Aligning the Forgotten ✓

Chapter 16: Roux

The only sound is the constant drip of freezing water, leaking into the bucket on the floor. Over the past few hours, it has gotten full, long after the servants came in and emptied it—using that for water supply instead of the fresh water supplied to the rest of the castle. The prisoners deserve no better than the rusted flavor.

No one is speaking, we haven't since the rebel sat down in the chair, his hands tied behind his back. Over recent days, we've beat him. His face is covered in an array of blues and purples, black frames one of his eyes and the skin on his lips are dry, cracked, and split. Each breath he takes is ragged, he hasn't eaten so every second he's alive is another he shouldn't be here.

Every day he's come into this room and sat in the chair for questioning. He's a rebel, and in an attempt to sneak in, got himself captured. That happened to be the one night the guards were paying attention; they caught him before he made it to the gates. Upon being caught, he killed two guards and disabled another. He is still alive for that reason alone.

The king has put his strongest men on watch, especially at the gates leading into the capital. To fight against them, and be so skilled that he nearly won, means this rebel carries exactly what we need. Unparalleled to the rest of the prisoners who've spent years down here, slowly withering away. They won't be of use, but men like him, rebels with the longing to fight, will be put to the test.

I recognize his face from somewhere, we've seen each other in passing but nothing more. I get the sense he hated me at one point. He didn't want me there, yet I can't seem to place our location. Every day, my memories continue to fade. Yesterday, I might've remembered how we met, his name, our association with each other. Today, that is not the case.

I suppose it's not important, we won't be speaking much once he gives us the necessary information. All it takes is a few simple truths and he'll be home free, set loose by the king to experience happiness in his wildest dreams.

"This can be over," I tell him. He sits alone in the middle of the room, his head hung low.

I rest my back against the wall next to the door, one ankle crossed over the other and my arms, tight against my chest. I've been standing like this for next to an hour as I wait for his previous beating to settle into his bones. My knuckles still ache from contacting his jaw, repeatedly.

Blood mixed with spit dribbles from his lip and soaks into the already bloody tunic he wears. It's been the same since he arrived, none of the prisoners receive a change of clothes—their lives aren't valuable enough. They've done things to put themselves in this position, things I won't help, so this man deserves everything he is getting.

"He's not going to talk," Binx acknowledges from the other corner of the room. He's merely a shadow, but upon speaking, steps out into the light of the flaming torch and hovers over the prisoner.

His hand covered in leather, Binx grips the man's scalp and tugs back, forcing him to look up. The rebel releases a startled gasp and a moan, already wincing in preparation for another blow to the face. With the light illuminated across his skin, it's clear how much damage I have done. There's no recognition in his eyes, he's as hollow as he appears, and the blood running down his neck is as good a death sentence as any. This rebel won't hold out much longer.

"Should we summon the king?" I ask. "He'll know what to do."

Binx drops the fistful of hair and the man's head hangs once more. Like a tired dog, his movements are slow and weakened. His stomach grumbles, twisting itself into knots, as food has been scarce. The king's orders were not to feed him until he fesses to the truth and information about the rebels. He's not speaking, likely because the leader of the rebels told him not to when he sent him off on a mission to be a spy. He'll become a soldier instead.