Lorellia (Everlasting Legends, Book 1)

Ch. 12 - A Flower in a Storm

Ardaik 7th - Central Ocean

The inside of the galleon was an entirely different world, the second deck not as dark as their little ketch but easily more cramped. The ship was alive with people—sailors and soldiers alike. But as they descended to the third deck, the mood shifted again as they were plunged into darkness, fought off only by dim lantern light. The hustle and bustle of the upper decks became nothing more than a distant murmur above them. Sacks, barrels, and crates lined the hull. All the provisions that the galleon's crew would need for a month or more at sea. As they shuffled down the walkway, they passed under the only stray rays of daylight that managed to reach this deep into the ship through the giant grates, and then it was back into shadow. Once they reached the back of the lowest deck, there it was—the brig.

Each cell was a cage of crisscrossing iron bars. They looked as though they could have been strung up and left to hang; however, Rowan suspected that would be less secure, the threat of one coming loose and falling not worth bothering with. Instead, they were lined up four along each wall, each chained to the others and then secured to the hull of the ship with some support beams to keep them from sliding around freely.

Their captors divided them up, two or three to a cell, before locking them all in. After exchanging a few words with the one unlucky bloke standing guard, they headed back to the upper decks.

Once Rowan's eyes adjusted further to the dark, he could see well enough to distinguish that the cell Flann's guard had been put in was apparently reserved for women prisoners; she had two in her company. Courtesans, by the look of their dresses and the ribbons adorning them in place of jewelry. Two men occupied another cell, and three in one opposite them. Then Rowan realized the cell closest to his and Artus's was also occupied, but only by a single man.

Time seemed to stretch after that. Some of the prisoners occasionally murmured amongst themselves, but their surroundings lent little to inspire or encourage conversation. When voices raised loud enough to be distinguishable over the sounds of the ocean and the galleon, the guard released a sharp "quiet!" to quell it.

Despite how long he'd avoided it, Artus finally relented and sat down next to Rowan. The floor was damp and dirty, and the smell of piss and sweat occasionally wafted through the stagnant air, making the prince's insides curl in disgust. Rowan kindly offered him a shoulder to rest his head on when it eventually began to lull, but the very moment Artus thought he heard the wet skittering of a rodent, sleep was absolutely out of the question.

Sometime later, once Artus was fairly positive that the sun had set, a group of soldiers descended the steps. He thought it seemed a lot of men for a simple changing of the guard, but he soon found out that was not their intent at all, as one led the way to his cell.

"That one," he said, pointing a gloved finger at him before pointing at Sebastien as well. "Him and the Serellian."

Artus was quick to rise. His chest swelled with hope. Perhaps the admiral had considered his request. Maybe he and Sebastien could finally do something about their horrible situation if he had.

The rest of them could only watch as the three were led away.

"Stay on your guard, your highness," Edna spoke quickly as Flann passed. It was clearly hard for her to see the prince, whose safety now rested entirely on her shoulders, taken beyond her charge, but there was little else she could do. A fact made all the more evident as one of the guards smacked the bars of the cell with a cane. "Quiet!"

Rowan suspected that the culture shock was beyond demeaning for a shield maiden who was used to keeping company with knights and royals to now be relegated to the company of "working women." Again, he was reminded of how low his station was when compared to that of Artus and Flann. He was a fool.