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23
CORVAN
Imake my way down the damp, musty corridor, running my fingers along the rough stone wall. Beneath the surface of the earth, in the cold and the darkness, exists another world entirely.
I hear everything.
Rodents skitter. Water trickles down the walls. Insects crawl in the dust.
The faint hiss of the gas lamps.
The quiet banter of the guards.
I walk slowly; deliberately,forcingmy footsteps to imitate a mortal’s.
I should remember how to do this. It’s been three years since I transformed. Not too long ago, I was an ordinary man; slow-footed and heavy.
I reach the guardroom, where warm light glows through an open door, illuminating the corridor on either side.
The smell of the dungeon is overpowering. It’s the smell of ancient blood and piss and shit. It’s dust and grime and damp and rot. Sweat and misery; fear and suffering.
It’s the smell of death, accumulated over the years.
How many wretched souls have passed through here on their way to the afterlife?
The castle is over a hundred years old, and these dungeons were dug beneath the foundations well before it was completed.
It was only half a century later, when my father came to power, that the castle was actually finished, but the dungeons have been in use ever since the day they were built.
Poor bastards.
I’m sure many of them were innocent.
I make a point of scuffing my boots as I step through the doorway. The guards are playing cards at a small table.
They immediately stand to attention.
“Your Highness.” Hedy is the more senior of the two; my Head Warden and manager of the keys. He’s stocky, and powerful, with crude tattoos inked on his forearms. On one arm is the shield and crossed swords insignia of the Imperial Military. On the other is a beautiful woman. He gets surly if asked about her. “The prisoner’s awake. Finally bloody shut up, too. You should’ve heard the racket he was making. You want us to bring him out?”
“No, I’ll go and see him in his cell. Give me the keys.”
The other guard, a soldier called Treave, unclips the keys from his belt. “This one.” he lifts the bunch by a single saw-toothed key and walks over to me, his wooden prosthesis tapping on the cold stone floor. His features are distinctly Vikurian. A formidable swordsman, he’s tall and slender, moving with uncanny grace in spite of his amputation. “You sure you don’t want one us to accompany you?”
The keys clink softly as I take them. “Thank you, Treave, but that is unnecessary. Do you really think Solisar could do anything to me?”
Hedy snorts. “Respectfully, no. We just thought we’d come along for moral support. Just don’t make him scream too much. I’ve got a bloody migraine from all his shouting. It’s echoey in here. Amplifies the sound a hundred-fold.”
“He’s the soft type. Won’t take long to crack,” Treave says quietly. “Especially when it’syou.”
“Let’s hope so.”For his sake.I turn and walk away, keys in hand, leaving the guards to their card game.
I reach the first cell. The thick wooden door has a small metal hatch for delivering meals to the prisoners. The stench of the cell seeps from underneath, making me slightly nauseous.
It’s all the noxious things I detected before, only a hundred times worse. If my vampiric sense of smell wasn’t so acute, I wouldn’t be so disturbed by it. I reach into my pocket and pull out a silk scarf that’s been doused in Ciel’s medicinal-smelling antiseptic.
I tie it around the lower half of my face, covering my mouth and nose. The sharp smell of herbs immediately cuts through the rancid stench, relieving my nausea.
I hear the baron inside; shifting around, muttering to himself.
