Explosions of pain hammered at his entire being during his rare bursts of consciousness. The pain didn’t allow for more, despite the numbness. His right eye remained dark, and the excruciating bitterness turned his tongue to dust in his desert dry mouth.

No matter how he lay, a cloth covered him. A corpse they carried in the darkness. Their chatter came to him as muffled nonsense. Dark silhouettes forced water down his throat, along with morsels of gruel. His stomach rumbled its complaints regularly.

His enhanced senses abandoned him. He couldn’t smell anything, heard nothing but nonsense. Half of his vision vanished, even his left eye saw nothing but a blurred mess. It was only the ever-present pain which kept him stirring.

The infrequent moment arrived where the noises sounded clearer. Whispered conversations sprouted recognisable words. He smelled trickling fear and ashes. The efforts of whoever carried him. His left eye cleared, and he made out the sparkling stars through the gaps of his rough blanket. His fingers throbbed, and groans spilled from his lips. Then a familiar pinprick slammed into his neck and the bitterness paralysed him again.

Minutes, hours, days. He didn’t know how many passed. He was a fool. Poisoned by the Bannerless because he didn’t eat first. He hoped Nameless and his family didn’t suffer the same fate. It was his own fault, and he did not know on how to rectify it.

Mazin tried to enter the void once, stifling the urge to wail at the pain when he awoke. But it took all his strength just to remain silent, let alone concentrate for the peaceful darkness to encompass him. There was nothing left in him. He wanted it to end.

Prince Mazin gasped awake, then yelped when he tried to make a fist. His cries echoed all around him while he blinked to adjust to the darkness. Half of his vision returned while his entire body throbbed. Unseen bruises and welts littered his flesh. Every move felt like he tore whatever scars he bore anew.

His head pounded as if he drank a river of wine the night before. His jaw stiffened when he attempted to move it. He tasted globs of dried blood on his shredded lips and flinched when droplets of spit stung the raw flesh. Metal chimed every time he shifted, and the rickety wooden frame of his bed creaked.

Where am I? Mazin asked himself, then flinched when the mere thought threatened to burst through his skull.

After much licking and squirming, he returned some moisture to his dried lips. They stung, but he could move them now. Though with the return of moisture came the ever-present bitterness. He tasted the putrid stench of flesh, forcing its way into his nose. His heightened senses overwhelmed him, rushing to near normalcy. Mazin shut his eyes, forcing himself to calm.

Rats squeaked and chittered, scurrying around whatever this place was. Which was cool. Amongst the putrid flesh, his own days old stench, he tasted moist soil surrounding him. The gaps in the stonework behind spilled fresh soil, and the odd green stem.

He found the strength to rise from his prickly mattress, balancing on his elbows at first while his head adjusted to the elevation. The added weight strangling his ankle caught his eye. A thick iron anklet attached to a shimmering chain stretched towards the centre of his cell. Hooked to a metal slab hammered into the stone floor.

Mazin had only been in the dungeons beneath the palace once. With Melina and Zaki, after they heard a certain murderer caught the attention of the palace. It was a dark, soul crushing, yet clean. The silence was awful. But he would never forget the sight of the prisoner when they stumbled upon him. He was more metal than a man, muzzled from head to toe, arms crossed in front and forced to remain on his knees. The metal was thin, unassuming to lesser eyes perhaps, but the chills that ran through him once the strengthening script caught his eye? He still shuddered now.

The prince gazed at the chain meant to keep him in place and snorted. Smooth and plain, overly large, for show. A swift kick and it would snap, though the idea quickened his heart. He fell back down with a huff, creaking the wooden frame and silencing the nearby rats for a moment.

His eyes grew heavy once his breathing calmed, and the rats resumed their squeaking. It wasn’t long after that his mind found peace in their noise, a tune that beckoned sleep. A prisoner’s lullaby.

Mazin smirked at himself, flinched at the sharp pain of his cracked lips, and granted his body the rest it yearned for.

He awoke with a gaping pit to the underworld in his stomach. His arms quivered when he rose from his bed. There was no change in his surroundings, no change in the rancid smell or squeaking vermin nearby. Mazin’s vision remained halved and the gloomy darkness sapped him all the same.

The chain chimed when he sat on the side of his bed. Slouched, he creaked the splintered wood frame. His welts and bruises faded. With every joint flex and careful movement, he searched for more.

Sudden silence fell as the rats stilled their raucous chatter. The stomping of approaching boots grew louder, along with the clinking of clay on metal. Keys clattered within a lock before a door groaned, scattering the rats from his cell. Fiery light blazed through the darkness, piercing the gloom.

A pair of shifty eyed Bannerless stepped towards his cell at the end of the room. One carried a tray, the other carried a torch. Mazin stared at them, peering between the thick bars. Their fear exploded into his sensitive nostrils, overpowering the general stink of the cells. It worried him that whatever food they brought was difficult to make out.

He averted his gaze once they stood before his cell, eyes narrowing into the darkness but not seeing him.

“Where is he?”

“Doesn’t matter. The chain will hold him.”

“Are you sure?”

“Shut up.”

Keys jingled again, and the lock clicked. Mazin’s heart raced at the chance before him. His limbs trembled with adrenaline, but his mind wouldn’t allow for action. Where would he go? He could only manage dispatching these two before crashing back into unconsciousness. They had done nothing to him so far. For now, patience was his choice.

For all his mind’s caution, it rushed to soil his heart with mockery. This wasn’t patience, it was fear, afraid to act and save himself. The voice echoed through his mind, chuckling as the Bannerless pair rushed to leave his food and water behind. Almost slamming the prison bars shut in a panic. They fumbled the lock for some time, reeking of pungent fear.

There were many chances to free himself. For now, he settled with his own torment and peered through the open door. Torches flickered, and shadows shifted nearby. Nothing else beyond the passageway.

Darkness returned when they slammed the door shut behind them. The lock clicked and their boots faded, letting the silence take hold once again.

Mazin rushed for the jug of water and drained half of the coolness before pausing for air. His dry lips stung, his flesh cracked and tore anew, but it was a small price to pay for some strength to return. The mocking waned, but his mood sank when he eyed the filth they brought.

A bowl of soup of an unappetising colour that his nose refused to detect. A tinge of lumpy green that should have been brown, or so he hoped. The loaf of bread beside it was nearly a bulb of mould. Fuzzy spots converged into thumb size globs, dotting the corners. Again, his nose sifted through the endless waves of rot, his own stink, and failed to tell him if the food was edible.

Mazin plucked one of the two cherry red apples first. He studied it close to his ruby eye, the one that still saw, and discovered nothing worse than a few bruises. His nose smelled nothing. He checked if his nose still existed with anxious fingers.

The sweetness was a spark; the juice energised him and he sat back down on his bed. He inhaled the apple in a flash, eyeing the other apple on the tray. His empty stomach rumbled, angry at the water taking up space.

He felt weak. The pain wasn’t as attention stealing as before, but he wasn’t tired. Unfortunately, that meant suffering through the stinking darkness of the dungeon and squeaking rats. Checking if it was safe to return to him.

The mocking whispers crept back into his mind. Mumbled name calling at first, wounding him all the same. He busied himself with his blinded eye, dabbing at it with his less than clean fingers. It almost drowned out the rats by the time he fought through his slumbering appetite.

Mazin placed the tray of soup and bread atop his bed, fighting back the welling tears in his eyes.

Nameless and his family are fine, he kept telling himself, against his mind’s accusations.

He’s a dual wielder, she’ll be a talented Tamer. I didn’t lead them to a slaughter.

His eyes jumped up from his food, searching the other cells. He rose from his bed, spilling some of the soup as he rushed to one corner. The cell across from him was empty. Beside him was empty, across that was empty as well, save for the rotting remains of someone. An army of rats congregated around it.

The rest of the cells were rusty and empty. Compared to his own, at least, it appeared as if they made this one for him. There was a sheen to the metal bars, a deceptive stability in their thickness, but no strengthening script.

They knew of him being a Tamer. Surely, they took adequate steps to keep him in chains. It never occurred to him that people were ignorant about Tamers. Without their Tamed nearby, a Tamer would seem like anyone else. Until a need for action rises. Many people attempted to lie when questioned by Tamers. Which always struck him as strange, did Unblessed not know of their scents? The idea of the Bannerless’ ignorance discomforted him, despite the current benefits.

Mazin ignored the soup coated handful of bread he forced into mouth, nor the second serving. For the mockery dulled against his curiosity.

The peace was short-lived soon after he stomached the bread that wasn’t moulded, and the rest of the soup. Which turned out to be bone marrow. Boots crushed the loose stone floor beyond the cell door. Their voices were hushed and keys chimed together before the unlocking grind echoed a click.

Mazin placed his tray before the metal bars, gulping as much water as he could before slinking back into the shadows of his cell.

“Fuck King, why does he get all this love for capturing a boy? The man had thirty and brought half back with broken bones!”

“When did you last hear of us fighting a Tamer?”

“That one…”

“She’s a liar! They’re all liars, stories to keep fools like you under their thumb. Here’s the only advice you need. You see a Tamer, you run. Otherwise, they will split you in two with a flick of their wrist. A snack for their monstrous steed.”

“That’s for…”

“Shut it, Tamers have strong ears,” the woman in lamellar waved her youthful companion away.

Both of their armour appeared worn, missing a few plates. Weathered faces, the woman’s scarred, both sunburnt.

They tiptoed to the front of his cell. Their hearts raced beneath their chests. Eyes narrowed in search, hands strangling the hilts of their weapons, waiting for any sign of his presence. Mazin lingered in the darkest corner, with his eyes glued to his boots.

She motioned for her youthful companion to gather the tray and jug of water, eyes still searching. They lingered before the metal bars reeking of fear, so much so that he covered his nose. Boredom and disappointment won over their curious fear. The pair dragged themselves from his cell and shut the door with a crack, leaving him in his gloom.

Mazin sank into his rickety bed and drifted again. Skittering rats and their squeaks occasionally ruined the dank silence. His mind concocted a rhythm from it. Sleep took him, and with sleep came the eternal blackness of the void.

Dead silence, Mazin gasped awake to absolute darkness. He rushed to his feet, snatching at the pounding in his right eye. It throbbed, almost bringing him back down to his knees. Warmth dripped from it, oozing into his palm. Thick, and still throbbing in the centre of his palm, a heartbeat. Then it bubbled, boiling with sudden heat, rivalling blazing flames.

Mazin yelped soundlessly, flapping his hand. The searing fire clung to his palm, this time bringing him to his knees. He groaned, biting his tongue to shift the pain. Soon he tasted blood, and it filled his head with clouds.

Help me!

The cry remained in his clouded mind, smashing against his skull. It was far from the pleasant blooming that usually occurred. His mind drowned in his begging, his body crumpled to the floor and numbed compared to his charred hand. He chewed his wrist, hoping to sever his hand for an end to the burning.

Mazin wept as he curled into a ball, snapping his teeth at nothing, for the pain rendered him useless. There was only silence in the void, but he heard his hand burn into a crisp. His ears throbbed incessantly from the pain. There was no chance of focusing his mind, no way to ignore the pain ravaging him. The void would host him until it ended, whenever that would be. At least the silence was unrelenting. His wailing exploded out of him, only to die the moment it crossed the threshold of his lips.

He screamed when he shot up from his sweat drenched bed. Mazin poured with salty perspiration. It glued his rags to his unwashed flesh. The void was long forgotten, without knowing how he escaped.

He snatched his hand that was set ablaze and felt nothing but clammy sweat. A blink later, the fire became a memory. His hand trembled regardless, and with his ruby eye, he searched for the corruption that ignited it.

Nothing.

Mazin took another breath since his awakening, allowing the rot and his own stink to overpower his nose. Rats scurried around, squeaking in the other cells. His wooden bed creaked when he shifted, but the sudden rancid fear stilled him.

He blinked towards the flickering firelight at the front of his cell. Another pair of Bannerless soldiers ogled the shadows with wide eyes. Another Tiger with a broken nose, but the other was a Lion, with a chiselled face. Organised and short curly hair, a few shades darker than his umber skin.

Their eyes met briefly, but only Mazin saw him, delving into his dark eyes as the fear faded.

“Having nightmares, brat?” The Tiger spat once he found his courage. “Crying over your dead pet?”

Mazin sniffed on the edge of his bed, watching them toss his food onto the floor. Stale bread, charred meat and a bowl of thick soup. It all smelled bland and as unappetising as the last meal they gave him. Which made him wonder how long it had been since then.

He rushed to his feet while the pair ogled the shadows. The poison still shrouded his right eye. Mazin poked it with a finger, to no avail, stepping out of the shadows.

“Fuck me,” they both jumped back once he entered their torch’s light.

Mazin’s stomach rumbled until revealing the gaping hole that needed filling. He didn’t care for them as much as his want for the lacklustre meal.

“Fucking freak,” the Lion spat, then grinned with his bright teeth.

He knelt down and bit his tongue to nurse his aching heart. They grumbled on their way out of the grinding door at the other end of the room.

Mazin began with one of the two cherry apples, ignoring the bruises that browned the freckled redness. He quivered at the softness but enjoyed the juices sweetening his dry mouth. It vanished from his now sticky fingers, core and stem as well.

The thick bowl turned out to be oats, as pale as paper and freezing. Though after the initial morsels, his stomach forgot about the subtle sourness of it.

His jaw ached after three bites of what he hoped to be venison. It was more burnt than spiced, but still the best tasting amongst everything else he had eaten so far.

Mazin sat on his bed, grinding away at the hard yet chewy meat. The jug of water cooled his right calf while he strengthened his jaw. His deepening gloom worsened, shrouded by darkness and overgrown rats frantically squeaking. Watering the meat down with the dusty water didn’t help, nor did it ease the ocean of grief washing over him.

This story has been unlawfully obtained without the author's consent. Report any appearances on Amazon.

He finished the meat and dumped the tray back at the front of his cell. His jaw was tighter than before. Mazin sat back down and gulped more water, shivering as the chill trickled down his throat.

Sleep threatened to come again, though his last visit to the void seemed a year ago. The pain left an unforgettable mark on him. Mazin flexed his hand to ensure it remained, more to keep sleep at bay. He didn’t know how it came to be that slumber and the void blended together, but it made things simpler.

His eye throbbed, and he snatched at it, feeling the gentle heartbeat of the poison within his right eye. It beckoned the centre of his palm with every beat, tingling the tips of his fingers. Warmth emanated from his darkened eye, stretching its tendrils towards his hand.

Mazin snatched it away, yelping. Sparks of dark magenta danced within the creases. He blinked and waved his hand until the heat dissipated, along with the strange colour. His chest heaved at the void’s torture, following him back into reality.

He shivered upon his soiled mattress and leant against the cold bars, pinching himself whenever his eyes drooped.

Now with the addition of his self-inflicted fatigue. He couldn’t tell how many days had passed, nor nights, for he was forever in darkness. Until they arrived with torchlight and food. Which was never better than stale or sometimes rotten, but always edible. It was filling at least.

Mazin pinched himself when his head lopped forward. It was near impossible to not sleep, but he always awoke with a jump and searing eyes. The rats gathered around his tray of food, scrounging whatever crumbs he left behind. Their noise became a horrendous screech, fighting each other for the greatest share.

“Hey!”

They scattered after his clap, clattering his empty water jug. Their squeaks became sparse, shared amongst the other empty cells in the dank dungeon.

Voices muttered beyond the shut door, concerned questions about his clap within, but they faded.

Mazin sighed and collapsed back down onto his bed, groaning when the throbbing pulse in his poisoned eye surged again. He considered clawing it out with his overgrown nails.

Rage was never too far away with so little sleep, a worthy sacrifice for now. He refused to return to the void after that pain. The mere thought of it twitched his hand. Mazin flexed his fingers.

He lifted his legs and hugged his chest with his thighs, pinching his ankle whenever his eyes drooped. The rats squeaked nearby, edging closer to his cell, thinking it safe to return to his scraps.

For the first time, a chill whisper circled around the dungeon. Whistling through and around the rusting cell bars before slicing beyond his rags, icing his bones. Constant yet never biting, but cold enough to wrap himself with his itchy blanket.

Mazin’s teeth chattered after another bout. He resisted the urge to cover himself, for the cold did a better job of keeping him awake. A blink later, however, that all faded. He sniffed and his head dragged himself down to his right. His bracing arm failed to keep him upright, collapsing under the weight of his fatigue.

He groaned when he lay down, failing to keep his eyes open. As quickly as he fell, sleep snatched him away.

Mazin awoke in the pitch darkness, roaring his anger in his throat. The void was silent, but his heart galloped within his chest. His right eye throbbed, and he snatched his hands away from his face when the pain soared. He gritted his teeth, clenched his fists, nails burrowing into his palms.

The throbbing strengthened into a pounding on the right side of his head. Unseen fists with iron knuckles hammered away, forcing him to his knees. It was a hard fall, but a flash compared to the constant, rising torture in his head.

He bit his lips when his teeth were ground into dust. It wasn’t long until he was tasting blood, with tears welling in his eyes. His hands inched closer to his face when his head burned like his hand.

Mazin didn’t recall laying on his back, but the hard floor thudded against it when he collapsed. His throat rumbled with the screams the void didn’t allow to escape. He squirmed, curled, and jerked as the fire spread down to his throat.

There was nothing in the void but silence, though with his head set ablaze, his ears heard nothing but his own burning flesh. A never-ending drumming of pain ravaging him until it didn’t matter where he was. Mazin yearned for an end, and his fingers were quick to save him.

They reached for his throat with savage mercy. Claws of relief turning his throat into fleshy ribbons, until his fingers felt nothing but redness and bones.

Mazin awoke screaming, clutching at his drenched throat with trembling hands. He sat up and snatched his streaming head, ensuring it was still there and unburnt. His heart raced with his frantic breathing, but on the fifth inspection, it finally satisfied him.

“Shut it, you brat!”

He blinked his spotty vision towards the front of his cell, where fire flickered before another pair of Bannerless guards in lamellar. Once again, only half of his vision returned, while his right eye itched.

“Finally going to talk?”

“Have all your senses come back after King’s beating?” The woman spat over the tray of his food.

“Not so tough for a Tamer!”

Mazin surged from his bed. He knew what they were doing, but he was sick of it all. It satisfied him when he stepped out of the shadows. They rushed to recover what little dignity remained, adjusting their crude armour and the shred of cloth.

“Eat your scraps, you’re going to need it for what’s coming,” The Tiger woman’s voice cracked.

“Where am I?”

The words rumbled up his throat. He realised how long it had been. Without knowing how many days and nights had passed.

“He talks!” The woman snarled after her forced chuckle. Her scent of fear faded, but her youthful companion continued to stink. Nor did he hide it, with his wide-eyed expression and hands glued to the hilt of his blade. “You want to be free, beast fucker?”

“What?”

“Don’t enjoy hearing the truth now, little cub? Are you going to weep over your dead pet?”

Mazin fought to still his face before confusion wrinkled it. They had no clue about Tamers. Now he struggled to hide his smile. He clasped the metal bars and savoured the subtle coolness.

The young Tiger beside her yelped, half drawing his sword before she calmed him with a hand. She did a better job of hiding her own fear, despite her subtle scent betraying her.

“You fucking freak, you won’t be playing these games when she comes for you.”

“Who?” Mazin asked.

He believed the threat this time, for the Bannerless woman did herself.

All she gave him was a smile. Her youthful companion jumped when he shook the cell bars. He was holding back, but the effort weighed on his arms. Even if the boy was young, he still enjoyed scaring him. Their departure was welcomed.

The pit in his stomach shifted his attention down to the tray on the floor. He slid the aromatic food closer. Spiced pork steamed beside baked potatoes and a bowl of mutton swimming in a colourful ocean of peppers and some greens. There was a bun of freshly baked bread and a pile of steamed vegetables.

Alongside the usual jug of water, there was a second smaller one, with an aroma that made him rush back after placing the tray on his bed.

Wine!

Mazin almost wept at the fermented aroma, forcing its way through the cork. It made him forget about his own rancid stink. He couldn’t keep himself from accepting an eager mouthful of the sour bitterness. It wasn't the best he had.

He sat down after washing his hands with the water, then hesitated. The fine food congealed while his heightened nose inspected the surprising food for something more.

There’s nothing you would know. There’s no poison that can harm you.

Mazin fingered around his right eye, fighting the urge to scratch the itch that flared up again.

The food was beyond his wildest dreams, colder than it should have been, but it was enough to strengthen him beyond the usual scraps they provided. Still, the reason for this sudden kindness worried him.

A commotion exploded beyond the shut door of the cell room. A gruff voice cursed before being shushed when his shock continued. Orders he didn’t care for, but everything now had his senses on high alert. He felt awake.

His eye itched while he sipped his wine, pacing around his cell, reminding his limbs of their strength. He lunged and crouched, squatted and stretched until his body odour worsened. Mazin sighed, trading his already half empty wine for the water jug.

He tore off a shred of cloth from the sleeve of his raggedy shirt and undressed. A chill brought him a bout of shivers, though it wasn’t the cold. The cloth was already dirty, and with the cold water, it didn’t make for the best cleansing. Though it was a comfort to scrub what he could from his crevices.

What little cleanliness he recovered became undone when he wore his rags again. It prickled at him; the fabric hardened by his own perspiration, but there was nothing else to wear. The itch in his eye swarmed his entire body, while his eye pulsed.

His mind shifted to his eye when the throbbing continued. He placed his tray back where they left it and collapsed back onto his bed when the pain worsened. Mazin used his left hand at first, then replaced it with his right. The eye pulsed, and he groaned when he cupped it with his palm. A heartbeat of its own, beckoning his hand.

Another commotion brewed beyond the closed door, but the surging pain stole most of his attention. The voices were excitable, and he caught a whistle, but the agony became unbearable. He held his breath to keep himself from screaming. Clawing at his eye was an idea his hand begged him to do.

The door screeched open with a flash of light blazing in the opening. There were chuckles and an odd scent of lust reached him as well. Another screech later and the door slammed shut, snatching away his suffering as if it never existed.

There was a sigh and a deep breath from whoever entered, a heavily perfumed stranger. Fruity sweetness. It took a moment for Mazin to trust the pain was gone, while the newcomer continued their slow approach.

He cleared his throat and rose, hiding the wine under his bed, and lingered in the shadows to watch. It was lucky he clung to the shadows, for she was a dream. Even then, those words didn’t do her justice. She wielded torches in both of her gloved hands, shuffling towards him while pointing each torch around and pulling faces.

Mazin stood mesmerised by the stranger. Her sleek, straight, jet black hair was tied into a floral bun, held together with glistening black pins. A stream of blackness covered her left side. Though she covered one of them, the eye he saw was a sparkling grey, decorated with black ink and shadow that was particularly Lion for this Tiger.

Her high, prominent cheekbones gave her an ethereal beauty, not to mention her sun kissed, faintly freckled skin. Vibrant scarlet stood out on her full lips, which were bitten every time she paused and pointed a torch at something of interest to her.

Her cheongsam was out of place in the dungeon. Rich sable black and sleeveless, with ruby rose petals stitched all over. It hugged her figure too well, with a slit so high he thought her bottom would slip out the side. Her black slippers were petite, and so was she, perhaps even shorter than Ma.

She arrived before his cell, pulling faces that he almost believed to be from a place of sympathy, even pity. Her perfume made it difficult to detect any scent beyond it, and it made his fine hairs rise.

I won’t fall for this again.

The gorgeous woman spun around, then narrowed her eyes at his cell, lingering in the shadows he hid within before placing her spare torch in a rusty sconce on the wall. She dragged a splintered chair to the front of his cell, chasing away the critters with her remaining torch.

Mazin froze in the shadows that receded because of the filled torch sconce. Her unyielding perfume awoke the unwanted scars of Ammon. He never thought that a scentless person would ever trouble himself.

“Hello?” she began, pointing her torch at his cell. “I thought you would like some light. I uh… I know you’re special, I suppose, and you might not need it, but darkness influences the best of people.”

Her voice was music and enhanced her already mesmerising grace. Which worsened his caution. The other Tiger threatened him with her.

She must be the one.

“Are you there?”

The harshness of her ignorant brutes followed by the softness to peel him open and reveal his secrets. He would play this game. Judging by the cluelessness of her Bannerless, perhaps it revealed her own knowledge about Tamers.

Mazin breathed in deep, then emerged from his cloaking shadows. Her solitary eye widened at seeing him, but it wasn’t the sort he expected. She took a step closer with her raised torch, glittering with awe.

“Wow,” she whispered, then cleared her throat. Though her gaze remained glue on his ruby left eye. “Forgive me, that wasn’t appropriate.”

“What is this place?” Mazin asked harshly.

“Do you have a seat?”

He crossed his legs and sat on the floor, but felt like a fool when her eyebrow rose as she glanced down at him. Her smirk was the last blade to slice his pride.

“Very well,” she said. She dragged her rickety chair closer and sat down, still pointing her torch at him.

“Could you turn that light away? It’s bright,” Mazin said, disappointed with his politeness.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t know.” Her warmth remained as she placed the torch down beside her ankles. “They did a number on you, didn’t they?”

Mazin clenched his fist behind his back.

So, this is your game then?

The woman tapped her thighs with her hand. She waited for a moment before turning back towards him.

“I understand your confusion, your fear,”

“Do I look scared to you?”

His snap would have worked if his voice didn’t crack.

“The darkness makes it difficult for myself to tell,” She smiled and her attention lingered on his red eye. “What did they do to you?”

“Where am I?”

“A town somewhere in the north of Dhaar. Beyond that, I’m not sure.”

Mazin narrowed his eyes at her. There was no scent on her. He refused to believe her perfume masked it. It was pleasant, nothing like the pungent stink Ammon tricked him with. Yet doubt gnawed at him.

“What happened when… how did they capture you?”

He hesitated again, straining his nose for a hint of strangeness beyond her perfume.

Nothing.

“Fine, I will play your game. Your brigands came for me when I thought it was safe to bathe. They poisoned me.” Mazin said, trying to fight his fear. He hoped Nameless and his family got away.

“You were traveling alone?”

“I wasn’t.”

“Oh,” she said. Then her eye widened. “I’m sure they’re fine.”

“What is this? Why play this game? Is this what passes for interrogation amongst the Bannerless?”

“I’m not… this isn’t that. I’m here to learn about you.”

“Learn about me. Why else would you have one of your bastards follow me for days if you didn’t already know? Enough of this!”

“Please, stop shouting.”

“You’re clearly not going to kill me. They wouldn't have swarmed me with clubs at the spring. So, prepare your ransoms and stop wasting my time with this… this,”

“Please!”

“You thought to trick me with your kind words? I'm not a fool.”

Mazin’s head snapped towards the other end of the cells, beyond the shut door, when boots stomped behind it. The woman’s perfumed scent remained untainted, but her fear was unmistakable on her frantic face. It jumped between him and the door while she tried to quieten his ranting.

“Hey!”

Someone hammered the door, but she didn't react.

There was a gathering beyond the door, five boots, maybe more, muttering amongst themselves in fear. Guessing what happened beyond the door.

“What are you looking at?” She asked, not hiding her fear and leaning far forward.

Mazin turned back towards her and fought back his gasp. The cascading black silk down the left side shifted, revealing jagged scars clawing over and through her pristine flesh. From below her hairline, ruining her eyebrow, miraculously leaving her grey eye untouched but continuing its ruinous journey along her cheek, until shrinking and closing at her jaw.

It snatched away his anger in an instant. The handiwork of a beast. Unnaturally black as well.

Impossible, no beast would do that.

The woman’s fear faded, and she narrowed her eyes at him. She yelped, then turned away, adjusting her hair and returning it to cover the scars. She sniffed, then faced him, with shame dancing amongst her beauty. Her legs jumped restlessly, hands fumbling with her cheongsam.

“I’m sorry, I can’t,” she surged to her feet. She whipped up her torch and rushed to the door.

Mazin’s plea didn’t leave his throat, but he darted to his feet and watched her stumble for the exit.

“Let me out!” She slapped the door. “I’m done!”

The door screeched open, and the small army dragged her out. They slammed it shut, but not before he counted the ten gathered on the other side.

“The fuck happened?”

“Why was he yelling at you? Too ugly for him?”

“Oi, where are you going?”

“You were supposed to…”

“Fucking whore,” The last barely came to his ears, a dying whisper by a woman whose envy reached his cell.