For two days I know nothing but the crunching of wheels as we travel down cobblestone streets of Gravenburg, and then the wet squelching as we make our way through the muddy fields between here and Nigh.
Rarely do the noctis stop for rest, and when they do, we’re only given a respite from the cramped cart to relieve our bladders. I’ve been hunched for so long that my bones crack whenever I’m yanked outside, my spine screaming and threatening to break every time I’m forced back into my prison.
No one speaks.
Not the prisoners.
We barely even cast wary glances at one another during the entire trip. Mostly because I think we’re all a bit too preoccupied lamenting over the actions and choices that got us into this mess.
Also because it’s too dark to see anyone anyway.
I do think I saw a flash of red hair before the scarred noctis closed us in darkness though. I think I found Elison.
At the end of the second day, the carriage stops.
The noctis guard draws open the door and the four of us are grabbed by our chains and pulled outside into the crisp evening air.
As my stiff spine adjusts to the idea of standing again, I realize we’ve arrived. Beyond the decrepit ruins and fallen pillars of a demolished courtyard, stands an immense and dark castle.
Legend has it that when the Shadowthorn fell, demons ravaged the Castle of Nigh, laying waste to the very place where the Crusaders had trained, the place that represented the demise of demonkind.
Of course, seeing it now, it seems that not all legends are true, or if it is, this place must’ve been as large as Gravenburg at one point.
“Come,” Malachi says. With a wave of his hand, the guards holding our chains pull us to follow. “We’ll drop them off in the dungeon with the rest of the prisoners and then, with any luck, we dine.”
My knees buckle and clack together as we’re led through the splattering of bricks and statues littered throughout the courtyard. With me in front, I try to glimpse the prisoners behind me to see if it really was Elison who’d been held prisoner with me all this time, but I can barely keep up as is, let alone not fall on the uneven and unkempt grass. After spending the last few days sitting in the carriage, my legs have already become weak and unaccustomed to the idea of brisk walking.
Judging from the moans and groans coming from behind me, I’m not the only one to struggle.
They lead us through winding halls, up and down flights of stairs, and finally into a dimly lit hall lined with cells on either side. Dozens of dirty faces cram up against the bars to get a look at us, and I feel each and every one of them imprinting into my mind. I can already see their deaths. I can already smell their blood.
The Hunt will be kind to none of us.
At the end of the hall, Malachi’s hand presses against my back, ushering me into another dark and cramped space.
“In you go.”
Only once I’m behind the iron bars does he unlatch the cuff around my neck.
I turn around, scrutinizing him as I rub the raw skin where my cuff had been. It seems strange that the noctis prince himself would personally deliver us to the dingy dungeon. Surely, he has more important things to do. Maybe he’s just as controlling as the rumors say his father is. Or maybe he doesn’t trust his guards to do it correctly, a possibility that I take note of.
If there’s any hope of escape, maybe it’s in the unreliability of his guards.
Or maybe it’s something else.
Whatever it is, I plan on learning everything I can about this place, studying its every movement and every noctis until I can figure out how to get the fuck out of here.
No matter the cost, I will not be in the Hunt. If it’s anything like the stories we were told in our youth to scare each other, it will be a place worse than anything I’ve ever encountered. Even worse than what happened at Hulbeck. The Hunt is more than a way to feed for them. It’s a game. A source of entertainment. And I can only imagine the numerous ways in which they make itentertaining…
As Malachi shoves another prisoner in behind me, and another guard shoves two others into the cell next to us, I note that there is already someone in this cell with us.
In one corner of the room, she sits on the cold stone floor with her knees cradled against her chest. Thick curtains of hair drape over her shoulders and down her scratched and trembling legs.
Someone with a bigger heart than mine might try to comfort her. But I see no point in lying to the scared girl.
Instead, I scope out our surroundings. There isn’t much by way of furniture, except for a single bench.
The woman with hair the color of autumn storms toward it and slumps down, her hands gripping the bottom edge as she stares past to the noctis guards finishing up. Even tucked away from the torchlight, I can finally make out the familiar face of my fletcher.
