Ranestone: Return of The Serpent

Chapter Twenty-Abe

Two days.

Two days until August 7th, the date set for the assassination of every royal family in Ranestone.

Abe has been trapped in the cold cell of Quent Castle's dungeon for little more than a day, and yet it already felt like an eternity.

He sat in the corner of the damp stone cell, pulling his knees to his chest in an attempt to hold back the shivering that had racked his body for hours.
The dungeon was freezing, the dark stone retaining no heat, and with winter approaching it felt as if he were sitting outside in the chill instead of within the castle walls. The guards of the dungeon wore thick clothing, while he had only been left with his shirt and leather vest. They'd taken the rest of his things. 

*

The king hadn't believed him.

He'd known it was a risk, coming to Quent Castle with such an improbable story and only two pieces of paper as evidence, one a cipher.
But he'd had to try, had to warn the Fernways of their impending deaths at the hands of some sinister entity.

Who was the Serpent? It could truly be anyone, but whoever it was had enough power, enough influence to reach across the eight kingdoms. He didn't question that fact. Seven Sons, that black-cloaked messenger had been killed trying to deliver the envelope and its message.
Thinking back, he should've just delivered the letter and left Pinewood Manor without a second thought. But he'd trusted his instincts, and though the king had named him a traitor, thrown him into the dungeons far below the castle, he knew he was right. Something would be happening on the seventh, and he had done all he could to warn them. It had been a fatal mistake on their part.

At least Brogan Smith hadn't received the letter.

He hoped there hadn't been time for whoever was sending the black envelopes to send Brogan another. Because of the importance of that date, Brogan Smith likely wouldn't be able to have that information relayed to him by any allies in Drynden. Perhaps the wealthy mansion owner's involvement would be left out, as he didn't know the set date for the assassinations. It was a reach, but he could alway hope.

His thoughts were broken as the sound of screeching metal filled the cold room, the guard unlocking the cell door.

He cringed against the wall as the guard swung the slightly rusted door open, a dim light shining into the space.

"Get up," the guard grunted, one of the two who'd dragged Abe away from the king the day before. This one was stocky and short, with small cruel eyes.

Abe climbed weakly to his feet, legs numb from sitting on the cold floor for so long, and walked to the burly guard, who'd pulled a set of metal cuffs out of his pocket.

He winced as the guard clamped the cold iron over his wrists.

There would be no escaping them.

The metal chafed his wrists, his legs unsteady beneath him as the guard pushed him towards the long dark staircase out of the dungeon.

Where was he being taken? Had the king changed his mind? A wild hope bloomed in his chest at the thought as he was shoved along until they reached large double doors.

They entered the dimly lit room, a long wooden table taking up the length of it where the Fernways sat.

Food covered it's surface; venison, baked potatoes, spinach, eggs, it was all there, displayed in metal bowls and dishes. His stomach tightened at the rich scents as he was guided to a chair near the end of the table where the guard shoved him down roughly.
He bit his lip as his cuffed hands banged hard on the table, then looked up to see another person seated at the table with the Fernways, a tall man with peculiar golden eyes...