The Cursed

Chapter Thirty Five

Lilura

The Queen and I stare at each other.

The cursed and the Queen facing off. The sins rustle behind me, asserting their dominance. The Queen adjusts her dress, so the longest part of it glides begins her as she makes her way down the stairs towards us.

I have six demons behind me, yet with the Queen steps above me, in her home, she holds the higher advantage. Yet, unease does not settle into me. I hold the power of my magic and the sins'.

"I never thought you would dare to come through my castle."

"And yet I did." I smile and hold open my arms, welcoming her to come closer.

"Then I shall be the first to welcome you into my home," she says before she curtly nods and turns her back on me. The clattering of guards rushing from their various posts around the castle  fills the hall. "My guards will show you the dungeon. I believe you have memories there." With her parting words, the Queen continues to walk away from me as her guess file through the castle like ants to a dropped crumb.

The dungeon. The Queen knows I've regained my memories, how could she not?

The memories of darkness and cruel laughter filters through my mind. And the past that I now wish I had left in the past resurfaces, filling my head with no room to act against the swarming guards.

"Welcome home Lilura. May you never leave," a dull, low voice says before shoving me forward. I land on my hands, tearing my palms against the rough ground. Then the voice's owner slams something metal shut. The sound reverberates through me, shaking my bones. I'm in a cell in the Queen's dungeon. There's the sound of retreating footsteps and cruel laughter. High pitched. The Queen's. She would'nt leave the task of locking me away to anyone but herself.

"Ah, the Lilura. With us at last," another voice says. It's comes from across me, not in my cell.

"Who are you?" I whisper, scared the guards will hear me.

"No need to be queues girly. They can't hear over the screams," they cackle. 

"Screams?" I stutter.

"Haha, ah yes, the screams of the condemned. Tortured for information."

"About what?"

"You dearie. The Queen wants your head on a golden platter. Your heart hanging on her wall."

Fear grips me. The Queen wants me dead. But for what? To protect her son. The heartache my death would bring.

"She wouldn't. She couldn't. Her son-"

"Her son? Ha!" The fellow prisoner spits on the ground the sick this of spittle hitting the stone ground replaces the sound of my cell closing, echoing in my mind.

"She wouldn't want that heart break to weigh on him. And if he knew she killed me," I swallow not wanting to think of my seemingly inescapable death.

"He won't. Your death will be blamed on the neighboring Kingdom. War will spark to life from your love, as revenge for your death."

The Queen has everything. A plan, a way to project the blame away from her, possibility for war, and reasoning for that same war. She will have everything in her hands, a puppeteer among marionettes.

"How can you be sure?"

"The guards love to talk. Often having drinking competitions mingled with gossip from within the Queen's study," the prisoner says.

There is no way to live, to warn Everette of his mother's treachery. It's a sealed deal. Unless.

"When are you freed?"

"No one leaves these dungeons girlie. No one."

"I can glamor you. Make you a guard trapped behind bars. They will free you and you will run, warn the Queen's son. Tell anyone you can of the Queen's betrayal to the crown. Save the kingdom, please," I beg.

"How are you going to glamour me? You're a blind girlie with no magic in your blood. I can't smell it on you," they growl.

"This," I say, producing a small vial tucked under my sock. Inside a blue liquid swirls between purple and white. A glamour spell, captured in a jar.

"Where'd you get that?" Asks the amazed prisoner. I hear their shackles drag on the ground as the pull themselves closer to me. The gentle sound of cuffs on the bars of their cell revealing their position.

"Bought it off a witch trying to avoid begging captured. She was selling her spells in the dozen."

"Gimme that!" they roar. I instantly shrink backwards, clutching the jar to me chest.

"Wait, please help me. I need you're promise to tell every soul and my love of the Queen and her plan. Promise and you get the bottle," I say. There's a stretch of silence as then prisoner considers their choices of staying locked and tortured or freedom, but with a duty that could bring death and the risk of being tried for treason.

"Deal." I let out the breath I didn't know I had been holding. A weight lifts of my chest. I have a chance.

"Here." I extend my hand with the bottle out of the cell. Spindle fingers grasp my wrist and drag me against the bars of my cell. The dig into my ribs and face, causing bruises that will last for days to come. The prisoners sharp nails dig into my wrist.

"I'll keep my promise to you. I'll help. I swear," they say. I feel the bottle leave my possession, and the prisoner's hands leave my wrist. A flicker of hope lights up my chest.

"Lilura," snaps Sloth.

"What would your command?" Asks Lust.

I shake my head, in a vain attempt to drag the mementoes back from flickering in front of me.

"Sleep. Guards. Put them to sleep," I mumble. Sloth nods and waves their hand over the guards. There's a clatter of armor as they hit the ground. I collapse with them, but don't hit the floor. Rather, Pride catches me and props me against the wall.

"We need instruction Lilura," whispers Greed.

"Go to the Queen. The vines. Start the plan. I'll recover here and meet you in the throne room. Go!" I command. The sins nod in unison. Then begin to climb the stairs to the Queen's throne.
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