A Court of Light and Melody

Chapter 32 - Devils

**LONG CHAPTER ALERT and trigger warning for references to Gwyn's trauma**

"Scared is what you're feeling. Brave is what you're doing."

- Emma Donoghue

Song: Seven Devils - Florence + the Machine

Gwyn smelled two things. Damp stone and humans. The scent of humans was overpowering - she'd never been witness to so dense of a smell.

That in mind, Gwyn's first thought was that she was still in the cave with Azriel, and that the scent of the humans who had appeared at their camp last night was lingering.

But then she felt the splitting pain in her head and that familiar leeching of her energy. Gwyn's heart raced and she willed herself to open her eyes, praying that she was in Azriel's arms.

How very wrong she was.

Gwyn jumped to her feet, staggering as her knees wobbled and her vision swayed. She inhaled deeply, focusing on her core and regaining her balance.

She was surrounded by bars. Thick, iron bars. The cell was square and about as wide and long as she was tall.

Behind Gwyn was a stone wall, and at the top there was a small, barred window that let in the barest hint of sunlight. Just enough to illuminate her surroundings.

Water dripped from the corner of the ceiling and on either side of her were more cells. All crudely forged.

This was some sort of cellar. A cellar that someone had repurposed into a dungeon.

A scream tried to claw its way up Gwyn's throat, but she clenched her teeth, stopping it and instead funneling that fear into energy.

Aware it was likely useless, Gwyn pushed against every single bar of her cell hoping a door would swing open. She was unsuccessful. Perhaps she could pick whatever lock was outside her door with her dagger!

But of course, when Gwyn looked down at her body, all her weapons were gone.

With a gasp, the priestess reached into the pocket of her leathers and felt... nothing. She removed her trembling fingers. Azriel's handkerchief was gone. She'd left it back at their campsite with her breakfast.

She hugged her sides trying desperately to anchor herself, but only drew in a sharp breath as pain lanced through her waist.

Gwyn's vision spotted. She felt like the morsels of energy she had summoned were leaking out. Specifically out of the side of her torso where a dull ache throbbed.

Then she recalled that sharp sting she had felt before falling unconscious.

Gwyn pulled up the bodice of her leathers, then the black fabric beneath it, to find a small but deep gash in her side. Around the edges of the angry, red mark was a dusty blue-ish substance that she didn't quite recognize.

Her breath began to come in short gasps, her throat was closing. She tried to find Catrin's voice in her head, but there was only silence. Too much silence.

Slowly, she lowered herself to sit and closed her eyes, inhaling and exhaling and counting and trying to do some mind-stilling. If she was going to get out of this mess she needed to get her head straight.

The priestess wasn't sure how much time had passed when she heard the soft sound of footsteps growing nearer and nearer. Her eyes snapped open and Gwyn swiftly hopped to her feet, rooting herself in place and preparing to... to what? What could she do without her weapons, so weakened, and locked in a cell?