The Amulet Of Nicmir (The Scripts Of Neptune, Book 1)

Chapter 7

"Your room, milady," the guard said, sweeping a mocking bow in a gesture toward the cell door. Crynia wanted to knock his teeth out.

His companion snickered. "No, you bastard, you've got it wrong," he said. "Your Majesty is the correct way to speak to her." The first guard guffawed at that.

"Shut up, the lot of you," she snapped, her features pulled into a scowl and her cheeks hot with anger. The guard laughed harder. "I'm neither royalty nor nobility, so shut up." The guard wiped his eyes, still chuckling to himself, and unlocked the barred door. The second guard gripped her arm and shoved her through, the boy following in an instant. She glared at them through the iron rods that stretched from stone ceiling to floor, focusing every bit of hatred, anger, and pain she felt into her stare. The second guard shuddered when he met her eyes and looked away.

"Come on, Ruke," he said. "Let's leave them to wallow." Ruke shrugged.

"Fair enough," he said. "You up for the tavern?"

"Always," the guard replied with a grin. They sauntered away down the bleak hallway, their boots sending water from putrid puddles flying at the walls. Crynia waited until she heard the outer door of the dungeon slam in the distance before she moved. The glare still pulling at her features, she stalked over to a corner that was slightly drier than the other three and sank down, dropping her head into her hands. Her fingers dug through her thick mane, burying themselves against her scalp.

She hated this place. It was fairly familiar to her; she'd been caught as a distraction enough times to know every route of escape there was in the maze-like building. The smell of rotting flesh, human waste, and stagnant water didn't bother her as much as it used to. What really repulsed her was that it wasn't just a smell; it was a taste, too. It infected your mouth and sat on your tongue like slime. She fought back the urge to gag every time she breathed.

She was careful to avoid letting the subject of her men cross her mind. It burned her heart, tore at her inside with claws that raked through her emotions like paper. The pain was unbearable. Worse even than when her mother died. Even then, the pain and grief had been Roddin's handiwork. But what irked her more than that was that her mother hadn't even fought them when they came for her. An accomplished wielder of soul magic, she easily could have escaped, stopped them all in their tracks and run. But she hadn't. Crynia was forced to watch as her mother was hung the morning after, convicted of treason. All because she'd wanted the feud to end.

Crynia took up her mantle after that. As a guard in the castle—and a highly ranked one at that—it hadn't been easy to keep her rebellious actions secret. Eventually, Roddin had discovered her treachery, and so began her life as an outlaw.

"This is a mess," the boy groaned, pacing as well as he could in the claustrophobic cell. His fingers were laced together, resting on the crown of his head, over his blond-brown hair. Crynia took a moment to study him.

He had a boyish face, and it made him seem younger than she guessed he truly was. Hazel eyes were set under chestnut brows, two glittering wells of pain and grief so stark and intense it made Crynia's heart squeeze. She knew her own eyes mirrored that very look.

She didn't want to face reality. The reality that she was alone. Her men were gone, and if she went to see her father, Roddin would make him suffer on her account.

It'd be easy for her to escape the prison. She'd done it enough times. But what was the point? There was nothing to go back to, no welcome from her men. They were gone. Never again would she sit in a ring around that ridiculous fireplace in the old tree, listening to them mock Roddin's string of failures at silencing her rebellious outcry. Drake's constant reprimands would no longer be hers to scoff at. His deep, calm voice was silenced forever, never to be heard by another soul.