Chapter 19: Traitor Amongst Them

                                    

                                          
     The cell door swung open with a low groan, and the guard stepped inside. Covering his mouth and nose, I noticed, was a length of gray fabric that he wrapped around his head. He breathed heavily through it. "Stand."
                          
     Throwing a quick glance at Nephele, I shuffled to my feet with growing reluctance, and the man pulled both hands behind my back. I held my wrists apart as he tied them together with a thick rope, and found a small amount of space between them when he finished. Not much, but it was certainly something I could work with. 
                          
     As we walked, one guard flanking either side and another behind me, I observed the shadowy, dingy environment. The hallway seemed to roll on and on, the ending out of sight. It was completely dark at the end; nothing but the occasional torches lining the dismal walls lit the prison. I could not decipher what the time was. Not underground. 
                          
     How long have I been here? My mind drifted back to Phoenix, unconscious on the floor of my own castle. I'd left him there alone. Did someone find him? How terrible was the wound? In such an unclear state of mind, I was unable to get a closer look at it. All I could recollect now was the red soaked into his chest and his clothing. 
                          
     I tugged quietly on the ropes tying my hands. There was no time to fret over Phoenix yet. I squeezed my eyes shut, silently begging his forgiveness. If he was still alive by the time I found him, I'd worry then. 
                          
     "Hurry up," demanded the guard to my left. He pulled harshly on my arm. "The Master does not like to be kept waiting." 
                          
     "The Master?" I mumbled, and in a louder voice, "Where are we going?" 
                          
     "You will see." 
                          
     I sighed heavily. Each step induced a stabbing pain in my side, and I grimaced each time, inhaling sharply. Whenever I slowed, the man behind me forced me forward once more, making me stumble and trip over the uneven stone. 
                          
     More to stop my mind from wandering than for the purpose of finding out, I tried again. "Who is the Master?" 
                          
     The squat man to my right stared daggers at me. "Silence, devil." 
                          
     "We're almost there anyway," added the one to my left. He drew a long, curved blade from a sheath hanging from his side and held it to my throat, roughly pulling my back to his chest. I grunted. "You will not disrespect the Master. Make one move without the Master's permission, and you will be spoon fed the blade of my sword." 
                          
     Standing ahead of us, a pair of massive doors edged with gold loomed largely. A strange sight in such a horrid place- it looked nearly as though it could have belonged in my own castle. When the  guards took one circular, silver handle each and heaved the door open, my jaw dropped. 
                          
     Beneath the grounds, hidden behind the haggard slaves and miners, the filthy cells and dirty water, was what appeared to be an entire throne room. The high ceiling was held up by pearl-white pillars, emerging from the polished tan tiles stretching across the floor. At the end of the hall, the dainty ashen steps led up to an elevated platform with a long table seating a large group of people. And at the head, a lean woman with caramel skin sat with one leg crossed over the other. A mask covered her mouth and nose. Half the rest of her face was covered by a cascade of jet-black hair. 
                          
     Several pairs of eyes followed me as I stumbled forward from the shove my escort gave me. With an impossible swiftness, he manacled together my wrists and shackled my ankles, then cinched my wings to my torso with a thicker chain. The security of the bonds made it difficult to breathe on top of the pain in my side. 
                          
     "Kneel, boy." His voice was rough, and I refused. His jaw tightened beneath the cloth, and he seized my arms, forcing me to my knees. With a stubbornness I didn't realize I'd developed, I fixed my legs to sit on the floor instead, vaguely recalling my father's words. A king should bow to no one.