Infernal Blade

Eleven

Hanif

The absence of hair on my head felt odd, wrong. Like an important part of me was missing. I was sure the Virtuoso thought it strange that I fight to keep it, but it was the only thing that still connected me to my family. Foolish though the thoughts were, it kept those memories close and prevented the nightmares from devouring me each night.

The lady Virtuoso finished appraising me and nodded to her companions. I turned to see what they were doing, but something caught me in the neck, releasing something cold into my skin. I hissed, my hands reaching up to find the source of the pain. But the clean-clothed man pulled away, taking a small needle with him.

"What was in that?" I demanded, rubbing the spot where it had penetrated my skin. A cold, tingling sensation spread throughout my body, and my muscles trembled, contracting and relaxing against my will. My legs shook, but before they could give out hands gripped my arms and pulled me back onto the table. My head sagged back, heavy and uncooperative.

"You... d-drugged me." My words slurred as even my tongue quit cooperating.

"Relax," Endana said, peering down at me with an expression of mild amusement. My eyes dropped shut then, unable to remain open a moment longer.

{~*~}

I blinked as consciousness flooded back to me, slowly at first, then all at once. My muscles protested when I sat up, immediately noting my change in surroundings. An empty bedside table, chair, and dresser furnished the room, along with the bed I had woken up in. It was soft, I noted with some appreciation. There was a pillow and blanket atop the mattress, two items I hadn't experienced in quite a long time. My hand spread out over the material, the soft fabric cool and gentle against my skin.

Unlike the previous chamber which must have been a type of examination room, this was clearly a bedroom. If it hadn't been so empty, I'd have worried it was already occupied. But beyond my own, there were no signs of recent occupation. A ceramic pitcher sat on the bedside table, a lone cup settled next to it. I filled the cup with what appeared to be water, sniffing the contents before tasting it. Once I had confirmed it to be harmless, I downed several cups of the refreshing liquid.

The water helped to clear my mind from the lingering effects of the drug. My muscles remained weakened and sluggish, so I stood and walked about the room in an attempt to strengthen them. I tested the door, but it was locked, just as I'd expected.

The walls were smooth cut stone and devoid of any windows. In all likelihood I was underground. Knowing this did nothing to provide comfort. In fact, it did the opposite. Seeing the outside world after being confined for so long had been cruel. And now here I was, imprisoned again.

After searching the room for any items that could be used as a weapon, I gave up and sank back down onto the bed. The only thing I could even consider using was the torch hanging from the wall. But it was bolted in place. Everything else was either too heavy or also bolted down.

Someone had given me clean clothing while I had been out, and new bandages were wrapped around my ribs. The aching of my nose had eased considerably, much to my relief.

I filled the cup again and downed it. I had no idea what would happen next, and this would afford me at least a bit of energy if required. The Warden believed weak prisoners made his job easier. And he was right. But that meant we were kept in a constant state of dehydration, starvation, and exhaustion. It explained why no one left Brinestone.

And yet here I was, in the Citadel itself. Sure, I was locked in a room likely near the bowels of the palace. But I wasn't in Brinestone, so I couldn't complain. And this abrupt relocation had to mean something other than a change in my sentence.