Chapter 64. Whispers in the Dungeon
The Raven Castle's old dungeon, somewhat long forgotten in the bowels of the castle since Queen Nox had a new dungeon area dug at a different part of the Castle - this one complete with its own torture and execution zone. An area of that had become known as 'the clippers,' where if one committed the worst crimes - largely murder of raven kin - then their wings would be forfeit and they would be relegated to walk the earth and never feel the wind beneath their wings again.
Either way, the older dungeon had not been used in decades, and so no one really came all the way down here anymore. At best, it was the dumping place for old carcasses and bones. Occasionally, someone was supposed to go down there and clean it, the same way the shoot that connected to the kitchen's storage was to get cleaned. To no surprise, it rarely ever was.
Its stones sweated with damp, the air rank with mildew and rust, the iron doors pitted with the orange rot of age. Cobwebs veiled the archways, and dust clung to the steps. It was a place meant for memory, not for prisoners.
Yet Maven descended nightly, the small lantern in her hand barely pushing back the black.
Her knees ached on the stairs, her wings brushed the narrow walls. They felt like they narrowed in on her, suffocating her in the silence of the secret she was forced to keep... and forced to help maintain.
She didn't want to do this anymore... she had decided that she was old enough to hand in her resignation and retire at the end of the week.
At her hip, the basket weighed heavily: bread gone hard, strips of throwaway portions of ready-to-rot carcasses, bones, salted meat, and a flask of water. She loathed having to make these journeys. Every step downwards into the dungeon and closer to that evil beast that Sephora had chained up there, was a betrayal of her better judgment. She knew it.
Yet between their discussion, it was clear this was going to dangle over her like the sword of Damocles - judgment waiting to fall on her at any point that she didn't comply.
Sephora had left the old and reliable servant, Maven. There was no choice.
The princess's pale eyes had fixed her like pins through a moth's wings: 'Do this for me, old Squawk, or I'll tell Mother you helped me. That you brought him here.' The only thing more terrifying to Maven than the younger princess was Queen Nox's wrath when she herself was most displeased by a member of the household staff.
Poor Brenwen, a very recent staffing addition, had recently learned this during her first week working here in the castle.
Doing what she must, Maven obeyed for now, as she always had with any royal commands.
The scrape of the iron latch echoed down the hall as she opened the last gate.
The stench of the dungeon met her first — sweat, blood, fur, and the distinct scent of rot from the garbage.
Stirring in very sparsely thrown down straw, in his cell was Nikolas Von Kassin, Alpha of the Crimson Bloodhounds. His chains clinked. Even in human form, he was a terrifying figure: broad, wild-haired, eyes like molten amber in the gloom.
"It's you again. It's you who visits me," he rasped, voice hoarse from thirst, but a lightness coming into his eyes upon learning that it was not the younger one who was visiting him this time. "The raven crone."
At the words that may have well been coated in rust, Maven flinched. She hated that he called her that — hated more that he was right. She was old. Feathers growing duller than the black lustery sheen they used to have, the bulk of her strength was fading, too. She held out the basket anyway, slipping it through the bars.
"Eat your food creature," she muttered, uncomfortable looking at it and not wanting to be arround it too long. It may look like a man, like a wingless... but it was a werewolf and she knew how dangerous and unpredictable those could be, "...and don't make noise." Not that this prisoner ever did. He was the only one in an occupied cell down here, and this was something he must have known or picked up on almost immediately.
Nikolas's hands darted forward, rough, scarred, trembling with hunger. His nails broken and bloodied from frustrated scratching at the walls in which he couldn't make a dent or dig his way out of. He tore at the meat and bread, devouring it like an animal.
Yet when he drank from the flask, his eyes never left hers.
Exhaling after a long drink, he spoke with a voice that no longer sounded so hoarse, "You're afraid of me."
"Of course I am," Maven whispered, glancing back toward the stairs. "Any sane harpy would be."
"You shouldn't be." His voice was lower now, almost gentle. "If I'd wanted you dead, I'd have ripped you apart the first day you brought food, you got too close. It would have been easy for me to do but I haven't. I won't, because I need you."
Her throat tightened. "Need me?"
"I need out." His chains rattled as he shifted closer. "I am Nikolas Von Kassin, Alpha of the Crimson Bloodhounds. My pack thinks me dead — betrayed by my own Beta. And while I rot here, the world moves closer to ruin. Do you understand?"
Maven's hands trembled on the lantern. "Ruin?"
"The Dark Ones," he said, voice raw with urgency. "Your kind think them a bedtime tale. But my bloodline remembers. The pact made with your Raven Kings. The hunt that scoured them from the world. That hunt must never end. Because if it does…" He leaned close, amber eyes fierce. "…they rise again."
The silence pressed harder than the walls. Maven's heart hammered. She thought of Sephora's pale eyes, her cruel little smile when she'd ordered this secret. Bring him food. Keep him alive. He's mine.
"You speak lies," Maven said weakly, though her voice cracked.
"Do I?" Nikolas snarled, rattling the chains so hard the stones shuddered. The shackles with unicorn horn properties in the metal bit into his wrists but he seemed not to care for the burning. "Tell me, old one — when did you last hear the forest sing? When did the wild ravens stop their cry? When did the winds stop whispering at dusk?"
Maven froze. Her breath caught. She had noticed it — the silence. The terrible, uncanny quiet that had crept over the forests beyond the Raven Kingdom.
"You feel it," Nikolas growled. "I see it in your eyes. The Dark Ones stir... and here I am, shackled like a beast, while your... princess?" He guessed, "Plays games with me and plays games above."
Maven clutched the flickering firelight lantern tighter, her feathers prickling with terror.
"Release me," he begged now, softer, almost human again. "Let me return to my pack. Let me do what I was born to do. I swear by blood, no harm will come to you. Or your kin."
Her hands shook. The keys at her belt felt heavier than iron.
But Sephora's pale eyes flashed in her mind, sharp as blades: He's mine.
Maven swallowed hard, whispering as though to herself. "I cannot."
Nikolas's face hardened. He turned from her, retreating to the straw. His voice was low, full of promise and threat all at once.
"Then you doom us all."
Maven fled up the stairs, the lantern's light shaking wildly, but his words clung to her like chains heavier than his own.