Chapter 25 Locked up

Isla
MY HEAD THROBS AND MY BREATHE SMELLS FOUL. I'm totally disoriented and chained to the wall of this stone prison, this leaky cell of the dungeon. Though tomorrow is New Year's Eve, the new year marks the beginning of a new season — the Floral Season but the air is still thick with humidity of the Torrid and my skin is sticky and clammy with sweat.
Next to me is a bowl of a creamy watery broth and though my tummy churns and grumbles, I won't give in and eat that disgusting looking broth. It has a sour stench, and it seems like it has been here since the last prisoner. The spoon that lodges in the broth is coated with white crusty something, just looking at it makes me shudder.
Two statue-like soldiers guard my cell. They haven't so much as shuffled their feet since I woke up. Are they even alive? I doubt it. I sit still and stare at their erect backs and wonder how they can have such great posture. I fidget and move my chained hand so the chain rattles and clangs hoping to get their attention but they don't seem to hear me or rather, they are pretending not to hear me.
My throat is dry and my tongue sticks to the roof my mouth. My lips are cracked and they sting whenever I run my dry tongue over them. My whole body aches and one side of my face is numb.I'm extremely dehydrated and I need water immediately. And a bed. I need a bed and a dozen of pillows and some food. I won't mind having a nice meal after days of starvation.
To survive today, I'll need some water. My eyes flicker to the still statues again, their stiff stance makes them almost frightening but I do need a drink.
Should I call the guards? Would they listen to me? Would they even do as much as flinch? I'll try my luck. I run my tongue over my lips, I wince at the sting and clear my throat summoning all the courage I have left in this broken, battered body of mine.
"Excuse me," it is a faint whisper. I can barely even hear myself. "Hello?" I'm much louder this time but they don't move. The whole dungeon is in pin-drop silence and I'm being to wonder if I'm the only prisoner, why aren't I hearing moans and wails? Maybe the other prisoners are used to the system.
"Guards?!" I'm quickly losing my patience and consciousness. I'd die of thirst if I don't get some water soon. My yell is hoarse but loud enough to scare away a rodent. They still don't move, they don't even turn to glance at me.
"Shut up, witch." One of the guards hiss with disdain. Though their backs are turned to me, I don't need their expression to show me how much they dislike me. I don't blame them at all, I destroyed some properties and scared their citizens to insanity. Not to mention the flying in the whirlwind act I put on. I'd be calling myself a witch if I was in their shoes.
But it is partly not my fault. In fact, it's not my fault at all! I didn't ask for this kind of life, I never asked for the zapping sparks that surge through my veins, I didn't ask for the powers I possess and I can hardly control myself once my emotions get the better of me. Not that I'd want to.
But my actions have backfired, instead of me running free and trying to locate my sister, I'm shackled to the wall in a stony dungeon cell. If I had any water in me I would have been weeping by now.
"Please," I say in a small squeaky voice," I need water." The situation I'm in is very pathetic; I'm chained to a wall and begging two hard-headed guards for a drink of water.
"Shut up," a deeper voice snaps. "Or we'll shut you up." It's a threat.
My mouth clams shut. I don't exactly know what the soldier means by that but I don't want to find out. Sighing, I lean backwards and rest my frail aching body on the hard stony wall and I shut my eyes. It's becoming extremely hard to breathe, I don't understand how I survive every breath. With every inhale of air, my ribs ache and a shock of pain stills me. My arm is numb, I can't even feel it anymore and my legs are having the case of pins and needles with every shuffle.
Loud echoing footfalls make me open my eyes again. A long shadow is casted on the wall as the person makes their way closer. The soldiers stand straighter — if that is even possible — and salute to a tall thin frame.
The footfalls cease and a pair of brown eyes are staring at me from outside the bars. Those eyes are the kindest pair I've seen since I was taken from Kintil, they actually regard me as a fellow human being.The corners of the person's lips turn downwards and thick brows furrow in a frown.
"Look at the poor creature, you have made her frightened to death! Unchain her this instant!" His voice is laced with anger — anger at the guards and pity — pity for me. I look away, I don't want his pity.
A soldier quickly retrieves the key to my cell from a drawstring bag that hangs from his waist and proceeds to open the cell, the door of the cell creaks as it opens. The tall male steps in gingerly, from his well kempt hair and embroidered clothes of golden silk I know his royalty or working for royalty. The soldier proceeds to unshackle my hand from the wall, the shackle snaps open and falls to the ground. I'm so grateful to own my hand again as I massage my sore wrist and numb hand and the blood returns coursing through my veins.
"I'm Namir. One of the Sires of the King's Court. What's your name?" He stares at me, not with disdain but with admiration and wonder. His eyes trail up my bruised and battered body then lingers on my face. I don't even want to know how I look to him.
"Isla," I croak. I can't hold his gaze, I feel so dirty in his presence.
"One of the slaves from Kintil I presume," he says. His voice doesn't hold the usual disdain or sneer when he says 'slave'.
I don't answer. I'm not a slave anymore, I'm now a prisoner. There is much difference and my fate is hanging from a thin thread. I continue to massage my wrists and the long pensive silence reigns on.
"Am I going to be... Burnt?" I blurt out. Where did that come from? The chants of the mob comes tumbling back to me. Burn! Burn! Burn!
"Of course not,_ he says almost immediately. "You, my dear are of very importance to this Kingdom. Tell me, did you create the tornado and float in the air just as reported?"
There is something exciting childlike in his cheery tone and happy eyes. He takes a step closer and a wide smile stretches across his face. Should I tell him the truth? Either way, my life is in the hands of the King of Altsas. There is more than enough evidence to prove that all allegations against me are true. There is no use lying.
"Yes," I squeak. I stare down at my feet, at my dirty and swollen feet. Would I manage a step on these feet? I doubt it. Even a newborn calf has better chances than me.
The man gasps. "This is marvelous! Simply marvelous! The King is going to be delighted to see you," he gushes. "We have searched for you everywhere, and I can't believe we have found you." He stretches out a hand to me, grinning from eye-to-eye.
I stare at his outstretched hand not knowing exactly what to do with it. This man seems very unstable and insane to me. His grins are too wide, his tone is too perky. It is like he is a clown.
Looking for me everywhere? The King will be delighted to see me? What does that even mean. I'm sure delighted is meant in the sense that he'll get to see the witch who destroyed huts in his Kingdom and terrorized subjects and also tried to bring down his army burn into ashy remains. I shudder at the thought and glance up at his boyish face, he seems trustworthy but...
"Come on," he says," I know you have alot of questions. Don't worry, they will be answered at the right time, now Isla you have to follow me so we'll get you presentable to meet His Majesty and his ever beautiful wife, Her Majesty." His cheery, comely tone doesn't waiver, his eyes sparkle and the corner of his eyes crinkle. I'm going to follow him, I decide. I've made even more stupid decisions in my life and I had always managed to scale through.
I stand to my feet wearily, my knees knock and my swollen feet tremble. I lean on the wall and balance my body with my two hands on the wall, slowly I turn to face him. He is still grinning and his hand is still patiently waiting for mine. I place my bruised hand in his soft and pristine one, he grabs it firmly and he leads me out of the cell.
My legs are shaky and my steps are slow. Every step makes me wince and there is a slight limp in my gait. Once we get to the door of the cell I give the guarding soldiers tentative looks, they are still as still as statues and it is starting to freak me out. They don't meet my gaze but stare ahead at nothing. I have this strong urge to give one of them a punch to the nose, I'd love to hear the crunch of broken cartilage under my fist as my punch will break their noses, the feeling will be exhilarating and euphoria.
"Guard, help Isla to walk. The poor thing can barely move her feet!" Namir barks the command, completely shocking me and to my utmost surprise, one of the guards steps forward without even sparing me a glance and places his large hand on the small of my back, the feel of it there makes me shudder. He walks slowly beside me, helping me keep up with Namir's marching steps.
Our steps echo down the empty hallway of the dungeon, the further we go the darker the hallway becomes. I catch a glimpse of other cells and bony prisoners, some of them peer at me with menacing looks, other mouth words I can't decipher. The stench of urine and death fills my nose. A wave of pity comes over me, I feel extremely sorry for all of the prisoners in this dark and stinky dungeon. I wonder what crimes they had committed that deserves such awful punishment.
Namir's gait is oozing confidence and poise that only the royalty can have. Light seeps in from a door metres above us, it is the only source of light in this dark hallway and Namir guides me up the stairs. Each steps makes my insides quaver and clench.
I don't know if this is a dream or a nightmare. I don't know what is happening. But I let my body take dainty steps behind the tall thin man.