Book 2: Sea of Delarn

Chapter 1: Prison

Delarn was constantly thinking about what her mentor told her when she was dragged from the throne room. It ate at her mind, and she couldn't keep her hands from wringing and teeth from grinding. He had promised to help her no matter what, but no help came.

No one had been merciful, even those who claimed mercy. Instead, they took her to the port city of Tristam on a very slow wagon and locked away. She didn't rule out being transferred, but she doubted she would ever see anything familiar again.

She considered how there was little here she wanted to stay and live for, but her gut told her if they sent her somewhere else, it wouldn't be a fresh start. More likely, it would be another prison or slavery. The legality wouldn't prevent them from quietly trading her off. In Fennerey, she had heard about it often enough from those from her sect of Salvikans—a group that followed a god of chaos. She knew better than to doubt how much worse her situation could get.

The first night felt the worst. She had grown used to the rhyme and reason of traveling on the wagon, and by the time they got to Port Tristam, it was familiar. If they had spent the rest of her life pulling her along on a wagon with her head covered and her arms tied, she thought she might live with that. There were downsides, but once they dragged her out of the wagon and started dragging her along like an unruly horse, she missed it. Things only grew worse when they brought her into the cold and dingy building that was the Port Tristam prison.

It was unnerving smelling the sea air and feeling the breeze on her exposed skin and imagining freedom knowing it was out of reach, and the sea itself was so foreign it turned her stomach. She never thought she would smell the sea air, let alone before being introduced to the stale prison smell that mixed with the sea salt and made her lungs burn.

She had plenty of time to think about it. There was little else while being pulled through the dark hall to her cell. The warden—a slothful man that appeared less than interested in the proceedings the longer it went on—joined them. Her eyesight had gotten no better and had only grown worse, so when they shoved her in her dim cell, she could hardly make out anything at all.

"Please," she choked, her voice cracking worse from lack of use while she was being transported, "please. It's so small and I can't see. How am I supposed to stay in a place like this?"

"You should have thought about that before you committed a crime," the warden drawled as he looked in at her, but like everything else, he was only a dark smudge on the other side of hard prison bars. The men responsible for transporting her gave harsh and ugly laughs, knowing the truth of what brought her here and she felt red hot anger fill her stomach as she moved to grip the bars—the only things that she could register—but they were already moving away and leaving her behind.

They were going to leave her here. It wouldn't be until someone came for her in a day or two. They intended to leave her forever to rot. As that settled in, she felt frenzied and gripped the bars harder. She tried to shake them to minimal effect and wailed her despair, fear, and discomfort. At the very least, there were no other inmates in with her. They could have done many things to shut her up, but as it was, there was no one to hinder her.

After a very immeasurable moment in the terrible darkness, she settled back. She wanted to see if she could find the most comfortable position she could so she could lie down and figure out how to get out or cry until she couldn't anymore. She wanted to be sure no one else was in there with her, hiding in the shadows and waiting to tear her apart. She was determined to tear them first as she reached everywhere in that very cramped cell.

It was little more than a small box, big enough to stand and long enough to lie down. She could feel the thin cushion that was her bed, made as bare as they could without doing away with it altogether. It was likely to prevent prisoners from hiding things or using the springs as salvage. She tried to hold back a repulsed moan as she felt her hand touch something wet on the floor and tried to convince herself it wasn't piss or blood. At least it wasn't another person.