Bridging the Ancient ✓

Chapter 3

The female archer grabs my arm, hoisting me out of the wagon. The chains around my wrists keep me from striking her and the same goes for Renit as my childhood friend picks him up underneath his arm and hoists him to a standing position. The prince turns a deathly shade of pale as he staggers.

Bren appears ready to let him drop and I glare back at him, a promise that if he doesn't tighten his grip—he'll face my wrath later. He will either way.

The small group of rebels stands watch, arrows at the ready and hands on the pommels of their swords. Way out here, away from the eyes of the mines, no one will notice whether we come in or out of this place. The slaves are too busy worrying about whether they'll see tomorrow and the overseers are so drunk with power, they're blind to the idea that some of them are allowed to glimpse the sun rise.

We're led through a small cluster of trees and towards an abandoned underground stairway. Don't let them separate us. Renit's words ring in my skull. I keep an ear out for his footsteps, if anyone were to take advantage of him it would be now. He's the reason they're here, filled with so much hate they're choking on it.

I glance over my shoulder at them, my past and my future, and Renit's head is dipped low. Bren keeps a tight grip on the prince but that's hardly enough to keep his feet shuffling forward. He can barely stand upright, let alone walk. I have to do something. I have to do something fast.

The stairs are narrow and dusty, lit only by the flicker of a candle carried down by a rebel ahead of us. Each one of them wears the black cloths over their faces and hoods to conceal the rest of their identity. Bren does the same, strapped with weapons of arraying strength. If I'm not mistaken, a hatchet is strapped to his back.

Straw slides underneath my boots once we reach the bottom of the stairwell and the archer pushes me forward into one of the few cells in the small, underground prison. Titanium bars suffocate any hint of power from floor to ceiling, the ground being the walls and the solid surface over our heads, supported by wooden beams.

The rebel sets down the candle on a boulder in the corner and opens one of the cells. I'm pushed in first. "Think about attacking me once these shackles are off and I'll chain you to the bars so you can't move," she snarls. I ignore the urge to punch her in the jaw.

She unlocks the shackles and backs away, taking the chains with her. Renit is shoved in next, brought by Bren, and I exhaust all of my effort into glaring at him as he takes the prince to the back of the cell and unlocks his shackles. I'm there immediately so he doesn't fall over himself and he slowly slumps to the floor in an old pile of straw. I don't let myself think about the rodents that have nested here over the years, they didn't bother to clean out the cell before we arrived.

"He needs to be healed," I order as Bren walks out of the cell and locks the titanium door behind him. We don't stand a chance of getting out of here, I have no doubt we will be watched from all corners of this small dungeon and on the ground, as well. Eyes are not few and far in-between in a place like this. Even with the overseers, we stand a chance of being caught in the wrong place.

"What's to say he doesn't attack us when he's healed?" Bren jerks a chin towards the prince.

Renit, leaning against the wall and bracing a hand against his shoulder, frowns. "I'll gut you where you stand," he croaks. The fever is too strong, he's losing every bit of sanity by the second.

My childhood friend grips onto the bars, staring at him with that predatory intent to kill. The same as the female archer. She steps forward, thumbing a dagger loose from her belt and scraping it against the titanium. Each movement is one of a warrior. "You won't touch him, prince. I'll skin you alive," she snaps, spitting at the dirt in front of his boots.