8

THE BLACK FLOOR

I spent the next few hours following Lukan around as he presented himself at meetings, ordered servants around, and spent some time practicing bladework. Eventually, he retired to his quarters and dismissed me. I made sure that there were enough guards outside of his room, and then I was free.

I walked through the palace, stopping at the kitchens and acquiring freshly cooked veal, which I shared with Husir. The men and women who slaved away within the kitchens to feed the palace were intimately familiar with Husir, and loved to feed her. I told them to watch her, and then I set off alone.

I didn’t consciously decide on a destination. I moved without thinking, knowing in my heart where I would end up, and knowing, at the same time, that it was a terrible idea.

The dungeons were directly beneath the palace. I’d heard it said that they were the oldest part of the city, that originally the dungeons had actually been a natural cave system, labyrinthine in nature, and supposedly endless. Some said that you could follow the tunnels down to the hollow core of the earth, to the Screaming Tree itself. At some point, when Havlin had been founded, someone had decided to build the palace on top of the caves. In time, the caves had been converted into dungeons, and countless hundreds, perhaps even thousands, had suffered a fate worse than death down in the darkness.

I stood at the top of the stairs that led down to the first level of the dungeon. No guards, but there would be once I went down. I still wore my armor, my helmet, and I still had my sword at my hip.

If I went down, Lukan would hear about it. So would Magoran. There would be consequences.

So be it.

I started down the steps, boots echoing against the stone. I’d never been down into the dungeons before, because I’d never had a reason to. But I’d been in the palace enough times to have seen countless people dragged down there into the bowels of the earth, begging men held between stoic guards, weeping women carried effortlessly to their dooms. Children, even, too confused and frightened to make a sound, and who knew what any of them had done to deserve such a punishment? The dungeons were not reserved for ordinary criminals, because for the average lawbreaker they were not necessary. Even your common murderer, a man killing another in a drunken fight, for example, might simply have a hand chopped off or, worst case, he’d be hanged.

No, the dungeons were for when real cruelty was called for. For heathens, spies, serial murderers, for those with hearts full of evil and twisted minds solely occupied with the darkest of thoughts and intentions.

Not for Islana. Imagining her huddled in the dark, alone, hurt me more than any blade or fist. Not for the first time I wondered whether they’d simply locked her up while she waited for the end, or whether they were eager to make her suffer as much as possible until then. As I descended the steps, two at a time, I tried to steel myself for such a possibility. Would she be missing fingers or limbs? Would they be burning her, cutting at her, beating her?

My hands curled into fists, and my mouth was dry. A bad idea, maybe, for me to take my sword down with me. I doubted I’d be able to resist using it if Islana was badly hurt.

The steps came to an end. The first level of the dungeon sprawled out before me, the tip of my helmet brushing the ceiling. A cramped, choking space, rock walls closing in all around me. I felt as though I could hardly breathe and nearly turned and went back the way I’d come. It wasn’t natural for people to be so far under the ground, so hidden from the sky. I was keenly aware of the sheer mass of earth hanging just above my head. See, people didn’t ever frighten me, because people can be resisted and explained. The natural world is an entirely different matter. I once saw a man struck by lightning. The entire world had gone white, and when my vision had finally cleared, the man had lain a full twenty or even thirty strides away from where I’d seen him standing. To be so moved by the world against your own will! And he’d been blackened, deaf, alive, but barely. His mind had been ruined even worse than his body. Alive, yes, but his life had ended in that instant, and he’d had absolutely no say in the matter. You can do everything right and the world might still crush you.

Candles held in the firm grasp of sconces provided a soft, warm glow. Most were unlit, so that I couldn’t see too far ahead. Still, I could make out the iron bars of cells, the silhouettes of people behind them. I breathed in stale air and body odor. Two men were strolling leisurely my way, though they hadn’t seen me yet. They wore leathers and were armed. I heard a set of keys jingling with every step.

They paused in front of me. It was too dark to make out their faces. One said, “Who goes there?”

“Sigmund, First Blade to the new king.” I kept my voice neutral. “I need you to point me in the direction of queen Islana.”

They exchanged a look. “Former queen.”

“Yes,” I didn’t bother hiding my irritation.”

“Can’t let you see her,” said the one on the left. My eyes were starting to adjust to the gloom; I could see that he was a scared, ugly bastard.

“King’s orders,” the other explained.

I frowned, and made a show of placing my hand on the hilt of my sword. “The king sent me. I’m to interrogate the former queen.”

“But sir—”

“Tell me where she is,” I growled. “I don’t have time for this.”

They exchanged another look. “Keep going down the stairs,” the ugly one said. “And don’t stop until you reach the very bottom.”

#

Down into blackness. My heart seemed to speed up with every step. I took slow, deep breaths. The air was cold, damp, and tasted of decay.

I reached the second level, and kept going. I reached the third, and wondered just how deep I was. It was becoming harder and harder to breathe the deeper I went, the air thinning, as though I were climbing a mountain. The difference was that climbing mountains made me feel alive…this was like I was already dead, and walking myself down to the Underworld.

On the next level, I borrowed a candle from a sconce and continued with it held in both hands as though it were a sacred artifact. Fortunate that I did that because as I pushed on down the steps, there was no light at all. I prayed that the candle didn’t go out. If it did, would I be able to find my way back up the stairs? Would I be left to rot down here?

If I was, at least it would be with Islana.

My legs burned. My lower back ached. I focussed on these worldly pains, using them as a much needed distraction. They’d imprisoned her as deep as they could, and here I was, hardly able to bring myself to venture so far into the darkness. Yet she’d spent nearly two full days down here, and I was sure she’d remained calmer than I was at that moment.

I reached another floor. There were no more steps. Relief flooded me and I leaned against the wall and allowed myself to relax. But only for a moment, because then my attention was diverted by a scream somewhere in front of me. I peered into blackness. Two candles in total were lit, not even enough light to see into a single cell. I couldn’t see anyone, but I heard whimpers, cries, the pleading of the desperate. I shuffled forward.

I came toward the nearest cell and held up the candle. There was a single figure crammed into one corner, knees up to their chest. Too small to be Islana. Gods save us, too small to be an adult. What could any child possibly do to deserve this?

I continued on, eyes slowly adjusting to the dark, cold and sick and hoping that Islana would be in the next cell, or that she wasn’t down there at all. My intention was to speak to her, to ask her questions, but I found myself eyeing the iron bars. Could I instead get her out of there, run away with her by my side?

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Movement up ahead. Someone coming my way. I paused and waited for the figure to materialize out of the darkness. A man, middle-aged, fat around the waist, eyes narrowed in my direction.

“And who are you?”

“An interrogator,” I said. “Here for the queen.”

The man nodded slowly. “You know where she is?”

“No. Take me to her.”

Without another word, the jailer turned and gestured for me to follow. What sort of man could spend so much time down here, cultivating his prisoners, staring in through their cells as though they were nothing more than animals? He should be a monster. I didn't get that impression from him. He was just a man, maybe even a better one than I, who had adjusted to his conditions.

We walked through the dungeon for some time. I didn't want to look in at the occupants we passed, yet of course I could not resist. They were vague outlines in the blackness, huddled, twisted forms hugging the walls. One stood right at the bars, hands out, grasping, and the jailor slapped at them, though without any real malice. I had the overwhelming urge to grip those hands and to hold them.

“Here,” said the man. “Can you find your way back or do you want me to wait for you?”

“I can find the way.”

He nodded at me and ambled off. I waited until he'd disappeared, then I got close, pressed myself up against the iron bars, the candle as close as possible. I strained my eyes in search of her, heart pounding, and there, a shape, a woman, Islana, lying on the ground against the far wall.

“Islana,” I said, voice barely a whisper. Louder, I repeated myself.

She stirred, groaned, sat up.

“Islana,” I was glad that no one else was around; my voice betrayed me.

Islana stood. I couldn't see her well, and I searched her movements for signs of injury. She came forward, orange candle light kissing her face.

Her eyes were wide and caught the single flame in their depths. Her mouth was a thin gash, her usually flawless skin bruised, streaked with filth, and cut above one eye. Her hair was a tangled mess. She wore a dress, one I'd seen her in before, silk dyed sky blue, but now it was torn and dirty and so badly ripped that it hung from her body in tatters, partly revealing her chest, her side, one thigh.

“Sigmund?” her own voice a rasping whisper. Her face pressed against the iron bars.

“I'm here.” Our faces were so close, separated only by a small amount of metal.

“Sigmund.” My name emerged from her lips as a sigh. “What are you doing here?”

“I came for you.”

Islana’s small hands grasped the bars. “I didn’t do it, Sigmund. I didn’t kill him.”

“I know you didn’t.”

“I wasn’t even there,” Islana hissed. “I swear it. I wasn’t in the palace.”

My chest ached. I wanted to grab the iron and bend it until it broke. I wanted to take her into my arms. I needed to be calm. The best chance I had at saving her was to prove her innocence. For that, I needed information. “Islana, where were you? When Emrik died.”

“The library,” she said immediately. “My bodyguard, Adelmar, was with me. He’ll tell you.”

Assuming Adelmar hasn’t been taken apart. “I’ll find him,” I assured her. “Islana, I want you to tell me everything that happened that day. Start from when you woke up.”

Islana took a deep breath. Strands of coal black hair fell across her eyes. She reached between the bars with a dirt-smeared hand, and I held it gently in my own. I felt her pulse, a slow, steady rhythm. Alive. No matter whatever else had happened, she was still alive, and as long as that was true, there was hope. I would find a way.

“I woke early,” she said, “as I always do. Emrik was still asleep. He never wakes before midday, you know. I—” she cleared her throat, “—I ate a meal. The sun was still rising. Then I went for a walk in the royal gardens, again, as I always do. It’s my routine. Adelmar was with me the whole time, since breakfast, and then the two of us went to the library. I’ve been doing a lot of research of late, and that’s where I’ve been spending most of my time. You can ask anyone who works there.”

“And that’s where you were when you were arrested?”

Islana nodded.

“Who came for you?”

“Soldiers,” she said. “No one in particular. I know a few of them, but…”

“No one important.”

“No. Sigmund…” Islana licked her lips. Her eyes were narrowed now, focussed. “I know who —what— did this. But you’re going to have to listen very carefully, and you need to trust me.”

I was calmer now. There was no doubt in my mind that Islana was innocent. The problems facing us were clear and defined— now all we needed to do was figure out what to do about it. When the world was reduced to just that, problem and solution, everything became easy.

Islana closed her eyes. “You’re going to think that I’ve gone mad.”

“No,” I said. I squeezed her hand. “I promise you, I won’t.”

“Sigmund, how much do you know about the Vald?”

An icy knife plunged between my ribs and worked its way toward my heart. “I know just about what I was told as a child. I’ve heard the stories. But—”

“They’re real.” The intensity in her eyes held me in place. “They’re not just stories. They’re real, and they’re returning. Wait, just listen to me. Sigmund, please. We’ve known about them for a while. Myself, Emrik, and others in the Howling Hall. A select few of us. We’ve been making plans.” Islana took a deep breath. “I don’t know why they’re coming back now. There are historical accounts of them dating back three, nearly four hundred years. Supposedly, they were chased away, out into the wild. But they’re here now.”

My mind whirled. Had the darkness broken Islana’s mind already?

No. I looked right into her eyes, fierce and determined. She was intact. I said, “How do you know?”

Her expression was grim. “How did my husband die?”

I conjured up an image of Emrik draped across the bed, of walls painted with blood, of his eyes staring vacantly up at me. “His chest was cut open. His heart had been removed.” I paused. “And…he was covered in something. Mucus. I’ve never seen anything like it before. At first I thought it was poison of some kind, but I don’t think so. And…”

“And?” She pressed her face up against the bars, sounding suddenly eager.

“There was an eye,” I said, voice distant. “Embedded in his arm.”

Islana closed her eyes. “See? I knew it.”

“And,” I continued, “yesterday, I went to the house of one of the men who’d supposedly seen you there at the palace. He was dead. And Islana, when I say he was dead, I’ve never seen anything like it before. He’d been taken apart. Bones piled up, flesh dissolved. It…”

“Yes?” Her hand gripped my own, painfully tight.

“I don’t know how such a thing could be done.”

“It was them,” she whispered. “Sigmund, nothing you just told me can be explained any other way. One of the Vald must’ve disguised itself as me and killed Emrik.”

“And then took out Kitan,” I murmured. “But then, if soldiers went directly to the library to arrest you…”

“Someone told them to get me,” Islana said. I hated how excited she sounded, as though knowing the truth made anything better.

A dull ache blossomed behind my eyes. What she was telling me now was insane, yet I’d seen what had happened to both Emrik and Kitan, and I think a part of me had already known that only something beyond mankind could explain it.

Somewhere in the darkness, I heard footsteps coming my way.

“You need to get out of here,” Islana said, speaking quickly. “Listen, the Vald can look like anyone. Do you understand? They’re in the Howling Hall. They’re amongst us. You can’t trust anyone. You need to find out who they are. Listen. They hate fire. It’s one of the only things that can hurt them.”

I didn’t know what to say. The boots were getting close, more than one person, probably three. Up ahead I saw the glow of candles coming my way.

“Okay,” I croaked out. That wasn’t enough. “I’m going to get you out of here.”

Islana smiled at me. It was an expression utterly out of place in the blackness of the king’s dungeons. “I know. Now, go!”

I love you, I wanted to say, but stopped myself. She knew that I did, and if I said it now, she either wouldn’t say it back, or she would, and it wouldn’t mean anything. Before things had gone to shit, she’d always had her reasons for holding back on those three sacred words. Recent events could not have changed those reasons.

“Stay safe,” Islana said. That was good enough. Wordless, I turned away from the cell, blew my own candle out, and moved to the far wall. I pressed myself against the stone, drowning in darkness, feeling my way toward the steps.

Three men had come down to get me. They were silent, and held two candles between them, not really enough light to illuminate much of the dungeons at all. I could creep past them without much effort. Not that it would ultimately matter…if Magoran or whoever else knew that I was here, if they were displeased by that fact, I would be unable to avoid them for long.

I slipped past them. I kept my hands on the wet stone, letting the wall guide me back safely, though I wrestled with the paranoid thought that it might curve more than I realized, might carry me in the wrong direction without me knowing, and that I would be lost and alone down there in the bowels of the earth, madly crawling around in the dark. I shivered. Nothing could be worse than that. Still, I made it to the steps, breathed a sigh of relief, and then realized that my pursuers, more intelligent than I’d given them credit for, had left a man behind for that exact situation.

This man didn’t have a light with him, so I bumped into his chest. He grabbed me with strong hands, hissed, “Don’t move.”

I could’ve broken his grip, kneed him, taken him down and killed him. But what would be the point? I hadn’t committed a crime. They would have questions and suspicions but could not punish me. Killing a man and then fleeing, however, would not be a good look.

“I’m not moving,” I said, perfectly still, refusing to give any excuse for violence.

He held me there, saying nothing, breathing loudly. I felt the dirty heat of him. His breath reeked of onions. Together, we waited for the other two to arrive.

Then I was escorted out of the darkness.