~Pretty Ones~
Oris had to fight to keep a smile from tugging at her lips, sardonic as it was. Her veil wasn't thick enough to hide it from the view of the guards that paraded her down the very hallways she had so confidently traversed hours ago and she wasn't in the mood to look for trouble, yet.
Up ahead, Faeradaigh rolled in front of them. Rolled, because somehow he had gotten heavier since last they met and now and then he paused to dab at his face and take a breath or three.
He shuffled more than walked, and nearly collided with walls more than halted his steps.
Somehow, Oris was reminded of the stubborn dough that her adoptive mother sweated to break just to get a pan of bread. Unnecessarily difficult with little gain at the end.
"Milord," she called, ignoring the way the guards shoved her as they turned a corner. "Are the shackles necessary? I will not run away if that is what you are afraid off."
"Do not fret," he said in between his panting, "it is simply protocol."
Oris could not not ignore how he had ceased to call her a lady. She wasn't one now but a suspected criminal, she supposed.
Maybe not even suspected anymore. She wondered if Hermes and Magnus had a falling out. If they did, why take it out on her? Why not duke it out in a duel and leave innocent women out of it?
Being tossed around like this filled her with nostalgia. She had always been an unwilling casualty in the games of men, though it had never gotten to the point where she had to make a trip to the dungeons.
It was always just the little things like undeserved blame and scorn but she supposed this was what loosing your crown does to you. Suddenly you were the lowest of the low with no chance of climbing out of the pit you dug for yourself.
Why did no one warn you of the future consequences of your actions? Why do the gods stand idly by when their worshipers die out of ignorance? Oris did not understand. She did not wish to.
That was why she depended on herself and not the gods.
Lost in thought, she could only perceive with her free senses that the hallways had gotten dimmer and the walls had transitioned from marble to stone.
The soft velvet carpet had all but disappeared, replaced with gritty and uneven bricks that no longer shined with reflected light.
It was only when a rough shove caused her to lose her footing and stumble forward that Oris realized that they had arrived.
The stench was what hit her first and oddly enough. It made her nose twitch when she realized that she found it was familiar. A bar tucked in a lonely corner of Orse smelt just the same. Same enough to make a laugh slip past her lips.
"Wha' ya luffing about, luf?" an inmate sneered from inside his cell. "Yer in here wih us now, ain't ye?"
"Oh," Oris decided to humor him. "It just reeks of unwashed men and desperation in here. Reminds me that I belong."
When he began to smile, exposing his rotting teeth, Oris got the feeling that they shared the same sense of humor. Then he laughed. . .and lunged for her neck through the bars.
Of course, she wasn't close enough for any damage to be done. She had made sure of that beforehand, having no doubt that the guards would turn a blind eye just to see her suffer.
"That's enough commotion," the guard behind her said when the attack failed. "Start moving."
Oris obeyed but didn't lose eye contact with the inmate. Tried to kill me, aye mate? We'll see.
Only when he was out of sight did she look forward again. Most of the cells to her left and right were empty. Either that or the inmates they held had learnt to hide and keep quiet to avoid the consequences of being noticed by imperial guards.
When the procession reached a point in the dungeon, they stopped. Oris looked further ahead and notice that there were no torches past this point. Whoever was being kept down there was suffering in complete darkness.
Faeradaigh pulled out a set of keys and started fiddling for the one that would unlock the bars in front of them.
She shifted her gaze into the dim room from where she stood and caught sight of something moving. She had a feeling that the cell was not empty but even if she mentioned it, would they care? It was best to use the last slivers of her freedom to do something more important.
"Milord, the results for the selection will be announced in three hours and some. Will I still be here by then?" She decided to try her luck again. Maybe he would be more cooperative this time around.
The cell door swung open and one of the guards pushed her in.
Oris swiveled on her heel to face Faeradaigh. The torches propped on the walls illuminated the stern expression the eunuch wore as he pulled the key out of the lock.
She felt her hopes deflate but decided to try one more time, letting emotion flood her next words. "So this is it? This is me being left alone in the palace? You must have seen a lot of women loose their footing in the palace and fall into this hell. You must think I am condemned."
There was not one flicker of guilt in eyes, not a single remorseful emotion.
"Let us go," he told the guards and turned away, no pause in his characteristic shuffle.
It was at that moment that Oris realized she had underestimated Faeradaigh. Why did Hermes keep him around? Of course, it was becomes he could do the dirty jobs. He could remain unwavering when faced with pleas from dying women. On the outside, he acted like an immoral sluggard but truly he knew who his master was.
She had never seen a more two-faced man.
Oris ran forward and gripped the bars till her knuckles whitened, her gaze set on Faeradaigh's retreating figure. A meatball waddling through the emperor's discarded waste.
"I do not belong here, Faeradaigh," she shouted at the top of her lungs. "I was scapegoated and you know it. Your emperor knows it too! Yesterday was the last you called me 'My Lady'. Today is the last I'll call you 'Milord'."
Oris gripped the bars until he disappeared, feeling the crusting metal come off in bits in her palms.
"Save it," a grating voice said from behind here followed by the rattling of chains. "No one who comes here is innocent. It is best to save your strength for what is to come."
Oris turned to face her cellmate but the light of the torches could only stretch so far. She was met with nothing but darkness.
"Did everyone here get locked up without a trial?" she asked, keeping her gaze fixed to the shadows.
"Some. With crime too heavy to judge," they said. "You riled Lyle up on your first day. You have guts."
"Lyle?" Oris couldn't help but snort at the name. "So delicate."
"He killed the last person that toyed with him like you did."
"Should I be scared?"
"Seeing that you are over here and he is all the way over there, then no. If he manages to escape. . . that is another matter."
"I meant, of you."
Oris' answer came with another rattle of heavy chains. She heard them being dragged slowly against the level stone of the cell and soon enough she was faced with the person who she would share her space with for the days to come.
They were old. Dirty white hair framed a face so caked with dirt that discerning their gender was impossible. Rags stained brown from soil and dry blood hung loosely off their body showing off the angles of the joints poking through the thin layer of skin that covered them.
Oris thought she wouldn't be able to shift her eyes off the whip marks marring their saggy brown skin but somehow she did. She looked up into their eyes, dark eyes that neatly melded with the shadows. Dark eyes that paralleled Hermes'.
"I am chained," they answered, swaying on a spot where the light for the torches' flames could just reach and holding up their shackled wrists.
"That doesn't answer my question." Oris replied, watching them tug on the long chain that ran off into the darkness. "Even with those chains, you could easily steal my breath in the night."
"You are an unusually wise one."
"Someone equally as wise told me that no one here was innocent."
"Then we can reach an understanding," they said with what might have been a smile.
Oris didn't think anyone who had suffered in here for so long could remember how to smile. She had expected worse. At least she hadn't been locked up with someone like Lyle.
"I'll stay in my corner and keep to myself," she said.
"Like I said, you're a smart one," they said, slinking back into shadows and taking the chain with them. "We'll get along just fine."
"I won't be here for long," Oris said and took a long glance at the dark corner. "This was all a misunderstanding."
Her cellmate cackled, the harsh sound bouncing off the walls then echoing right into Oris' ears. "That's what all the pretty ones say."
~
This is the first chapter out of 3. What do you guys think of Lyle and 'They'? How about Oris? She's finally in the dungeon, how will she get out?
Most importantly, what do you think of Faeradaigh? Why do you think Hermes really keeps him around?
The next chapter is coming out soon.
These three chapters are dedicated to MDthatsMe whose birthday was on the 28th.