Chapter Nine
The soldiers surrounded Allyssa. One seized her arm, dragging her out of the Throne Room. She didn’t fight back or respond, thankful she hadn’t been killed right there on the spot. In the hallway, the reality of the situation crashed down into her. Soldiers were taking her to the Russek dungeon. Not knowing what awaited her in the bowels of the castle made the situation infinitely worse. She was going to be sick. Her fingers tingled, and her arms went numb. It felt like someone was banging a stick against her head. The soldiers marched along hallway after hallway, making it seem like she was caught in a never-ending maze.
Once they locked her in the dungeon, it would be near impossible to escape. She had to try before it was too late. Up ahead, there was a door on her right. Just before reaching it, she purposely tripped. As she fell, her fingers clutched onto the hilt of a nearby soldier’s sword. His arm snaked around her waist, yanking her body against his. A sharp pain shot through her hand as he pressed his knuckle against a pressure point, making her release the sword.
“Looks like we got a fighter,” one of the soldiers said. “Check her for weapons.”
One roughly patted her down. “She’s clean.” Allyssa didn’t feel very clean after having hands roam over her body. Still, she kept her face blank, trying not to show fear.
“Cover her head,” someone else ordered. “She doesn’t need to know the layout of the castle.”
“And here I thought we had a mere princess on our hands,” the man holding her said.
“Never underestimate your enemy,” another responded with a dark chuckle. “Especially considering who her father is.”
If they knew who her father was, then they knew she wouldn’t give up. She was a fighter—just like Darmik. A soldier pulled a cloth bag out of his pocket and shoved it over her head, cinching it around her neck with more force than necessary. Her breathing sped up. She made herself breathe slowly so she wouldn’t hyperventilate. Never show fear, her father had drilled it into her. No matter how dire the situation or how scared you are. Fear empowers your enemy. Someone shoved her from behind, and she resumed walking. A firm hand was on her arm, guiding her. She heard a door scraping against the stone floor, and then she was led down a flight of stairs.
“Prisoner for processing,” a gruff voice said, pulling her to a stop.
It would be so much easier if she could see. Clearing her throat, she announced, “I am the princess of Emperion.” Her voice came out muffled from the cloth bag covering her head. “My kingdom has made no move against Russek. It is Russek who threatens to invade us. Let me negotiate peace between our lands so we can save our people’s lives. Do not lock me in a cage like an animal.” Her heart pounded, and her breathing came out in loud, raspy gasps. She would not faint like some wimpy girl.
“We’ll take it from here,” someone else said.
It sounded like a door opened ahead of her. Large hands clutched her arm, yanking her forward. A moment later, a door slammed shut behind her, and a rancid stench assaulted her senses. She tried not to breathe in the smell of sweat, vomit, and bodily waste. As she was led deeper into this hellhole, a soft hiss followed by a distant scream made the hairs on her arms rise.
The person holding her laughed. “Just another day in paradise.” They stopped, and metal grated against stone. The cloth bag was removed from her head, and she was shoved into a small room. The door banged shut. “Enjoy your stay,” he sneered through the square, bar-covered hole in the door. The bolt slid into place, locking her in, and he strode away, leaving her alone in the cell.
The desire to sit down and sob in this ten-foot-by-ten-foot room was overwhelming. But she had to be smart and think of a plan. Keeping her mind focused would help her survive this ordeal. What did she know about being a prisoner? A year ago, Rema had told her about the brief time she spent in King Barjon’s dungeon. Granted, her mother had never gone into specifics, but she said when life seemed impossible, one had to hold onto hope. Allyssa needed to keep her spirits up and not allow the situation to break her. She refused to give in to her fear. She would be strong—like her mother.
Darmik always insisted she remain analytical with the end goal in sight. Steeling her resolve, she glanced about the room. Her dressing closet was larger than this space. At least there was a straw cot. Well, straw on the ground in a semi-rectangular shape that vaguely resembled a bed. A used chamber pot filled with waste had been shoved in one of the corners. There was nothing she could use as a weapon. She tried to organize her chaotic thoughts. Maintain hope. Keep my endgame in sight. She would survive this. She blinked away the tears that threatened and began pacing about the room.
***
Time inched by, almost driving Allyssa mad. There was nothing to do but think in this blasted place. A bloody week passed, and not a single person came to see her. Were they going to let her rot down here?
And there had been no word from Odar. Was he in the dungeon or had he been taken elsewhere? She didn’t even know if he was alive. Pacing about the cell, Allyssa rubbed her temple. What about her parents? They were supposed to be hiding in Emperor’s City. Were they aware of what had happened to her? Had Marek managed to return to Lakeside and seek Emperion soldiers to aid in her rescue? Were they even going to try to rescue her now that she was in Russek?
She kicked the wall, hating that there was so much unknown and little she could do about it. The conditions in her cell were quite foul. Never again would she take living at the castle for granted. What she wouldn’t give for a bath or some decent food. The stuff they thrust into her cell twice a day wasn’t what she considered food. More along the lines of barely edible mush that smelled like dirty socks. The water was even warm, stale, and had a brown hue to it. Most likely, she would catch some disease in this filthy place and die without anyone knowing.
She resumed pacing. With only one oil lamp, the room was fairly dark, making her eyes ache for not only sunlight, but also for the radiant flowers behind her castle, the green rolling hills, and the vibrant blue sky.
A man started screaming. It wasn’t clear if he was being tortured or if the isolation of this place had driven him mad. Allyssa tried not to think about the atrocious things that happened down here. She’d never realized fear had a smell.
She paced back and forth. Back and forth. The worst part wasn’t the conditions or the food. It was the waiting—the not knowing what the future held. She kept grasping at hope, but it was quickly withering away.
***
Metal clanged against the outside of her door. A moment later, it swung open. A large soldier with unusually pale skin and light blond hair towered in the doorway. Like other Russek soldiers, he had black markings on his face—lines, swirls, and dots from his forehead, down his right cheek, and to his chin. She thought it was some sort of paint instead of a tattoo.
“Come with me,” he said, his voice gruff.
“Do you know who I am?” Allyssa asked, purposefully keeping her voice soft and kind, hoping to gain this man as an ally.
He scanned her from head to toe, seemingly unimpressed with what he saw. “Out in the hallway, or I’ll drag you out,” he said, not bothering to answer her.
She did as instructed. “I am Princess Allyssa, heir to the Emperion throne. I am being held here against my will. If you help me escape, my mother, Empress Rema, will reward you greatly.” The hallway had a couple of torches, which provided enough light to see in both directions. She gasped. There had to be over a hundred doors. Did each contain a prisoner?
“This way,” the man said, indicating to the left.
“Do you know where Prince Odar has been taken?”
The soldier grunted, taking hold of her arm and walking at a brisk pace.
“Where are we going?” she asked. He didn’t respond. “Are you taking me to see the queen?”
His fingers dug into her arm, and they turned down a dark corridor. Dread coursed through her. This man wasn’t escorting her somewhere—he was either going to torture or interrogate her. She refused to walk, and he dragged her along as if she were a child’s doll.
They came to an open door, and he shoved her inside the room. Her blood went cold. The wall directly ahead was covered with several sets of metal handcuffs at various heights. The man lifted her wrists, locking them into one of the sets. Every ounce of her being screamed at her to fight, but her training told her otherwise.
Taking a deep breath, she forced herself to say, “I’m sorry you’re in this position; that you work for a ruler who asks you to do her dirty work.” Keeping her voice steady, she continued, “I know you’re only following her orders and not acting of your own free will. I want you to know that I forgive you for what you’re about to do.”
The man cocked his head to the side, appraising her. Goose bumps covered her flesh, and her body shook. Please don’t vomit. With her arms stretched high above her head, her shoulders began throbbing. She’d never felt so vulnerable in her life. The man looked away.
Allyssa closed her eyes, thinking about everything her father, Neco, and Marek had taught her over the years. Being tortured was more mental than physical, so it was imperative that she remain calm and not lose her temper. Instead of focusing on the pain about to come, she needed to concentrate on maintaining the fragile control she had over her emotions. Taking several deep breaths, she opened her eyes and faced her torturer.
The soldier stood there, a thin, wooden stick the length of his arm in his hand. Did he intend to hit her with that vile weapon? Her eyes widened, and all color drained from her face. She was a princess. This sort of thing wasn’t supposed to happen to her. This had to be a sick, twisted nightmare.
“Where are Empress Rema and Emperor Darmik?”
He wanted to know about her parents, which meant they were still in hiding. A surge of relief soared through her, making her bold. “I will not answer any of your questions.”
He slammed the cane against the wall next to her head, making her jerk. Her parents were safe. She would endure whatever he chose to inflict upon her in order to keep them that way.
“Does Emperion have an alliance with Fren?” He flicked the cane against his palm, making an eerie sound that caused her body to involuntarily shudder. “If you don’t answer me, I’ll be forced to use this on you.” His gentle voice made the threat more menacing.
“So be it.” Her words sounded strong even though she was cowering inside. For her parents, she would do this. Her brilliant, kind, determined, and loving parents. They made the necessary sacrifices for their kingdom. She drew strength from that knowledge. Her mother had survived her own execution. Allyssa held onto her mother’s steadfast hope.
“I’ve been ordered to give you ten lashings if you don’t cooperate.” His eyes narrowed.
Did he expect her to cry and beg for mercy? Because she wouldn’t. It was his fault for assuming she was weak.
“Have you ever seen a person hit before?” he asked, flicking the cane against his palm again.
“No. Whipping and caning are not tolerated in Emperion. My father outlawed both practices, claiming them to be barbaric.” He had told her he’d been whipped, and that was why he refused to allow another man to undergo such cruelty. She tried not to think of being hit—of the wood striking her back. Tears filled her eyes, which only infuriated her. Allyssa didn’t want to show this soldier he was getting to her, but she couldn’t stomach the idea of being tortured. When Neco spoke of such things in training, she never expected it to come to fruition.
“Be thankful it’s the cane and not a whip,” he said, stepping closer to her. “This cane won’t tear your skin the way a whip will.” For the first time, he looked into her eyes, but then quickly glanced away.
“You don’t seem like the typical Russek soldier.”
“And what do you know about us Russeks? Did you read something in a book? Reports from your spies?” He cocked his head to the side, studying her.
“You’re an interrogator,” she blurted out. “Not a torturer.” The realization shocked her. While her situation was far from ideal, having her life in this man’s hands, instead of a sadist’s, was more than she could hope for. Queen Jana must want insurance that Allyssa wouldn’t accidentally die. At least, not yet.
“It doesn’t matter what I am or am not. My queen has sent me here to do a job, and I plan to do it.” His fingers curled around the cane as he took another step toward her. “I don’t have to strike you at all if you just tell me where your parents are.”
Allyssa almost laughed. Almost. If Russek didn’t know the location of her parents, they couldn’t be certain their letters made it to the Emperion royal family. If Rema and Darmik didn’t know Allyssa’s fate, then Russek couldn’t use her as a bargaining chip. Her value lay in the ability to get to her parents. But if she was of no value to Russek, would they kill her for spite? Surely they would never let her go.
She kept her mouth shut, staring at the soldier for several minutes until his shoulders sagged. “You won’t cooperate, will you?”
“Never.”
He nodded. “Prisoners are punished naked.”
There was no way she was taking off her clothes. He’d have to kill her first. “I am not a prisoner. I am a political hostage. There is a difference between the two.”
He readjusted his grip on the cane. “I can lift up your tunic to expose your back. I can inflict the punishment there.”
Allyssa nodded, unable to utter a response. She turned to face the wall. The soldier pushed her shirt up, revealing her bare skin.
Before she could think about how humiliated she was, there was a soft hiss and then a whack as the cane struck her back, sending a searing pain through her entire body. She cried out in agony, not expecting it to hurt so severely. There was another hiss as the cane came down again, slapping against her skin. She wanted to fight back, but she knew she was at his mercy. Fighting against him would only prolong the punishment. And she had the feeling that he wasn’t hitting her as hard as he could.
Another hiss and then a whack as he struck her skin again. She screamed, her back throbbing with a pain she never knew possible. Tears poured down her cheeks. Hiss, whack. She cried out, her voice echoing in the dungeon. Blackness hovered at the edges of her vision. Hiss, whack. Her legs started shaking. If the soldier hit her any harder, the bones in her back would break. Neco had told her that the point of interrogating or torturing a person was to break them. Until this moment, she didn’t understand what he meant.
After ten lashings, the Russek soldier pulled her tunic down, covering her back. The fabric felt like coarse sand being rubbed against her skin. When he unlatched the manacles, she collapsed to the ground, wanting to crawl into a hole. Reaching down, he lifted her up. Without speaking, he carried her back to her cell, laying her on the straw. A minute later, she passed out.