber pot filled with waste had been shoved in one of the corners. There was nothing she could use as a weapon. She tried to organize her chaotic thoughts. Maintain hope. Keep my endgame in sight. She would survive this. She blinked away the tears that threatened and began pacing about the room.
***
Time inched by, almost driving Allyssa mad. There was nothing to do but think in this blasted place. A bloody week passed, and not a single person came to see her. Were they going to let her rot down here?
And there had been no word from Odar. Was he in the dungeon or had he been taken elsewhere? She didn’t even know if he was alive. Pacing about the cell, Allyssa rubbed her temple. What about her parents? They were supposed to be hiding in Emperor’s City. Were they aware of what had happened to her? Had Marek managed to return to Lakeside and seek Emperion soldiers to aid in her rescue? Were they even going to try to rescue her now that she was in Russek?
She kicked the wall, hating that there was so much unknown and little she could do about it. The conditions in her cell were quite foul. Never again would she take living at the castle for granted. What she wouldn’t give for a bath or some decent food. The stuff they thrust into her cell twice a day wasn’t what she considered food. More along the lines of barely edible mush that smelled like dirty socks. The water was even warm, stale, and had a brown hue to it. Most likely, she would catch some disease in this filthy place and die without anyone knowing.
She resumed pacing. With only one oil lamp, the room was fairly dark, making her eyes ache for not only sunlight, but also for the radiant flowers behind her castle, the green rolling hills, and the vibrant blue sky.
A man started screaming. It wasn’t clear if he was being tortured or if the isolation of this place had driven him mad. Allyssa tried not to think about the atrocious things that happened down here. She’d never realized fear had a smell.
She paced back and forth. Back and forth. The worst part wasn’t the conditions or the food. It was the waiting—the not knowing what the future held. She kept grasping at hope, but it was quickly withering away.