Pracical Strangers - Chapter 2

The dampness of the dungeons seeped from the stones and clung to the air in heavy clouds. It sunk into Sebastianâs skin, thinned his clothing and made the already cold cells colder. It wrapped around his bones, stiffened his movements and made every breath achy and stiff. But it was the darkness that seemed the worst to Sebastian. If only a few rays of light would find their way into his cell, he thought everything would be more bearable. But it was dark as pitch and it suffocated him. Smothered him.
The soldiers had taken him down the stone steps a fortnight ago. Or so he guessed. They had passed cell after cell of iron and stone, descended another flight of stairs and past more iron barred prisons before they stopped at his cage. No other prisoners lived in his hallway, and the ones he had seen above were nothing but mere shadows of humans; their dark, gaunt eyes stared lifelessly out at them as they had passed. Hunger pulled their skin tight around their bones and dirt clung to them as if a half-hearted effort to warm their icy skin.
Down in this dark hole, Sebastianâs only way of keeping time had come from the one meal they would bring him each day. Watery soup the colour of iron and bread as hard as the stones he sat on; He had to force himself to eat it but he knew it would keep him just strong enough to survive. However long that might be.
    He had expected the Queen to come for him within that first night, but she never did. For the first few meals, Sebastian would jump to his feet and strain against the chains binding him as the light grew nearer. He had wanted to look strong before her Excellency, he wanted to look like he could still fight the monsters no matter how cold and damp he was.
But after the shallow faced guard appeared with his slop for the fourth time, Sebastian could feel the cold dampness sink a little deeper into his skin. And with each passing meal - the eight, the tenth, fourteenth, fifteenth time - he felt the cold swallow him more and more and the darkness press just a little harder upon his soul.
The Queen could keep him in this darkness until he too fell to the fever of madness and hopelessness that festered in the cells. And she would, if it so pleased her to do so.
The cold was slowly rising up his side as Sebastian lay curled on the stone floor in the corner. Breathing came in icy sharp rasps, the chains numbed his wrists and weighed him down. The days food had already been delivered and rested heavily in his already cold stomach, contracting uncomfortably and only seeming to make him all the more hungry. The pitcher of water sat off to the side, half empty from the day before, though Sebastian tried not to drink too much of it. He had heard the stories that the water the Queen gave her captives was fetched from a frog pond and, by the look of it, he did not doubt the story much at all.  
He was beginning to wonder why he even bothered to eat or drink. Dying of hunger would be a much cleaner fate that what he was expecting anyway.
As he was settling into another wave of disparity, thoughts of his camp and father creeping into his mind ready to torment him like they did every night in his cell, footsteps began to echo down his hallway. The clinking of iron boots against stone rang emptily and Sebastian didn't even bother to move, soldiers probably coming to collect his bowl. But a sharp, clear clicking could be heard accompanying the heavy boots. A ladyâs heels. Weak, head reeling, stomach churning, Sebastian stood up as quickly as he could, trying not to steady himself against the stone walls.
Torch light illuminated the corridor and the steps rang louder and louder with each moment as a handful of the white soldiers came to a stop in front of his cell, armor glinting nastily in the firelight. As the key of his door was clicking against the iron lock, the Queen herself stepped from behind some of her white minions and looked right at Sebastian as the metal bars were pulled open.
Her hair, a deep dark brown touched lightly with grey, was brushed back neatly from her face and fell over her shoulder in a thick braided rope. Her gown glittered in the dancing light, a deep gold heavily embellished with jewels. She was every bit of elegance he expected, aged gently to be a little older than his father. But then his eyes finally came to rest on her face and all the elegance and grace she bejeweled herself with couldn't hide the ice he saw there. Her eyes were pale blue, looking down upon him icily and cruel. Her red lips curled into a stiff sneer. Sebastian took a deep breath, steadying himself, and looked her as deeply in the eyes as he could. He would not fear the monsters.
âHow old are you, boy?â Her voice cracked out at him like a whip, tight and without any warmth.
âI will be fourteen before winter sets in.â A heavily iron clad hand shot out and smacked him across the face. Sebastian staggered from the blow, but did not fall to his knees. His cheek stung warmly in contrast to the cold air, he could taste metallic blood on his lips.
âYou will address Her Majesty with respect, boy. Now again.â
âThirteen,â He looked back up into her eyes, glaring as best through his swelling cheek, âYour Excellency.â
âNow, now. Thirteen. Only a little boy. How brave of you to be so⦠troublesome.â Her red lips curled into a mean smile, and a few of the guards shuffled their feet nervously.
âHe was very quick,Your Majesty. Very quick.â One of them mumbled, not looking up from the floor.
âWe shall deal with your inability to control a child later, Henry. Now, boy, what is your name?â
Sebastian glared at her, wondering how long he could resist answering her before his other cheek got the same smack.
âMust Henry remind you of your manners again, dear?â Her voice was deathly cold, and her eyes glinted as though she couldnât think of anything sheâd want more. With a quick look at Henry, Sebastian let a long breath out from his nose and narrowed his eyes.
âNo, Your Grace. My name is Sebastian.â
âSebastian. What aâ¦lovely name. Your mother chose it, didnât she?â Rage boiled in his chest and a growl pushed past his lips. He lunged forward, but his chains held him back, bruising his wrists from their impact.
The Queenâs icy smile grew and she laughed in a wickedly sweet way, her bright white teeth gleaming.
âNow now, pet, letâs not get angry. Your Parents wouldnât have liked to see you upset, now would they?â She smiled sweetly again, though too much cruelty played on her lips for the smile to be kind.
âNow. Letâs stop all this lovely small talk. The camp my guard found you and yourâ¦family at was not the only camp, now was it, pet?â
Sebastian stared at her with as much venom and hatred he could muster. The Queenâs smile slipped for a moment and her impatience flashed across her eyes. Breathing deeply, her mask of charm returned almost as quickly as it slipped, and she looked over at one of the Guards, Henry, Sebastian assumed. He heard the wind whistle by the manâs glove before he felt the red hot sting of the blow. His body collapsed slightly from the blowâs vibrations and he could taste more blood on his lips.
âI would answer her, Boy. Itâll be better for yeâ in the long of itâ
âNo, Your Grace, it was not.â Sebastian said, spitting the blood from his mouth to the floor.
âI didnât think so. We shall handle those swiftly enough. Now, tell me, quickly, where do these rebels set up their home settlementâ Sebastian glanced around quickly, weighing his options carefully. Honor or Life? Honor or Life? What would father do?
âCome now, Sebastian, quickly. I donât have all day to toy with you.â
âI donât know.â
Her laugh came abruptly; icily cold and far too sweet.
âSebastian, didnât your parents teach you itâs not becoming to lie? Now tell me, where is the camp?â
âI donât know.â
âDo not lie to me, Sebastian. I do not have the patience for this nonsense. I am quite certain you know, now tell me.â The Queenâs eyes glittered cruelly and her lips pressed together slightly in annoyance. A chill ran down Sebastianâs back, and for a moment the idea of surrender seemed overwhelmingly tempting. But is father would never have surrendered to these monsters. Grenn wouldnât tell them. And he wouldnât either.
âI wonât tell you.â
âYou wonât tell me?â Pure, raging anger flashed like a spark on her face before quickly cooling to the icy mask of sickly sweetness. âWell, that is a pity isnât it. Henry, dear, fetch the cat would you? I think Sebastian here would do well with a lesson in manners. I wonât tolerate little lying boys.â Henry nodded and went out into the hallway, his eyes flickering to Sebastianâs face for a moment before nodding again. The clinking of metal keys was heard before he came back a moment later, a long leather spiral in hand.
âExcellent. Now, beat him.â
âBut, Your Highness,â
âNow, Henry. Or do I have to find someone more competent?â Her eyes flashed and her lips narrowed angrily. Henry took a breath and bowed his head.
âNo, Your Excellency.â
Two of the other guards reached out and spun Sebastian around, holding his chains tightly. Their gaze landed on Henry for a moment before looking back at the stone floor. Henry gave a quick nod to the guards who held Sebastian and let the whip unravel to his feet. With a quick flick of his wrist, the leather cracked against Sebastianâs back. He bucked forward against his chains, biting down hard on his lip to suppress the scream rising in his throat.
âAgain, Henry, but harder.â
âBut, Your Grace, heâs, heâs just a boy.â
âHeâs a traitor, Henry. The enemy. Harder.â
All of the guards exchanged uncomfortable glances but held their ground. Henry braced his feet and flicked his wrist again, the whip cracking sharply against flesh now that Sebastianâs shirt was torn. A muffled gasp escaped from Sebastianâs lips as the leather licked the rising welt from the previous strike. His heart pounded in his ears and his back felt like it was burning.  He could taste the blood running from his lips and feel the warmth of the blood running down his back. But he would not scream.
Henry looked back at the Queen, whose eyes sharpened as she raised an eyebrow, and he flicked his wrist again.
âHenry, I said, hit him harder!â Henry closed his eyes quickly, sweat rolling down his flushed face. He flicked his wrist again, this time a little harder, making a sickening wet smack as it tore another gash in Sebastianâs shirt.
âHarder, Henry, Harder. I want to hear him scream.â Again the whip rang out against his flesh.
âJust scream, boy, itâll be better for you in the end.â The guard holding Sebastianâs left arm chain said, his face pale and taunt. Sebastian looked him in the eyes, white and red, tears running down his face, and shook his head. He would not scream.
âYou will scream, Sebastian. You will scream. Henry, hit him harder.â The Queenâs eyes glowed angrily, the room seeming to grow colder under her rage, as though the very stone feared her. Henry faltered with the next blow, the whip cracking just barely on his back.
âOh, you imbecile. Give me the whip, I will show you how to properly punish this boy.â Henry swallowed and quickly handed over the whip before stepping back behind the Queen, his eyes settling to the floor.
âHold him still.â She hissed and grasping the whip firmly in her hand, raised it above her head and brought it down with force. As soon as the crack echoed, she raised her hand and brought it down again; repeating the same ruthless blow after blow. Sebastian fell onto his knees, screams finally escaping their way out of his bitten lips. Tears mingled with the blood and all Sebastian could taste was salt and iron as his head swam heavily, the edges of his vision blurring in pain. The blows continued, his back bloodied and raw, blurring more and more of his vision until he fell to the cold floor. The Queen, smiling her sickly sweet smile, handed the whip back over to Henry.
âLock up, wonât you?â And all Sebastian knew was the taste of blood and tears and the clear echoing of clinking heels as the darkness consumed him. Smothering him.
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Arabella descended down the pearl staircase, Poppy trailing behind listing off the seemingly never ending list of corrections.
ââ¦stand up straighter, youâre a lady not a farm maid. Must you walk so quickly? Princesses float across the floor, not gallop. And you must practice your embroidery more, Princess. Pick up your dress when you walk, Dearâ¦â
From the depths of the dungeonâs staircase, the Queen emerged from its darkness with a group of the Queenâs guard behind her. Arabella and Poppy curtseyed low.
âYour Grace.â Poppy cooed, smiling up at the Queenâs icy eyes.
âPoppy,â the Queen smiled and grasped Poppyâs hands firmly before rounding her eyes upon Arabella, âand where are Arabella and yourself off too?â
âThe Library, Aunt Ellyna.â Arabella said, standing up. Her eyes slid from her Auntâs blue gaze down to the red flecks that spotted her golden gown and pale face. Arabellaâs heart stopped for a moment as she noticed the red splattered on the Captainâs armor as well. His face was flushed and sweaty, and he looked down quickly and shuffled a leather coil in his hands. Arabella looked from his scared face to the dripping leather whip and then back up to the Queen; her heart stuttered and a wave of coldness swept over her from head to foot. Queen Ellynaâs eyes narrowed darkly and her lips tightened, seeming to dare Arabella to make her next move.
âDid you go and talk to the prisoner, Your Grace? Was he cooperative?â Arabella held herself firmly, begging her eyes to keep the concern hidden. Seemingly they accepted her pleas for some of the harshness left her auntâs face.
âYes, I did speak with him. He wasnât cooperative just yet, but I shall give him a day or two to mull things over,â She smiled too sweetly but Arabella nodded her head as though in approval. âThen once he tells me what I want to know, he will be put to death. I think a public burning, donât you Henry?â She smiled again as she looked at the Captainâs pale face. He looked up at her and nodded his head.
âI believe that would be very fitting, Your Majesty.â
âUm, Your Grace, I donât mean to sound brazen, but donât you think burning the boy is a little⦠cruel?â Arabella asked, hanging her head appropriately. Poppy shot her a severe look and the guardsâ eyes widened considerably, looking from her to the Queen and back. But Ellyna just smiled at her niece, as though she was only explaining how to sew on a button or how to pronounce a foreign word.
âNow, my dear Arabella, donât you see? Brutality is only as good as its witnesses. If the rebels see us falter punishment with this boy, they will think weâve become weak. And then they will crush us, Arabella. They will not hesitate to kill you, why should we not take our own victories when we get them?â
âI, I didnât think of it like that, Your Grace. You are right.â
âOf course I am, Darling. Now, I must go clean up and attend to matters. Off to the library with you.â
But Arabella did not agree. She did not think these ârebelsâ would harm her if they had the chance. All the men and women and children brought to Ingëmar before and accused of treason didnât seem dangerous to her. They seemed broken and scared. And before this moment she could never understand, but they had all been willing to war with her Aunt, and lose. They had all been willing to fight the Queen and die for their cause. Poppy always told her it was because they had been filled with silly lies and childrenâs stories, but the look on the boyâs face flashed back in her mind and Arabella couldnât believe he was willing to die for lies and bedtime stories.
And then the blood smeared on her Aunt's face. Her hands red with his blood. That was why they fight. Because sheâs wrong. Because sheâs a monster.
And all of a sudden the warring thoughts in Arabellaâs head seemed to quiet and she knew what she was going to do. She knew the difference between duty and honor and expectations and right and wrong. She knew she must fight as well.