REVISED The Marigold's Larkspur

Chapter Six: Act of kindness

At least the jail cell wasn't cold.

Even as Cressida sat on the stone floor, the thin fabric of her nightdress pressed against the rough wall and her bare feet against the brick, she felt comfortably warm. She had the hot climate of Ashlar to thank for that, the night warmed from the day's residual heat.

Or perhaps she was in shock.

The slam of a distant door made her jump. She straightened, waiting to see if anyone was coming. But after a few moments of agonizing silence, she released a slow, shuddering breath, her shoulders sagging as she leaned back against the granite wall, staring blankly ahead.

Iron bars separated her from a larger room lined with at least twenty identical cells, all empty as far as she could tell. Her own cell was barren except for a wooden slop bucket tipped on its side. She considered flipping it over to sit on but knew that was far from its intended purpose. Fortunately, she hadn't been in the cell long enough to need it.

The guards who had escorted her – in the loosest definition of the word - had not been forthcoming with information despite her frenzied attempts to get a clear answer. They had just dragged her, barefoot and bewildered, through the halls.

At least the floors had been clean. Even the jail cell was spotless.

She hugged her knees to her chest, thinking back on her last conversation with Ferox. Had he reported her for attempting to use her magic on him? Or had someone else overheard and informed the king? Perhaps it was Mint, the young kitchen maid who guided her back to the Guest Wing. Despite her sympathetic demeanor, Mint had no real loyalty to Cressida, and Cressida knew all too well how easy it was to feign kindness.

The questions continued to swirl in her mind, torturing her with uncertainty.

Cressida extended her hand to catch the moonlight that trickled in from the thin window high above her head. The window must not have had any glass, because she felt a gentle breeze play with the fringes of her night shawl. She looked straight up, marveling at how the wind could have possibly reached her.

A voice, smooth and pleasant like the notes of a viola, resonated through the air.

"Cressida."

She shot to her feet as if a bolt of lightning surged through her. A tall figure stood in one of the shadows cast by the iron bars, and although she could hardly see him, she recognized him instantly.

"Prince Callidus!" She gasped. "Please...please tell me what is going on. There must be some misunderstanding. Am I truly under arrest? Please, I don't know what's happening, but I swear I've done nothing wrong."

A pang of guilt struck her, but she pushed it aside. Magic wasn't inherently wrong, and it hadn't even worked on Ferox.

Callidus took a few measured steps toward the bars, his face emerging from the dark. The dust-grey moonlight cast an otherworldly pallor over him, his eyes reflecting nothing.

"Please!" she pleaded, her voice breaking. "I've committed no crime!"

The silence that followed was almost unbearable. Until, finally, Callidus spoke, his voice achingly gentle, "I know."

Cressida sank in relief. "Your Highness, please, what happened?" she managed to ask, pushing herself towards the center of the cell. "What...what time is it?"

"Several hours until dawn."

"What is it that I've been accused of?"

There was a pause.