The clacking of their heels against the marble flooring echoed very differently to their reverberation when tapping the dungeon’s cold, hard stone tiles. Marble always gave a softer lody.
Much like the Eleazar manor, all intricate decoration ceased upon crossing the underground doors.
"You may address as mada Zarah when in public," the raspy voice ca from the older woman leading the way in front of Arabella.
When in public? What was that supposed to an?
No. Arabella had an inkling as to what it ant... After all, she did encounter a very similar woman to Zarah in her youth, down to the dress code even; mada Alexandra.
She too wished to be addressed as mada when a third soul stood within earshot.
In private, however, the young woman was to address her as-
"This was inevitable and needed to be sorted and moved out of the way in order to proceed," there was no fluctuation in her tone. It was steady but no rise or fall threaded it, "But after this, you better breathe not a whisper of complaint. You have done enough to inconvenience his highness and the people around him as it is,"
The back of Zarah’s skirt wiped every step her feet descended until the last one.
The guards watching over the dungeons who had been slouched on their chairs, fingers around the handles of large, wooden beer mugs, sowhat perked up.
They all went silent almost at once aside from the grunts and scoffs as their eyes practically undressed Arabella.
Once again, they did not greet mada Zarah as if she was part of staff despite clearly having the clearance to walk in and out of the dungeons freely without the need for any prior permission.
It was as though they still saw her as less than a peer or a superior, only begrudgingly obeying her.
Then again, it was no shocker; Zarah remained a woman. Such was the way of life in Lustris. Nothing so drastic was going to change in the span of three months.
The older woman marched ahead, chin high without a care or even a glimpse their way.
"Stop it right there!" one of the guards, stood off his chair with a sly grin on.
The difference between his armor and that of the other four n sitting around the sa table was minor, but it was visible, nonetheless.
The larger spaulder covering his shoulders indicated his seniority over them in the army ranks.
Zarah did stop which led to Arabella subsequently doing the sa behind her. The older woman did not fully turn around to et his gaze, but Arabella perceived the raised eyebrow over her eye.
"The prisoner needs to strip and subject herself to a thorough search by the guards before going deeper into the dungeons," he grunted, his smirk allowing the very rotten teeth in his mouth to hog the attention away from the scars plaguing his face.
Arabella’s breath imdiately hitched in her throat as a small gasp escaped her. Her trembling body instinctively shrunk and crumpled upon itself when the rest of the guards stood off their chairs at once, eyes ravenous.
The four of them surrounded Arabella, but before their grimy hands could reach her, Zarah’s voice rose again, "His highness left clear instructions that no man is to lay hands on her under this roof until he sees the wench," she finally turned around, casting a darkened glare straight at their superior, "Would you be so foolish as to go against the crown prince’s words himself?"
The supervisor said and did nothing but glare back at the older woman, jaws so tight, his teeth threatened to shatter.
The other four n waited for no order from him and imdiately backed down.
"This one requires no escort," Zarah added, "Don’t you see? She is trapped like the rat she is,"
"You do not have the authority to roam these tracts so be done with whatever it is you ca here for and then be out, old hag,"
His subordinates let out re grunts in response. One of them even spat on the ground as the won walked deeper into the prison.
Dark and damp, the foul stench coursing that maze encouraged Arabella’s insides to expel the nonexistent food in her stomach.
The orange hue of the flickering torches cast upon the scuffed stone walls and low ceilings did not help the growing sense of entrapnt pressing against her chest.
One cell after the other, each harbored what must have once looked like humans, but their condition had nothing on the life of barn animals.
Even those were allowed and treated with more grace and dignity...
In their own filth they sat, eyes blank, the white rags that barely covered their bodies had long since lost their original color.
The scars, open wounds and bruises on them weren’t even necessary to paint a portrait of the kind of misery they suffered in that hellhole, far away from sight.
Hell, so even remained pinned in disturbingly uncomfortable and deplorable positions enforced by what seed like various, traditional torture devices.
"Well," Zarah stopped in her tracks, turning to face one cell in particular, "You’ve got two minutes, wench,"
Following the old woman’s gaze, Arabella’s eyes went through the tal bars separating her from the cell ahead.
As her sight slowly adapted to the poor lighting near the furthest corners, her heart began a gradual descent, going past her knotted guts and then even lower...
The young-looking man curled back against the wall was missing an ear, eyes as lifeless as the stone that supported his weight, barely reflecting the light that spilled through those bars.
Despite the faulty lighting in there, Arabella was still able to distinguish the color of his irises.
Green. Gemstone green they were.
"A... Arthur!" the quivering whisper barely managed to leave her throat, her eyes no longer capable of retaining her tears.
Without a warning and not a hint of clency in her, Zarah’s fingers firmly clamped the young woman’s arm before yanking her in front of herself, closer to the bars.
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