Court Of Shadows and Lies

13. A Plea for Salvation

As I reached the middle of the road, I stopped, my breath quickening as I grabbed my head in exasperation. “Why won’t anyone help me?” I muttered to myself, feeling the weight of the world pressing down on my shoulders.

After a moment of stillness, I looked up, kicking a cloud of dirt from the road in a fit of anger. “This is ridiculous!” I snapped, the sound echoing in the empty space around me.

Fuming, I reached into my cloak and pulled out another letter, unfolding it with urgency. “I asked the Duke where I could find the Zerane. They might come in handy,” I mumbled, though doubt lingered in my mind. I had little faith in anyone’s willingness to assist me, yet I couldn’t ignore even the slightest glimmer of potential help.

As I scanned the letter, my brows shot up in surprise. “The last descendant… Is… somewhere here...? Only one person? The last. ” I read aloud, my heart racing with unexpected excitement.

My gaze darted around, taking in my surroundings. “It’s… somewhere… underground?” I muttered, piecing together the fragmented information.

Then, my eyes narrowed at the letter, the place that might hold this elusive descendant was mentioned, “The Abyssal Springs?" I whispered to myself.

“A so-called public and private bathhouse, but I know better. It’s a front for the kind of dealings that thrive in the shadows.”

The name echoed in my mind like a siren call. If the last of the Zerane bloodline was there, perhaps this was the opportunity I needed. My pulse quickened as I contemplated my next move. I could find this person, and together, we might just turn the tide in my favor.

He began tracing his fingers over the portrait, and I shot him a sharp glare. “What the hell are you doing? I’m not here to watch you engage in that kind of disgusting behavior.”

He looked up at me, panic flickering across his face. “No, no, no, lady, I’m not doing what you think!” But as he continued to touch the painting, he suddenly pushed against it. To my surprise, the large portrait slid inward like a revolving door, revealing a hidden passageway.

I frowned and stepped closer, peering inside to find a set of stairs leading down into darkness. “What exactly is going on here?”

He gulped again, his voice shaking. “This is a place where we keep slaves.”

“Slaves?” I echoed, my stomach twisting in disgust.

He nodded solemnly. “And some noblemen enjoy tormenting those slaves.”

I gasped, a chill running down my spine. Don’t tell me the last descendant of Zerane is also a slave here. I stepped towards him, desperation in my voice. “Is that Zerane too?”

Before I could finish my question, he nodded and started down the stairs. With a mix of trepidation and urgency, I followed closely behind him.

As we descended, a long hallway stretched out before us, lined with cells barred like prison cages. My heart sank as I caught sight of the scene inside. Men lay on cold stone beds, their forms gaunt and defeated, surrounded by darkness pierced only by flickering lanterns. There were no windows, no water—nothing to provide even the slightest comfort.

The brutality was palpable; I watched in horror as nobles wielded whips, belts, and rods, striking the weaker ones mercilessly. The sickening sight of blood splattering against the stone walls made my stomach churn, and I fought against the rising nausea threatening to spill over. The metallic scent of blood hung thick in the air, a grim reminder of the violence that unfolded within these walls.

As I continued down the hall, my eyes darted around, taking in the suffering and despair that enveloped this place. A few nobles glanced my way, their curiosity piqued by my presence. Instinctively, I pulled my cloak tighter around me, covering my face and hair to conceal my identity. I couldn’t let them recognize me—not here, not now. The fear that crept in was suffocating, but I pressed on, driven by the need to find the last descendant of Zerane.