The Obsidian Pillar

Chapter Thirty-eight

The dungeon seemed colder and darker than it had before the trial. I was exhausted and my head was aching from the unwelcome thoughts that pushed their way to the forefront of my tired mind. No matter how many times I tried to think of something happier, to think of Dalton's heaving laugh, Sebastien's warm touch, or Aina's bright eyes, the fear and panic resurfaced tenfold. I couldn't stop it.

I focussed on the chains that held me to the wall. They were my only anchor to the world. Their weight was the only thing keeping me present here.

Sebastien.

I pressed my forehead against the wet stone of the wall, wondering why he had needed to keep his identity a secret from me on the night that we married. If I had known that I would be marrying him instead of a stranger, I would have taken solace from him. It would have comforted me, and given me strength and hope. Why would he conceal himself from me? Why did he agree to marry me at all?

I replayed the events of the trial over and over in my head. I saw Preliah's face, full of joy when he entered the room. I remembered how Preliah had cried into her handkerchief at the wedding ceremony. They must have decided it together; the three of them trying to save me. There may have been other options than marriage, and surely Preliah must have thought the same, but she sacrificed it nonetheless. They had both sacrificed so much. I would probably never have the chance to thank any of them. And it was all for nothing.

I would have been a wife to the man I loved for a total of thirty six hours, if I was lucky. The pyre would be lit tomorrow morning, and I would be tied to it like kindling. Death didn't scare me, but the knowledge that I had not succeeded in whatever I was meant to do unsettled me. Tomorrow I would go to the pyre a failure.

I tried desperately to drag myself away from my thoughts again as they grew darker and darker. Other prisoners grumbled and groaned around me, some leapt up screaming in terror, many were as silent as the grave. Sleep remained elusive. I had no idea when the sun would rise, glinting like Death's scythe.

It seemed as though two long days had passed by when they finally came for me. Two guards dressed in black hauled me to my feet and ordered the short, disfigured warden to unlock my chains.

'May wherever your wicked soul lays itself to rest be full of pain and evil,' he spat at my feet. I was thankful that he missed my shoe.

I looked down at my grimy skirts; I was still in the blue gown that Preliah had given me at the manor. At least the smell of it would not follow me in death.

The guards were surprisingly gentle. They tied my wrists together with rope in a complicated knot before leading me by the upper arms to the ground floor. As I stumbled up the steps I could hear the muffled noise of an excitable crowd.

One of the guards, who must have felt me tense under his grip, turned to me, 'The people love a public burning or hanging. The High Priest is an entertainer of sorts.' He smiled, clearly forgetting that I was about to be the entertainment. 'He reckons it keeps them loyal to the church and the crown, whilst also striking fear into them,' he continued. 'Fear is the ruler, not the man himself.'