For those of you who have seen this book before and are wondering, "hey! This was already published!" You would be right. but I have gone through the chapters and edited a lot. Added, revised, switched, took out, you name it. This new version is hopefully much better and I do not have to be AS embarrassed to publish it. So I hope you enjoy!
After nine years in prison, getting out was quite nerve wracking.
Nine years ago, my parents and siblings were caught committing treason and were sentenced to jail for life. I had been born, but I was just a small child at the time, barely eight, but that didn't stop King Alaric of Rycon Kingdom from jailing my family and I for life.
Life in prison was tough, as one might expect. Though, it's not what most people think.
People seem to think that prison is cold, dank and cruel, and they would be right about the cold and dank part. But cruel? That's not the right word.
No, prison isn't cruel, it's just highly confining, boring, and unpleasant. when you're in jail, you can't go anywhere. You can't explore. You're not free to walk where you please. Someone's always watching you.
The people in jail aren't too bad either. People have this misconception that people in jail are big, sweaty, mean, and scary. They aren't. Sure, they're big and definitely sweaty, but mean? No. Honestly, most of the time, they're as nice as a child's tutor. Most of the time.
So, what makes jail so bad? The guards. The food. The fact that you're stuck. The beatings. The cold. Need I go on?
But, nevertheless, I grew up in jail, and jail was all I knew. Life outside the bars was intriguing, but I knew I couldn't get there, so I gave up the thought.
Until I heard that King Alaric died.
With the King dead, maybe I'd have some chance. Maybe somehow I could convince the new one that I was innocent, that it was my parents and other siblings who committed treason – how could an eight year old commit treason! – and maybe I could go free.
As soon as that thought came I felt guilty. I couldn't leave my family down here. I couldn't be on the surface, knowing that my family was suffering down here! So, I pushed my thoughts and plans out of mind.
At the time of the King's death, the dungeons were much harsher than normal. Guards were more aggravated and likely to snap at any moment. More prisoners were being brought in. Soon, the cells were full. Even the rats seemed to hide away more.
I wondered what was happening. King Alaric was never a liked king; in fact, most people downright hated him. He was unjust and selfish. So when he died, shouldn't people be more happy?
At one point, the guards barged into my cell with a struggling boy in their grasp. The boy fought them well, too. He managed to elbow one and kick the other, but almost immediately, more guards were on him. They wrestled him into a kneeling position, gave him a kick, making the boy curse harshly, and threw him next to me. I scampered up against the wall as they slammed the bars shut. The boy cursed again and shouted he did nothing wrong, then banged his forearm on the bars. Water dripped from the bars.
The boys remained there in the kneeling position. I made no move to try to help him. Yet. From the time I was young, I'd learned that you couldn't be too friendly or nice right away, you need to get to learn them first.
I studied the boy. He seemed around my age, maybe slightly older. His arms and chest were well-muscled; perhaps he was a blacksmith. His clothes were torn in multiple places and filthy. His head was down, so I couldn't see his face, but his light brown hair nearly fell into his eyes anyways. His skin was an attractive olive color.
For the most part, he didn't strike me as a dangerous man, even if he could fight a little and was strong. I'd seen what a dangerous man looked like, and he didn't fit the picture.
After a couple of moments, the boy lifted his face and turned to me with a snarl.
"Can't you leave me alone?" he said, a mixture of a grievance and annoyance in his tone. "Stop staring."
I raised my brow and glared for a bit, then turned away. A new prisoner like him wouldn't get to shout the orders so quickly. I climbed onto my bed, or rather straw mattress, and pretended to close my eyes, watching him from underneath my eyelashes. I still wanted a feel for the boy. He stood up after a while and sat on his straw, bending his knees up to his chin. He looked ready to cry, but pushed the tears away. Instead, I could see the gears in his brain shifting. He was likely thinking of a plan to escape. But that was futile. You couldn't escape the bars.
But at least I got a better grasp at his character. He was obviously strong, which meant that he was probably a peasant. He was quick and agile, from what I saw from the fight, and he was quick to think of a plan. Or to try, at least.
What had he done to have made it here? Daofen was a long-term prison, not one that held prisoners for less than three years. Only a few crimes could've gotten him into Daofen, none of them light crimes.
Assuming that he is a blacksmith, then what could he have done wrong? Misshapen the sword meant for the Crown Prince? Or was it something more serious like attempting treason?
I rotated myself on the bed. Something bothered me about the boy, but I couldn't tell what. Something was telling me that I judged him wrong. Something told me he was more important than what I made him out to be.
I watched a spider climb up the wall. I'd always hated spiders. They were creepy, crawling around on eight legs, and practically blending in with anything. You never saw them until they were in your personal space.
My bed suddenly felt contaminated. What if it was a poisonous spider, which crawled over my bed, and now I'm sitting in the poison and would die?
But I know that's stupid, not to mention extreme. Even if it was a poisonous spider, crawling over something won't leave traces of poison. Right?
I'd always hated my sudden worries about irrational things. For things like this, as an example. I'd struggled with anxiety for years, almost since I was seven or eight. Fears would form in my head, sometimes about such stupid things, they go away in a day, or sometimes they will stay for months. Maybe even years. I'd learned how to deal with them for the most part, but sometimes I still struggle. And the terrifying dreams I had didn't help...
My back suddenly arched when a rock hit it. I jumped into a sitting position and swiveled around, facing the boy.
"What was that for?" I snarled. My dislike for him was increasing by the second. He was partly a prat too, it seemed.
"I wanted your attention," he responded, raising a brow and not backing down by my fierce tone. That small action made me more angry for some reason.
"Well, you have it,'' I said dryly, squinting my eyes. "Now hurry up and tell me what you want before I hit you back in a much more painful spot."
"How long have you been here?" he questioned.
"Nine years," I said, coldly. His eyebrows went up in surprise.
"That's a long time," he said. I had nothing to say to that, so I continued to glare at him. He looked like he wanted to ask me something else, probably what I did to get in here, but he thought twice and remained quiet.
I could sense he wanted to ask something else, so I raised my eyebrows, permitting him to ask.
"What's your name?" he asked.
"Names have power," I say back, thinking of how many times it's gotten me in danger, "say yours first."
"Cedric," he shrugged. I squinted my eyes slightly. The name wasn't unheard of, but it was definitely uncommon.
"Now you," he prompted, jerking his head forward.
I made sure to raise an eyebrow first. Numaer's stars he was bossy. I considered giving him a fake, but what would that do? I knew his name and that was an advantage for me. "Aelia."
Cedric tilted his head. He lowered his eyes and drew his knees up to lean his arms on them.
The hours passed slowly. Neither of us said anything else. I, who was completely used to having these silences, didn't mind. Cedric didn't seem to mind either. But he did seem to mind the cold. Of all the times he could've come, he came here in one of the coldest times of the year. He shivered and hugged himself. I felt pity for him, but didn't offer him anything. Not that I had much to offer anyways. My clothes were better than his, but only because that's what the dungeons provided. Cedric didn't get them yet. But it was only a matter of time.