Iscah lifted her lantern a bit higher, illuminating the roughly hewn stone hallway that had been slowly descending into the earth.

It had been a risk to use the unknown corridor in her father’s study, but at the time it had seemed ingenious. Iscah had been on perfect behavior while her nerves had run the gambit during the last week, until finally the planned morning came. She had risen before the first crow of the rooster, claiming stomach pains when Korette had inquired sleepily before having rolled back over without argument. The older woman would be groggy for quite some time, thanks to the valerian root the cook had slipped into her evening tea.

Agatha had come through brilliantly, meeting her at the office doorway with a bag of supplies containing provisions, a map, and traveling clothes suited for peasantry. She had changed into the drab but well-made dress and hid her hair inside a bonnet as the cook whispered updates to her nervously.

Her nephew had taken Iscah’s horse into the city under the excuse from Agatha for supplies for breakfast she hadn’t realized she had run out of, and would remain there under the guise that the mare had pulled up lame. With the animal missing the house would assume Iscah had fled by horseback to the city, leaving them to chase dead ends. No one outside of the cook knew she had discovered the secret passageway, and so it bought her time to reach the nearest village, purchase a horse and head to the wall without leaving any trace.

At least, that had been the theory.

Already she had been walking for what felt like for hours, and worry rode at her heels as incessantly as the darkness. Checking the level of oil in her lamp had only increased her anxiety; less than a quarter remained, and still there was no end in sight.

She couldn’t turn back, refusing to take the path demanded of her. Despite Truvien’s vow of patience, she had caught his gaze wander over her too often, his hunger barely concealed. Even though his lands bordered the wall and the journey would have been infinitely more comfortable, she held no faith that he would respect her on their wedding night, promises or not.

There was only one way to go; forward.

Just as she resigned herself to continuing with or without a light, the path came to an abrupt end. A stone doorway framed by two unlit sconces barred any further progress, the door itself a solid plate of rusted iron.

Setting her pack aside and lighting the scones, Iscah studied the two heavy sliding bolts securing the door. Rubbing her palms dry on her dress she set to pulling them free, surprised but also grateful that they had been recently greased to make their movements easier.

The door’s six hinges had also been cared for in the same fashion, but it didn’t offset how heavy the barrier truly was. Grunting with effort as she pitted her weight and strength against the solid wooden structure reinforced with iron plates on both sides, every inch hard-won. She was winded by the time it was cracked open enough for her and her to slide through, and what greeted her on the other side left her utterly confused.

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It was an underground larder.

Earthen jars that came up to her waist were sealed in thick wax, each marked with their contents of grains, legumes and water. On the shelving that ran both sides, smaller ceramic containers labeled salted meats and dried fruits, bottles of oils, wines and harder liquors, even medical supplies.

“But why,” she murmured to herself, taking note of the provisions that could last for weeks, if not months. Closer inspection yielded everything was covered in a light dust, meaning it was tended to often but not recently.

Did Agatha know of this? She mused, wondering who all was involved in this strange secret.

As if in answer, the other door at the opposite end of the room jerked open without warning, a conversation in foreign language cutting off abruptly as her lantern illuminated a cambion’s face that held the same surprised expression as her own. A squat male peered around his comrade, both blinking as Iscah stood motionless in shock.

“M-Mister?” The taller one tried, bobbing his head respectfully with an uncertain smile that displayed crooked teeth.

For a moment it didn’t register he was referring to her, the three of them staring at one another awkwardly. Then Iscah found herself talking, the rest of her mind having to catch up to her subconscious that had already launched into a reply.

“Pardon me, sirs. I was sent down here to check the stock,” she managed smoothly, curtsying the way she had seen her maids do a thousand times. The shorter of the two looked up at his partner curiously as he translated, both turning to look back at her in confusion.

“The-…the stock?” He repeated again, a pained expression across his face as if he was having trouble understanding her. Iscah nodded in affirmation, and with a shrug to the other cambion and quick explanation both stepped back out of the doorway, waiting for her expectantly.

Unsure of this new turn of events she paused before moving towards them, becoming aware of sounds she hadn’t realized had been a background noise during the entire encounter; muffled crying and hushed voices. Alarm deafened all other emotions as she stepped past the two into a hallway lined with cells full of people connected by metal collars to a chain.

Very few of the caged humans looked up, and if they did they averted their gazes quickly, hopelessly. Grime and dust covered them all, and Iscah noted the bruises and lacerations covering the two young men— no, boys— and some of the women as well. All of them looked to be near her age if not younger.

“Good stock sir, you see? Take much good care of them,” the lanky male explained enthusiastically, motioning to the slaves. “You feed them much, no worries. Good cared for.”

Keeping her gaze away from him she fought to control the rising panic. Korette hadn’t been just trying to scare her about the Cambion’s abductions, she had been telling the truth.

She could turn around and leave, save herself from joining their miserable ranks. Laud approval on the two’s efforts, return to her home and— and then what? A hundred issues all presented themselves to her at once, from stepping back into her father’s office to exposing her families involvement, and everything that sat in-between.

“I have a message from my master that needs to be personally delivered to yours,” she found herself saying, turning to face him with a bravado that was superficial.

“I’m to go with you,” she surmised with an air of finality when the slaver’s brows furrowed in thought.

There was only one way to move; forward.