Oona sat on a bench in the very last cell, back straight, hands resting neatly in her lap. With dark hair framing her face, she looked unsettlingly serene. The dim torchlight gave her an otherworldly glow, making her appear less prisoner and more apparition. When her eyes lifted to meet Kael’s, they held no fear, or anger, or sadness. Only calm.
“Crownsman,” she said softly.
Kael stood before the bars; the cell reeked of rust, wet stone, and despair. The scent of old blood lingered, faint but unmistakable. He had seen hardened men broken in these cells. Some had screamed, and some went silent, but all had changed. Oona, though, sat untouched by the burden of stone and rust and time. It was unnatural. Or maybe just terrifying.
The ancient stone dungeons lay buried deep beneath Threadneedle’s foundation, their origins lost to time—predating the human wars, the purges, the Crown, the rise of the androids, the rebellion, the first Android Wars and the last Android Wars, and any mortal recollection, living or dead.
Somewhere in the depths, water dripped in steady, measured beats, mocking or perhaps remembering time with its cruel persistence.
“You look… good,” Kael said.
Oona tilted her head faintly, a ghost of a smile touching her lips. “Should I fall apart? That would make their story easier.”
Before Kael could reply, Elena’s crisp voice sliced through the thick dungeon air.
“And yet you will break, healer.”
Kael spun when she marched into the corridor, her black dress swaying with deliberate grace. The torchlight hollowed out her face, casting shadows along her high cheekbones and pale, almost translucent skin.
She bore no trace of the frailty she’d carried only days before. Elena appeared vibrant even in the chill and damp air of the dungeon. She carried no cloak and no gloves, as though the freezing air dared not touch her.
Kael studied her, tightening his gaze. “You’ve recovered,” he said, his tone flat, though his mind churned.
Elena tilted her head, a hint of a smile tugging at her lips. “Remarkably, yes. Thank God I am in someone else’s care now, a true healer. This woman, Oona, was trying to poison me as well as kill Father. Her potions were poison.”
Kael’s brow furrowed. “Whose care?” he asked after a beat, his mind turning over the cast of characters at the castle. Oona was the only healer in town. Edric had hung the others.
Elena didn’t answer. Instead, she pivoted to Garrick. “Unlock this door,” she ordered.
Garrick hesitated, a pause shorter than a hair’s breadth, before charging forward. The scrape of iron filled the corridor, unrelenting.
“Elena,” Kael began, his cadence measured. “We don’t need this…”
Elena said nothing as the cell door creaked open. As she entered, her boots scuffed against the uneven floor. The air was even damper in the small cell, thick with the scent of rust and mildew. She carried a small iron case that clinked as she walked.
The cell itself was narrow, with walls slick with condensation. A single wooden table dominated the center of the room, its surface worn smooth and stained dark with things Kael didn’t want to think about. Iron rings were bolted to the table’s edge, with heavy chains coiled on the cold floor. Against one wall, the remnants of a straw pallet sat in chaos, its frayed edges damp and moldy.
From farther down the corridor, Marcus stirred in his cell, his voice hoarse and broken as it moved through the shadows.
“Elena,” he rasped. “This isn’t justice.”
She didn’t so much as glance in his direction.
“You forfeited your right to speak the moment you betrayed the Edric name.”
Marcus slumped back against the bars, clutching himself to stay warm, though a sweat had broken out across his forehead.
Elena placed the iron case on the table with a sharp, metallic clink that echoed through the cell. She opened it with steady hands, displaying an array of cruel tools. Polished to a vicious shine, the blades, hooks, and slender instruments gleamed in the dim light.
“Hold out your wrists,” Elena said coldly, pulling a pair of iron shackles from the case.
Oona stood silent in the far corner of the cell, her dark hair loose around her shoulders, watching Elena.
“Is this really necessary?” Oona asked, as if making small talk.
“You don’t want me to ask twice.” Elena’s tone was impatient as she gripped the chains.
Slowly, Oona came forward. She extended her arms, wrists steady, and let Elena snap the cuffs shut with a harsh, resounding click. The chain dragged as Elena secured it to a hook embedded in the wall.
“There,” Elena said, pulling back. “Now we can begin.”
The faint drip of water marked the time.
“You’ve done this before,” Oona murmured, glancing over the tools on the table. “Interrogated your own kind.”
Elena’s hand paused over the tools.
“You are not my kind.”
“Are you so sure?” Oona snapped.
Elena chose a thin silver blade. The torchlight caught its edge, sending faint splinters of light across the walls. She advanced with the blade.
“You were in the castle the night my father died,” Elena said. There was a dangerous current in her words. “Unaccounted for. Where were you?”
“I left to gather supplies for your fever,” Oona replied evenly.
“And returned after murdering my father?” Elena pressed the blade against Oona’s forearm, denting the skin. It didn’t cut. But it was close enough that Oona felt its bite.
The cell seemed to shrink around them as the darkness swept through the room, shadows reaching up the walls like accusing fingers.
“I didn’t kill him,” Oona said calmly.
“The servant girl saw you,” Elena said, her tone icy.
“She’s scared,” Oona countered. “She’ll say whatever you want to hear.”
Elena’s brow lifted, her tone rising with it.
“And my brother? What does he gain from a lie?”
Oona faced Marcus’s cell, silent. The blade threatened to break the skin.
She didn’t flinch. Her expression remained calm. The silence of her defiance filled the room more completely than the torchlight.
“Tell me the truth,” Elena demanded, pressing harder. The blade’s edge dug into her skin.
“You don’t want the truth,” Oona countered. “Not really.”
Elena’s hand trembled. It was a slight tremor, but Kael noticed.
The door crashed open, the sound ricocheting off the stone walls.
Kael strode in, commanding. “Stop!”
Elena froze, the blade poised mid-air. Her fury unleashed on Kael.
“What are you doing?” she demanded.
“I’m stopping you from making a mistake,” Kael said, his tone steady despite the thunder of his heartbeat. The silver bird pressed into his chest, searing like a brand.
“My father lies dead,” Elena snapped, her gaze narrowing on him. “And I will have answers.”
The words hadn’t cooled on her tongue before the next came boiling up. “She’s lying,” Elena spat out.
“And I know who the real killer is,” Kael said, the lie burning on his tongue.
The room fell silent. Even Oona was startled, her jaw dropping slightly as she spun around to him.
“What?” Elena sounded dangerous.
“I have evidence,” Kael continued at a steady pace despite the storm in his mind. “But I must have time to confirm it.”
Elena eyed Kael, suspicion drawn into every line of her face.
“What evidence?”
Hesitantly, Kael met Elena’s gaze, speaking firmly yet calmly. “Hard evidence. If you kill her now, you’ll lose your chance to uncover the truth—and know who really killed your father.”
Elena’s grip on the blade loosened a little, but she didn’t move. She was weighing his words against the rage screaming in her blood.
“You have until sunset tomorrow,” she said at last without a hint of emotion.
Kael inclined his head, though every muscle in his body strained against the commitment he just made. “Understood.”
As Elena withdrew, her gaze landed on Oona once more. “If you fail, Crownsman,” she said, her words like frost. “Her blood will be only the beginning.”
She marched out of the cell, boots ringing against the stone. Garrick lingered a moment longer, his broad shoulders casting a dense shadow across the narrow space.
“Keep your head, Crownsman,” Garrick said under his breath. Then he followed Elena, the cell door groaning shut behind him.
The dungeon fell suddenly silent; even the faint drip of water seemed to vanish.
Kael stood motionless as Marcus’s hoarse voice echoed down the corridor. “You’re protecting her,” Marcus accused. “She killed him. She killed my father.”
Kael glanced at Oona, still shackled and silent, before replying. “You don’t know that.”
Marcus let out a bitter laugh, shaking his head. “You think I don’t know her?”
Oona cocked her head, unmoved by Marcus’s words. Her amber eyes held their calm. Her fingers found the iron at her wrist, the faint clink of metal the only sound she made.
“What are you talking about?” Kael shouted, his words filling the dungeon.
“She’s dangerous,” Marcus said. “She has her secrets.”
Kael glanced at Oona, whose face betrayed nothing, then back toward the dungeon wall, where Marcus remained hidden beyond. “And you? What secrets do you have that brought you here?”
Marcus had nothing more to say. He leaned back against the cold bars, his face a mask of weary defiance.
Kael sighed, turning toward the cell door. “You’re welcome,” he muttered as he passed Oona’s cell.
Oona shrugged, her tone indifferent. “You bought time. Nothing more.”
Kael didn’t answer. He’d nearly reached the doorway when her voice stopped him again.
“Wait.”
Kael turned as Oona rose from the bench, her movements deliberate despite the weight of the chain tethering her wrist. She stepped as far as the shackle allowed, her fingers weaving around the cold iron bars.
“You’ll need this,” she said, motioning to the pocket sewn into her tunic, just near her breast.
Kael fixed his sight on the slight motion of her hand. “You’re shackled,” he said.
She raised her brows just a hair, a faint smirk tugging at the corner of her lips. “And yet, here it is.”
With a reluctant lurch, Kael reached through the bars. His hand brushed the fabric of her tunic as he slipped into the pocket. His fingers grazed the edge of the key, but not before he caught the warmth of her breast.
He pulled the small, weathered key free. It glinted faintly in the torchlight, its intricate shape unfamiliar.
“What does it open?” he asked, cautious now.
“You’ll find out,” Oona replied, the smirk fading into an unreadable calm.
He slipped the key through his fingers, the cool metal grounding him. Kael studied her for a second longer, his thoughts drifting involuntarily to another metal—the silver bird hanging from his neck. It no longer felt like a weight pressing against his chest but something etched deeper, like a tattoo burned into his skin, unshakable.
For a brief moment, his fingers welded around the key, his decision lingering in the balance. Then, with a nod, he slid the key into his pocket and walked back into the corridor. Moments later, Ward appeared, a ring of keys jingling in his hand.
“Back against the wall,” he barked at Oona.
She stayed put, one brow raised in defiance. “Unshackle me first,” she said.
Ward furrowed his brow at first, but finally gave a begrudging nod. Moving closer, he unlocked her wrist restraints with a curse.
As he latched the cell door behind him, he sneered. “Don’t think this means I trust you, healer. If I had my way, you’d stay chained to that wall forever.”
Oona rubbed her wrists and said dryly, “If you had your way, Ward, we’d all stay chained to your ignorance.”
Storming off, he left Oona alone in the cell. The sound of his boots faded quickly away, dampened by the wet stone.
“Marcus,” Oona said gently. Her words floated in the thick, quiet air.
Silence.
“Marcus, I forgive you.”
The silence shifted, no longer empty.
Then, a bitter voice came from the shadows.
“Go to hell.”