A Court of Flame & Shadow - Eris x OC

The Dungeon

The sun was setting over the jeweled forests of the Autumn Court and Eris was once again pacing in front of the fireplace. He should be going to the library, to try and figure out whatever the blue powder could be. He'd lost enough time already. He couldn't bring himself to quietly sit between those dusty shelves while Vel was likely being tortured by his father, or worse, dead. No, not dead. He brushed his fingers over the swirls of the brand. Whatever the poison was, it had quieted the magic that bound them together through the bargain. He had to see her, make sure she was still alive.

Dinner went agonizingly slow. The haughty mask he'd had to don during the conversation was proving more difficult to maintain than usual. He watched his father, the cold and cruel face of the High Lord of Autumn, and he wondered how much of that malice he'd inherited. He'd killed Nyoka, whose only sin had been that she'd loved him too much, too selfishly. He couldn't bring himself to send her away, knowing that she would likely come back and be a danger to himself or Vel, a loose thread in a place where he couldn't afford any mistakes.

When dinner was finally over, he kept to the shadows and followed Beron. He'd never been a fan of sneaking around, especially not with stakes so high, but he'd had plenty of practice with masking his presence as a youth trying to stay out of his father's way.

The High Lord did not head towards his study, as would be his habit. Eris recognized the winding staircases leading deeper into the mountain and to the dungeons below. He'd been dragged there plenty of times himself and, as he got older, he'd used the upper levels to interrogate traitors, criminals and all kinds of undesirables. But he'd never been to the deepest levels of the dungeons, where Beron was currently heading. They had been off limits to all but the High Lord meant to house only the worst and most dangerous prisoners. There were no guards now, no witnesses.

Eris followed the sounds of his father's footsteps, echoing off the damp stone. As he stepped off the last stair and into the corridor, Beron's realm of despair unveiled itself. The air, dense with the scent of dampness and decay, hung heavily in the confined space. The dim glow of feeble torches flickered on rough-hewn moss-covered walls, casting unsettling shadows that seemed to dance with the ghosts of the confined souls. The acrid scent of captivity, clung to him like a shroud. The corridor stretched ahead, a dimly lit path flanked by imposing iron bars that confined past inhabitants to their cells. All of them were empty now.

Rusty gates and heavy doors, bearing witness to years of confinement, creaked intermittently as Eris pressed on. This concealed dungeon – a repository of unspoken sorrows, whispered tales of the forgotten. It was a place where shadows and echoes intertwined, concealing the secrets of those tortured souls who were unlucky enough to end up here. The thought of Vel being in this sordid place made his skin crawl.

The sound of his father's footsteps halted and Eris slithered into the shadows of an empty cell. "Be back here in two hours," he heard him say to whatever guards were at their post. Footsteps approached, armor clanked and Eris saw two sentires, bearing Beron's crest – from his personal guard no less – pass by the cell he was hidden in. The sound faded as they ascended the stairs towards the upper levels of the dungeon. He opened the door, careful not to make the old hinges squeak, and turned right, following the directions the guards came from. The moment he entered the secondary hallway the scent hit him, underneath the acrid, damp odor of the prison was the smell of blood, her blood. Eris's nails dug into his palm and he had to remind himself that fresh blood meant she was still alive.

"How much longer do we have to do this, Vel? You know I have a busy schedule." It sounded as if his father was circling his victim like a vulture. Eris didn't dare peek around the corner.

"I'm flattered that you've deigned to torture me yourself, Beron. Or is it because you can't trust anyone around you anymore?" Her. It was her voice. Hoarse and weak, but also alive and defiant. Eris hadn't heard a sweeter sound in his life. But then a whip cracked, the sharp snap tearing through the air like a cruel punctuation mark and the next sound was her pained cry as her skin split open. It echoed off the walls as a taunting reminder of his powerlessness. He felt her pain like it was his own, he had felt Beron's anger on his skin more times than he could count.

"I'm growing rather bored of your bullheaded attitude." Beron's voice bounced differently, he must have been facing away from the arched opening of the room, so Eris dared to glance into the torture chamber.

The room was circular, made from the same rough-hewn stone as the rest of the dungeon but with a much lower ceiling. The ceiling seemed to press down, creating an unsettling sense of claustrophobia within the confined space. Against the cold stone walls, an array of torture devices stood as silent witnesses to unspeakable acts. Some implements were familiar to him, their cruel purpose etched into his memory, while others remained shrouded in mystery. Shadows played upon the stone surfaces, casting macabre silhouettes that seemed to writhe in the dim light. This place of suffering and despair was at the heart of the dungeon and, in the middle of the room, hanging from a pair of dark blue chains was Vel. Her hair was tangled and matted, so dark with blood that it seemed red. She was wearing a white shift that reached her knees, but the back was all torn by what might have been hundreds of lashes, the skin below raw and bloody. The red liquid soaked the white material and dripped down her legs and onto the floor. Her toes only barely touched the floor, in such a way that she could not relieve the weight pulling down on her wrists and shoulders. There were burn marks and bruises peppering her exposed skin. She was facing away from the entrance of the room, and Beron was behind her, whip in hand, contemplating his next move. The whip snapped again, and Eris saw it make contact with the already open flesh at her back. The scream that followed curdled his blood. It took every ounce of self-control he had to not run into the room. He was no match for Beron, he was not delusional enough to think otherwise. And his father would not give him a quick death.

The whip snapped again, and then again. The fifth time, Vel could barely manage a whimper. Seeing her shredded back, skin and muscle hanging off in slithers, the white of bone visible in some spots, Eris realized she wasn't able to heal at all. Those marks had been given to her over days. Whatever the blue powder was, it had blocked all her powers and left her entirely defenseless. Her food and drink were likely still heavily laced with it to keep her in check.

"You underestimate how long I'm willing to wait for you to crack. With you here, I have all the time in the world. There can be no new High Lords."

"But old High Lords may still die. I would sleep with an eye open if I were you."

"Nothing you say will scare me. You are nobody. There's more Faebane than blood in your veins. You have no power." Another lash followed by a moan of pain.

Faebane – the chains, the powder. Eris had heard of it, but he'd never seen it himself up close. And he'd never heard of it being ground up and used as poison. It must have come from the High Lord's personal armory.

"I've already waited so long for this moment." Eris heard the smile in Beron's voice, the bastard was crazed with bloodlust. "The mine was discovered two hundred years ago. Do you know how long it takes to mine, extract, and refine enough Faebane for something like this?"

"I'm going to guess two hundred years?" Fire sparked under Vel's feet and Eris smelled the unmistakable scent of burning skin.

"You insolent creature." Her screams echoed on the bare stone as she kicked her feet futilely. Eris felt sick to his stomach. The power in his own veins begged him to snuff out the flames. But Beron quenched it himself, leaving behind only the smell of smoke and charred skin.

"We can stop this at any point. You just need to swear fealty to the Autumn Court – to me."

"You know damn well I cannot do that, my duty is to Prythian." Her breathing was wet and heavy and her voice raspy.

"And how will you carry out your duty if you're dead?"

"Kill me and find out. Are you willing to take that risk?" Another lash and Vel coughed out what must have been blood. Eris stood there, frozen, as the whip tore through skin and muscle again and again.

She spoke again. With the slight echo and hoarse voice, she sounded more Other than Fae – a voice that was both one and many, both young and old. "How does it feel, Beron? To know you will die alone and hated. That even the family you supposedly did all of this for, will be glad when you're gone." Defiance laced every word. He had to get out of there now before the guards would start descending all those infernal steps and he would get caught between them and his father. Standing at the base of the stairs, he heard the sickening crunch of bone being crushed bouncing off the walls of the dungeon. All he could do was hope that Beron wouldn't let Vel goad him into killing her.