Tales of Fire and Ruin

In Chains

"No," I snapped, shutting Endris up. "I am going and that is final." 

Squaring my shoulders, I approached the iron door. The guards had unlocked it for me earlier. My hand shook as I reached for the handle and I knew everyone could see it. Still, I pushed on towards Oleander, who was all alone somewhere in the depths of the dungeon.

I descended staircase after staircase until the air grew damp and stale. They had put him far away, and the entire walk down my mind raced. Oleander had wanted the artefact. If the legends about Sage and Malte were true, elven artefacts held great power. Bt it still wasn't clear to me what Oleander wanted to do with it. Perhaps Ezra Dagon did, but he was recovering from his grave injuries in one of the temples. I hadn't been able to speak with him after the attack.

Despite the stone stairways seeming endless, I wasn't ready when I reached the bottom. There was another iron door with lit braziers on each side. The key the guards had given me burned in my hands. I tried to steady myself and still my drumming heart, but I shook so badly now that I was barely able to turn the key in the lock.

I was scared of what Oleander would tell me, but I was even more scared of having to leave him here, knowing this was likely the last time we'd see each other at all.

When I pressed my hands to the door and pushed, it opened with a whiny screech into a round dungeon with Oleander in the middle. They had manacled his feet and wrists. The chains they'd used on Oleander were so thick I estimated they could've even stopped a bull from escaping.

The guards' threats in the palace hadn't been empty; They'd kept Oleander alive, but that was all. Bruises and welts marred Oleanders' skin. Blood dripped down from his nose to his throat, drenching the collar of his shirt. Silvery hair lay flat and greasy on top of his head. It no longer hid his pointy ears.

"Oleander," I said, my voice cracking just as my heart did at seeing Oleander chained up, face covered in blood.

Oleander looked up with empty, soulless eyes. I walked closer and tried to reach for his face, but Oleander flinched and shifted away from me as far as he could with the chains holding him captive.

"Oleander—" I repeated.

"No," Oleander said. "Don't touch me."

I pulled my hand back fast, as if he'd slapped it away. "Oleander..." I hesitated. Asking him whether he was alright was a stupid question. He wasn't.  "What were you doing in the palace? Why did you attack the queen like that?" I eventually settled on. "This isn't like you. I don't understand."

I didn't understand any of it. Last night, Oleander had snuck into my room and even though we couldn't sleep in the same bed and wake up in each other's arms, I was fiercely wished we could. I was falling deeply in love with him. And now we were here, in a damp dungeon, after Oleander tried to assassinate the queen... No, that wasn't what he was doing. That was merely what the guards made of it. Oleander had seemed to only want to use the queen to take him to the staff and the artefact.

Oleander snorted. He raised his eyes to meet mine again. His icy gaze sent chills down my spine. "Isn't it clear by now, Laurence?" he asked. "I needed to be in Wildewall, and I knew you could help get me here. That is all."

"For what?" I called out incredulously. "Only for the queen's staff?"

"Yes."

"And was that what this was about all along? From the beginning, when we first met in the mountains?"

"Yes."

"Did you ever actually lose your memory?"

"No."