Kingdoms Lost

08

The cell is cold and dead. It's as silent as the grave, the only sounds are that of my clothes dragging on cement. I wrap my arms around myself, shivering. I don't know long I've been down here—an hour? Three? The cold cuts me to the bone; the silence rings in my ears. Shackles chafe at my wrists and ankles, the sticky itch of drying blood on my arms makes my fingers twitch.

The cell itself is empty, save for two rusty buckets and the permeating smell of mildew. Iron bars make up rows upon rows of cells, but it appears only mine is occupied. I scan the rows of cages, assessing. There's only one exit—a stairwell to my left. There are no windows, the only light comes from a few flickering lanterns hanging on the wall opposite my cell. I am utterly trapped. In all likelihood, there's a guard atop the stairwell, but I can't see around the bend to be sure.

"Hello?" I call out. My voice echoes, bouncing off the cement and steel, a chorus of my own voice. But there is no reply. No shuffling of feet. Either I am more alone than I thought, or these guards are very good at their jobs.

The silence stretches on for hours. So long, that I almost dismiss the slight scraping sound of something dragging across the cement floors as my imagination. Until it comes again.

I pull myself to my feet, chains weighing me down. The sound grows louder, and before long I see a faint glow from around the stair's bend—like a lantern or a torch. My heart leaps to my throat, with excitement. With apprehension. A small girl rounds the bend, her form hazy in the low light. Her left foot drags behind her uselessly as she walks, and she carries a bundle in her arms. She watches me with large eyes the color of honey, and I watch her right back, both of us silent. She stops in front of my cell, assessing me. At first glance, I thought she was only eleven or twelve years of age, but now that she's closer she looks more akin to fifteen or sixteen. The girl has skin the color of dirt after a light rain and hair like spilled ink plaited down her back. She wears rags; a loose dress hangs just past her knees, its hems ripped and worn, and her sandals are little more than a strip of cloth between her feet and the ground.

Hesitantly, she reaches towards the cell bars. Keeping her eyes trained on me, she slowly slides the bundle through the bars. It unfolds as it hits the floor. A blanket. A flash of silver catches my eye as she does this. Iron cuffs sealed around her wrists. A slave, then. There's likely a collar to match her cuffs, but the high neck of her dress obscures it.

"Complements of His Royal Highness, Prince Theodore," she says in a soft voice. Her accent is sweet as a song, lilting vowels between soft consonants. And then she's scurrying away, her lame foot dragging behind her.

"Wait!" I call, but she's already gone.

The girl returns every day after that with a plate of soggy oats. No more gifts from Theo—not that I want anything from him. She doesn't say anything these next times, either.

On the fifth day of my captivity, the constant silence is driving me mad. "What's your name?" I ask the girl as she slides my breakfast under the door. I don't expect a response; I haven't gotten one yet.

"Magdalena." Her eyes never lift from the floor, but her soft voice floats to my ears all the same.

I smile, excited by my breakthrough. "Hello, Magdalena," I say. "My name's Arabelle, but you can call me Elle if you'd like."

Magdalena glances up at me through her lashes but says nothing. With a small curtsy she scurries off, leaving me once again, in silence.

The next morning, it's a stoic slave man who brings me my meal. The day after that, a guard. By the third day, I'm beginning to worry something has happened to Magdalena, perhaps that by talking to me she has gotten in trouble. No one comes that morning. 

A/N: Hey guys! Sorry this chapter's so short! Next one will be posted today as well to make up for it. Thanks for reading.

       ~Helena