The Trial Run

Part One

Visha sat alone in the prison cell, her back to cold steel bars. With the faint sun rays of dawn peeking through the semblance of a window, she noticed markings on the walls. Thousands upon thousands of tiny lines, surely counting days. She had just been here since last night, but it was clear that for some, they had experienced a longer stay. She wondered if that would be her experience as well.

Visha was shivering. Upon arrival, they had stripped her of her warm coat and boots, leaving her in a simple undershirt and pants. Her attire was not fitted for the cold dungeon she was in. A loud clang nearby made her jump to her bare feet. Looking through the bars of her cell as best she could, she saw the flickering of a light source at the end of a long dark hallway, the same one she had been dragged down the night before. The guard had not been kind to her. She was a petite woman, but he had beat her as he would a full grown man. Her knees were bloodied, there was a sharp pain along her right rib cage, and the heat she felt around her left eye surely meant a bruise had settled in. Down the hallway, the now visible lantern was swaying from side to side, but proved too faint to reveal its owner. One thing was clear, they were approaching fast. "You! Back up! To the wall. Hands on the circles." The guard barked as he unlocked the door of her cell. She recognized that voice, it was the same guard from the night before.

Visha reluctantly obeyed and walked to the far end of the cell where she placed her small hands on the two circles, just below the window. Now in the cell, the guard ripped her hands violently from the wall and shackled her wrists in her back pinching her skin in the process. She took one last peak at the sunshine before a heavy cloth bag was forced over her head.

Although standard protocol would be to hold a prisoner by the shackles on their wrists, the guard chose to get a firm grip of Visha's short brown hair as he shoved her into the unknown. "Can you slow the fuck down?!" she grunted, tripping over her own feet going up some stairs. After being shoved, dragged and pushed through a multitude of hallways and staircases, the guard opened one final door through which they entered. The sound of the hinges squeaking denounced a very large door, one of importance. The fear was getting to her, she had lost some of her confidence. The guard shoved her to the ground. Not having the use of her hands to break her fall, her shoulder slammed into the floor which knocked the wind out of her. Gasping for some air, she noticed that the ground was cold, but not as rough and damp as it had been in the dungeons. She could smell the air, and it was clean. Very clean. She smelled subtle hints of rose and lilac which was weirdly comforting. But that comfort proved temporary. In her state of distress, Visha felt most unnerved by the sounds around her. She could clearly hear hundreds of hushed murmurs echoing in what had to be a large room. Her heart dropped.

She realized she was not at her final destination when the guard gripped her hair once more. He didn't bother to pull her up to her feet this time. He dragged her on the floor for what felt like an eternity. She kicked and screamed, pain radiating down her cervical spine as he jerked her around. With one final shove, she landed on soft carpet. Hands still in shackles, she rolled from her back onto her stomach, then her knees, trying to get in some kind of ready position. Desperately shaking her head in failed attempts to remove the cloth bag from her head, she panted loudly.

"Stop that."

Her head shot up. A familiar voice. She closed her mouth, held her breath and stopped moving entirely.

The bag was ripped from her head, along with several strands of hair. Having been in complete darkness for some time, she was not prepared for a flood of bright lights to suddenly assault her sight. Looking down, she kept her amber eyes closed for some time.

"Stand, prisoner." That same familiar voice.

She fluttered her eye lashes a few times before squinting down at the crimson rug beneath her. Lifting herself up slowly, she first noticed that those hundreds of whispers were not a figment of her imagination. There were indeed hundreds of people standing in a vast, luxurious room. Light flooded the golden halls through glorious stained glass windows. Lilac and rose bushes were growing along the walls. Visha's jaw dropped. Her eyes panned the beautiful room. She had dreamed of coming here, in the Great Hall of Lymeer Castle. She could not believe she was here. But reality set in very quickly, she certainly did not dream of coming here under these circumstances. Scattered through the crowd, she noticed at least a dozen Mages in their floor length black tunics and cerulean coloured stoles. Anger rose in her like a tide, her eyes welled with tears. She blinked forcefully a few times, and looked away. She would not be seen crying in front of Mages. Her gaze finally settled on the man in front of her.

Draven.

She stumbled backwards a few steps. Memories of the night before came rushing back. The pond, the moonlight, the laughter, the unbelievable sex. Visha and Draven had known of one another for some time, having first met by chance in the market a few years prior. She had been buying apples, and he was doing his due diligence as a Ruler, visiting his people. But last night... They had met again, by chance. This time, they were alone under the stars. Conversation flowed and one thing lead to another... Their connection was unlike any other; intoxicating.

Standing tall in the Great Hall of his castle, he perfectly portrayed the Ruler his people wanted him to be. Clad in the golden armor he always wore for official duties, he had one hand resting confidently on the hilt of his sword sitting in the crease of his hip. His long brown hair was tied in a neat bun, crowning his head, and a freshly trimmed beard framed his sharp jawline. In any other circumstances, Visha would consider him a handsome sight, but she was a little preoccupied.

"What's going on?" She urgently whispered in his direction, hoping to find a friend in him. 

Draven looked down, and took a few steps back crossing his arms.

She had misread the situation, he was no friend, she was his prisoner.

"What. The hell. Is going on?!!?" Visha screamed, a tear rolling down her cheek, stomping the ground.

The guard grabbed her by the hair and shoved her to her knees. Not intimidated by his colossal nature anymore, she spit in his direction and screamed "and YOU can fuck off!"

"Visha, you've been found guilty." Draven interrupted her loudly. He was looking away, his gaze going right above the crowd. His confident stance, powerful deep voice and armor depicted an authoritative leader. But Visha knew that deep down, he was of a kind, compassionate and soft nature. His muscular body designed for war, his heart for love.

She took a deep breath. "Guilty of what, exactly?" Desperately trying to keep calm.

"Murder."

"Murder?!" She yelled. The guard took a step forward, she held up a shackled hand to the guard in a forced apology. In a slow, quiet, condescending whisper she went on, "How could you possibly think me capable of a murder, Drav?".

Without uttering a word, he took a few steps away towards the guard and reached into an old wooden box. To Visha's horror, he pulled out a head and threw it on the ground in her direction. With a few rolls, it landed right in front of her, face up. Maeve. Her little sister.

The gasps and cries of the crowd blended all into one as Visha vomited, only just missing her beloved sister's remains.