Haven (War of the Princes) (22 page)

           
Some indeterminable amount of time later, I could hear raised voices echoing down the stone hall somewhere outside my door. By the tone of things, there was clearly a heated disagreement.

           
“-to let her out of there!” a familiar voice demanded.

           
“Dylan!” I cried, pounding against the door.

           
The argument continued.

           
“This is outside of our control, brother,” another male voice said, presumably Dylan’s brother, Lord Brendon.

           
“She’s not a Lodestone, they don’t exist. Brendon, they might kill her!” Dylan shouted.

           
I froze against the door.
Kill me
?

           
“And what should that mean to you?” Brendon barked back. “We’re at
war
, Dylan, don’t let some pretty little face dampen your wits. Lodestone or not, we have no idea what she is or where she’s from and that is a very dangerous thing in times like these. Hells be damned, where is your head? I leave this in your hands and you make our prisoner a pet.”

           
“I was going to get her to trust me, then she’d tell me where she’s from,” Dylan insisted. I frowned. Could I trust no one? No, clearly I couldn’t. I felt vastly glad that I didn’t tell him anything.

           
“And it’s gotten you nowhere. Feed that line to anyone but me, brother. This girl is not some trophy for you, she is a prisoner of war, and if the Commanders want to keep her, they shall. It is their right.”

           
“She isn’t a trophy for me! How simple do you think I am? I care about this girl and I’m going to do whatever it takes to prove she’s innocent,” he said, defensively. “When she tells me where she’s from, maybe you’ll finally understand that she’s not our enemy.”

My anger with him faded slightly. I didn’t like that he had been trying to manipulate information from me, but I couldn’t be furious with him if he was trying to use it to help me. Still, I felt deceived, and I didn’t like that.

           
“This isn’t over,” Dylan swore.

           
“You’re right, it isn’t over. We’ve all spoiled you too much, Dylan, and you’re beginning to embarrass me. I’m growing tired of giving you warnings,” Lord Brendon growled, and the voices grew quieter.

           
It was silent again for a long time after that.

An attempt to pick open the door proved useless. The longer I searched the room, the worse fits of hyperventilation hit me. I returned to huddle against the door and closed my eyes to calm myself down.

           
Sleep didn’t provide the swift rescue I’d hoped for. Instead it taunted me, keeping just out of reach. I was pinned awake by my misery and tortured by the regret of my many mistakes. What if Dylan was right? What if they would kill me down here? I’d never see my father again. My little brother would grow up like
Lina
, never knowing his sibling. My friends would be heartbroken and learn to move on in life without me. I’d never be able to find my mother, and for better or worse, find out exactly why she left my father and me.

           
I didn’t think it was possible, but my cheeks grew damp beneath my eyes.

*
         
*
         
*

           
In my dream, I was in my house. Soft rain pattered on the window shutters outside, but inside it was warm, dry, and smelled like the muffins I was baking. Everything was perfect. Ruby and Kyle were bickering and teasing each other in the kitchen. Dad and Mom were in the living room helping Kevin with his first science project. I watched the rain out the hall window while I arranged a vase of sunflowers. A tranquil smile lightened my face. All was how it should be. There was a knock on the door and the rain fell impossibly slow. I looked up from my flowers to see the front door gone, with Rune filling its frame. His arm was rent, swollen and bleeding, his hair and forehead slick with sweat, and his face sallow with fever. His blue eyes pleaded with me to let him in but I backed away, knocking over my vase. The glass shattered on impact, sending shards, flowers and water to the floor with a loud pop.

           
I woke up gasping and scrambled away to the back corner of my cell, realizing at once that the sound of my vase shattering was actually the lock on my door being opened.

           
Jamming myself in a corner, I wrapped my arms around my waist and shuddered at the cold. My breath was a puff of smoke in the dim light that seeped into the room from the opening door. Had it always been this cold? Wondering how I’d slept in this frigid air was the least of my concerns; my attention was sharply focused on who was coming into my cell.

           
Just like in my dream, it was Rune who stood in the doorway, only instead of being wounded and near death, he was healthy, armored, and his blue eyes were clear and keen. In his arms he carried a thick cloth bundle.

           
I stared at him, too exhausted for words.

           
He looked cautiously behind him and quietly closed the door. I watched him untrustingly with eyes that were bloodshot from crying.

           
“I’m sorry,” he said quietly.

           
“No you’re not,” I retorted angrily through chattering teeth.

           
He didn’t say it twice and I chose to believe that I was right.

           
“I brought this for you,” Rune said, placing the bundle in the center of the room.

           
“Is this where you try to buy my trust with gifts?” I asked, glaring openly at him.

           
“I didn’t buy anything,” he said levelly. “It belongs to me.”

           
And without another word, he left, locking the door behind him.

           
No games, no questions, just the bundle on the floor. I had grown accustomed to Dylan’s
trade offs
and didn’t know what to make of this. Rune brought me to the cell himself. He wasn’t on my side. I figured his doing this was a part of some larger scheme, or if not, then perhaps to ease a guilty conscience.

           
Remaining in the corner and shaking with cold, I stared at the object in the center of the room until my curiosity prevailed.

           
Upon inspection, the bundle turned out to be a thick blanket, lined with wool. I was too cold to turn away a blanket out of pride.

           
I unrolled it, pulled it into my corner and burrowed as deeply into it as I could, covering myself head to toe. The difference in temperature was almost immediate. There was a scent to it too, like sandalwood with a vague hint of cinnamon. I inhaled deeply, grateful for each breath that warmed the inside of the blanket.

           
There were some tattered, dirty rags on the floor, and I was glad I wouldn’t have to use them out of desperation. They were too thin and old to be warm and too oily to be comfortable. Rune’s blanket was a vast improvement, and soon I stopped shivering.

           
When I fell asleep again, I didn’t dream.

Chapter 22: Lodestone

I awoke peacefully because I couldn’t remember where I was. The sight of my dank cell shocked me into another frenzied search for windows or any connection to the outside. The stained walls felt like they were pressing in on me. I squeezed my eyes shut in an effort to block them out. Blearily, I recalled what had brought me to the confines of my prison. No memory comforted me and no thought consoled me. I was cornered, trapped and abandoned.

           
I began to hyperventilate.

           
No one came to my rescue. Not a single person checked to see if I was okay. It was just me and the cold dark room. I shrank back within the warm oversized blanket and pulled the thick fabric tightly against me. The scent of it was soothing. It was all I had.
 

           
When I stopped to think, I realized that Dylan’s goggles and the scarf made by Rune’s mother were still in my possession. That brought me some relief.

           
By the time my door opened again, my hunger and thirst were unbearable. The Dragoon in the doorway was a stranger. She was tall, brown haired, and emanated an air of calm.

           
“Who are you?” I asked, sitting wrapped in the blanket with my back against the far wall.

           
“That is of no consequence,” she answered, scrutinizing me through squinted eyes. “That is a Dragoon standard issue item. Where did you get it?”

           
For a moment I was lost at her meaning, then I remembered the blanket.

           
“That is of no consequence,” I answered back. She quirked a brow at me, but the motion was slight.

           
“The Commanders desire your presence. If you’ll follow me,” she said, standing beside the door.

           
There was nothing I could do but go with her. Any chance to leave my cell was welcome, even if that meant seeing the hideous faces of the Commanders.

           
The moment we began ascending the steps that led up and out of the lower dungeons, I felt relief. I shied away from the brighter light of the second story corridors. Archer windows broke through the walls like many sculpted and shining cracks. I felt the constriction of claustrophobia lessen significantly and when a touch of breeze met me, I exhaled away some of my discomfort.

           
I caught my Dragoon guide watching me from the corner of her eye.

           
“It feels good to breathe fresh air again,” I said, feeling awkward about her attention to me.

           
She made no response.

           
We passed other Dragoons going to and from their duties within the fortress. None of them paid us any notice. The second floor was no different from the first. In fact, if it wasn’t cleaner it would have reminded me very much of the dungeons below.

           
I was led through a doorway guarded by two Dragoons with hooked pole arms and dark copper rifles. The Commanders were awaiting me within.

           
They each stood silhouetted before two tall windows with wrought iron screens. There was a long, ebony, wood table in front of them and several items were laid out upon it. The room had two black chandeliers, two bookshelves and two round tables at either end, but was otherwise empty.

           
My guide brought me to stand in the center of the room, and when my eyes had adjusted to the bright daylight pooling into it, I saw that my original clothes and belongings were the things displayed on the table.

           
“Ah, and here she is!” said Senior Commander
Fallux
. I could see the glints of metal protruding from his face, but not very well, since the light was coming in from behind him.

Like the prickle on the back of your neck when you sense someone watching you, I could keenly feel the vicious energy radiating from Junior Commander Stakes.

           
How could I not have been afraid? I clasped my hands together to keep them from shaking. Hunger gnawed at my stomach and thirst dried my throat.

           
“I am told your name is Katelyn,” the Senior Commander said with what seemed to me like trivial politeness. “How fascinating to meet you. Most would assume the Lodestones a myth after all this time. In fact, that story is precisely the reason Prince
Raserion
installed this very station. Oh, the bay is a decent military foothold, if slightly remote. But I digress. What care you for history and stratagem? You
are
a Lodestone and you are here. These are your belongings, yes?”

           
“You know that they are,” came my raspy answer. Speaking made my throat even dryer.

           
Each article of my former clothing was laid out beside the next, all the way down to my satchel, its meager contents, and Rune’s cracked lantern.

           
“Good,” he said appraisingly. “The clothes are of a very unusual make. The material is similar to our own but the stitching is unique. Tell me, Katelyn, where did you come from?”

           
“Breakwater,” I answered, crossing my arms protectively over myself.

           
“We all know that is untrue,” Commander
Fallux
said shrewdly.

           
“Oh yeah? Where did you apprehend me then?” I said, trying my best to sound confidently snide.