His Captive Sorceress

Chapter 2: My Cursed Hands

Trevus guides me through the castle hallways with his heavy arm on my shoulders. The castle guards always directed me around with the ends of their weapons, not wanting to touch any more than necessary. While this feels a little more dignified, the weight and pressure he so easily exerts on my frame is frightening.

My eyes stay glued to him. This man leading me around, Trevus of House Cerillis, is King Tytius's son. He's a prince, but not one that I can understand. He wears no golden crown or royal rings, and his uniform is bare of markings beyond the crimson stripe. I've seen others with crimson stripes on occasion, and they weren't royalty.

To add to the list of atypical characteristics for a prince, he's doing everything himself, alone. I'd expect his entourage to be the ones negotiating with prisoners, not him. His father is the king, and he said we're on a mission to rescue him. If King Tytius really was captured, then surely the nation's army would be sent to free him? Perhaps Trevus is lying about all of this.

Regardless of what's true and what isn't, this is my best chance at escape in years. I'll pretend to agree to his terms and then slip away once we're free of Antiock.

He opens a thick wooden door. His nudging on my back signals to step inside. I approach the doorway, and a stench assaults my nostrils. The smell of rot wafts from the poorly lit room. I hesitate before stepping forward. If I appear uncooperative now, then Trevus may abandon our agreement before we're even out of the castle. I take my last breath of fresh air and step over the threshold.

"Men of Antiock," Trevus waves down two castle soldiers from across the hall. They make their way to us. Both guards have brown hair, thin beards and the gray uniform shared by Antiock's military. Trevus closes the door behind them.

My eyes adjust to the darkness. There are no windows, and a line of metal bars divide the low-ceilinged room. This is a dungeon – not like the tower room that served as my cell – this is where people die.

Five men are trapped here. They're sitting on piles of straw in a cell secured with a barred metal door. Three of them stand and move away from the bars, watching us with wide eyes. The other two remain lying on the ground, too sick to stand.

Their clothes are in poor condition, tattered and ripped like my robe. Having my own separate cell in the tower was magnitudes better than this. I wouldn't have survived ten years in captivity if this is where I was kept. With the state of my outfit, it looks like I belong with the men in the cage. An irrational fear grows in the back of my mind – that the soldiers behind me have decided that this is where I will stay. Trevus made a deal with me. We shook hands. He has no reason to leave me here, but in truth, he's a stranger. I can't be certain of anything.

"Bring one already marked for his end," Trevus says.

The two guards step around me. Their shadows engulf my small form. I shut my eyes until they pass. They unlock the cage, and the men inside back away from them as far as the grimy walls will allow.

The soldiers latch on to an older bald man and drag him out by the arms. "No," the man protests, but he's too weak to resist. The cage is locked again, and the man is pressed to his knees before me.

I step back, only to bump into Trevus's hard frame. He unties the knots around my elbows and pulls my sleeves off. My hands are now bare, and I'm not bound. The two guards holding the man's arms take an uneasy step back, their eyes not leaving my fingers. They're concerned that I'm going to turn on them with my connection, but Trevus doesn't share their fear.

"Demonstrate the sorcery you harbor," Trevus says.

The trembling man stares at me with frightened eyes. Trevus brought me here for a demonstration of my connection, and the man pinned in front of me is terrified. He could be Mephian like myself, locked away for who knows how long. I fold my arms and avert my eyes. I won't do it.

"Convict, you shall prove that you can at least incapacitate one man," Trevus says. He's still standing behind me.

"There was enough proof to lock me up in here," I say.

"I shall not begin this venture based on a rumor which I have not observed with my own eyes," he says.

In my mind's eye, I see the bald man lying still on the ground, his chest no longer breathing. The memory from a decade ago floods back as if it was fresh. I was a child then, just ten years old. They were after me. I was running, I was frightened, I was panicked. I connected to Mehlia, and she lost her life. It was an accident. After that, I could never bear to use my connection on another living person again.

"I-" my breath sticks in my throat. My chance to reclaim freedom could be over before it's even begun. "I won't do it so needlessly." It's a half truth. Even if there was a reason, it wouldn't make a difference. The castle guards keep me at arm's length out of fear that I'll connect to them if given the chance. That's an image I need to retain if I don't want to be further trampled on.

"This is your final opportunity," Trevus says. I turn and look up at him. "If you fail to show an aptitude for the task, I shall depart without you," he says.

"I'll do it on Bosko," I say.

"Bosko?"

One of the guards speaks – "'Tis the castle dog, sir. Shall I retrieve it?"

Trevus's attention returns to me. I'm offering to show him my connection, just not on a human being.

"Fetch the animal," Trevus says.

The two guards take the old man back inside the cage, then the shorter one leaves our room. Trevus's eyes stay on me the entire time.

Soon I hear paws scamper over the stone outside. "Bosko," I call with my hands on my knees. The big brown dog bursts into the room and runs to me. I scratch his head and pointed ears. He likes me. I've connected to him many times to calm him down after mistreatment from the soldiers.

"Begin," Trevus says.

I bend my legs and sit on my feet. My left hand rubs Bosko's head, and my right rests under his chin. I touch his warm body beneath his soft brown fur. The moment we connect, I feel his heart like it's in my chest, his breathing like it's in my lungs, and his bubbly excitement like it's in my muscles. For this moment, we're one being, connected. At my will, his heart slows, his breathing deepens, and his mind goes foggy.

Our connection breaks, but Bosko now lies in a deep sleep on my lap. He won't wake for hours, no matter how he is disturbed.

Trevus's eyes are wide. "You induce death with only the touch of your fingers?"

"I didn't kill Bosko!" I snap at him. "He's asleep, and he's perfectly fine." I stroke his furry coat.

"And you do the same to men?" Trevus asks.

I nod, my eyes not leaving Bosko.

"It truly takes nothing more than a hasty touch of your hands?" He examines the sleeves for my arms before handing them back to me.

I pull the sleeves over both my hands like I know he wants. "You have your proof," I say. I don't appreciate him gaping at me. The soldiers already treat me like an exotic animal, taking me out only as a spectacle for their guests, and I'm not pleased that he shares their reaction.

He opens the dungeon door. "Come, convict."