The Claimed: Rashika's Resistance

Chapter 15: Prisoner

Several hours later, the fake rescue mission began.

I set off on the same speckled mare I had ridden in the morning. A rope around the horn of the saddle looped along a reluctant bay stallion whose head tossed, nostrils flared, and hooves pawed the ground at each turn. The perfect horse for Izra, I thought with a smile. But my smile vanished and my gut flipped as I remembered the crate of ghastly torture tools.

In the morning, we'll get some answers fast.

I just prayed they hadn't started yet.

Beyond Rakim's enormous colosseum, the land sloped down to a valley, and a field of brown grass stretched out before me interrupted only by occasional withering trees. At the far end of the field, a chasm jutted through a gently rising hill, hacked away by primitive tools back when King Makapu's ancestors settled in Rakim. A modern metal door wedged into the ancient dugout, a jarring flash of shining steel among crumbling dirt.

Near the door, a dozen guards stretched out in the grass or leaned against trees. I noticed one woman among the group. I have hired three more female guards in your honor!

A shimmering mirage over the woman awaiting torture inside.

I roped the horses to a tree and approached the guards. "I assume you have heard the new directive from the King?"

The woman rose to face me first and furrowed her brows. The black mole devouring her left brow twitched. "You are Epsa?"

"I am."

"Where is your Royal Guard badge?"

I rolled my eyes skyward. "For Rashika's sake, I am here pretending to support the rebel cause. We can't let Izra know I am in the Royal Guard."

She glanced back at the other guards, shoulders and eyebrows raised.

"It's her." A tall man with a wispy mustache nodded at me. "I've seen her in the palace before."

"Fine," said the woman, shrugging one broad shoulder. "Then we follow the King's orders."

The woman spun away to tromp off up the hill, and the rest of the guards scrambled to their feet to scurry after her. When their figures blended with the trees in the hillside, I jogged up to the metal door and unbolted the deadlock. Then I stopped for a moment, dread broiling in my stomach. Though I had seen the prison from the outside a few times, I had never entered. I now knew what kind of horrors occurred here. Was I really prepared to witness it firsthand?

Then again, I had no choice. If I failed, nothing and no one would save Izra.

I jerked open the door.

With a hollow screech that echoed in my eardrums, the metal door revealed a long, dank corridor. Near the entrance, several more guards chatted around a heavy wooden table. A putrid blast of blood, vomit, and urine clawed at my nostrils, and nausea swelled in the pit of my stomach.

Beyond, a few scattered lanterns cast dim light down the sprawling passage and across metal prison bars, illuminating just an eerie inkling of the horrors within. I wondered which cell held Izra.

One guard swung up to his feet, generous belly bumping the table as he waddled toward me. He greeted me in a whisper. "Epsa?"

"Yes."

He dug a silver key from his pocket and extended it toward me on a meaty palm. When I plucked up the key, he tipped his head toward a younger guard, who hopped to his feet and darted off down the hallway.

Moments later, a scream echoed down the corridor, followed by a clang of metal against metal. Then every guard at the entrance popped up and took off after the young guard, leaving me in eerie, empty stillness.