The Infernal King | 1 ✓

CHAPTER X | WHAT LIES IN A DUNGEON CELL

       AFTER THE KING ordered to have her thrown in the dungeons, Maarit was dragged away from the opulent room with the incarnadine walls, out into vast corridors.

       The walk to the dungeons felt even longer than the horse ride all the way up De Montfort. It truly put the enormity of the castle into perspective.

       Even with exhaustion weighing her eyelids down and threatening to push her over the edge, Maarit used every bit of remaining strength to resist. She resisted the iron grips of the massive, burly guardsmen. She resisted spell after spell that was placed upon her by the warlock—Picard, as the king had called him. She resisted the aching in her own body.

       Her resistance was in vain. It was useless; she wasn't physically strong enough to fend off two guards that had been trained to capture criminals, and she couldn't use magic with that wretched bracelet on her wrist.

       In the light, after Picard had placed her under a spell once more (with the clear purpose of keeping her complacent), Maarit was better able to inspect it. The bracelet was an ugly thing and was composed of a material that she did not recognize at first. It appeared to be a mixture between metal and stone. It was onyx in colour and was fabricated like a thick, adamantine chain with no visible clasp.

       After pondering for a moment, she realized what it was: Sorcerer's Tenebrium.

       She had only ever read about this material, which, when combined with an enchantment, had the ability to suppress the magical powers of any witch or warlock. Yet there is was, before her very eyes, coiled tightly around her wrist.

       It was nearly morning, and the sun was beginning to rise; but when they turned a sharp corner, every ounce of light disappeared and it became evident that they had reached the dungeons. Everything was pitch black until Picard muttered a spell and lit a dozen candles that were lined across the walls.

       While the rest of the castle was lavish and luxurious, the dungeons were on the opposite side of the spectrum—foul, grungy and begrimed. One would not have thought that they were even part of the same edifice. The walls were made of crumbling grey stone. Besides the minuscule orange flames from the candles, there was a complete absence of colour. Contrasting the other parts of the castle that Maarit had seen, there were no shades of verdant, amaranthine or cerulean.

       There were about ten cells, each with bars on them. The rest of the cells were oddly vacant.

       The dungeon was utterly despondent, as though its purpose had been to suck the life from the prisoners by dispiriting them.

       With a swift wave of his hand, the warlock unlocked the cell farthest from the dungeon entrance. The door flew open; the two guards roughly shoved Maarit inside and locked it behind her. She nearly tumbled to the stone floor as a result of the guards' aggressiveness, but she frantically grabbed hold of the cold metal bars. Clinging onto them, she managed to steady herself—her pride refused to permit her to fall to her knees in front of them, no matter how fatigued she was.

       Maarit Pheraios would never yield.

       Still, her frailty was more evident than ever, and her nostrils flared when the guard she had ridden the horse with snickered at her.

       "Don't worry," the guard said with a saccharine smile, "you'll have some company if you ever get lonely." A booming laugh followed, flowing effortlessly from his mouth.

       The woman was confused at first. On the other side of the locked cell, the guard pointed one of his grubby fingers. Maarit's gaze followed his finger, but her stomach turned when she saw what he was referring to. In the very cell that Maarit was in, a human head was stuck between two of the bars. Most of the skin had decomposed, but there were some remnants of flesh clinging to the skull.