Chapter 113: She Was Taken To The Dungeons
Morgana forced herself to speak, though her voice sounded strange and high-pitched to her own ears.
"I... I don’t know," she said. "I felt it too. I thought maybe... maybe the palace was settling? Old stones?"
The guard continued to study her.
Then, slowly, he looked up at the ceiling of the corridor, at the stones of the dungeon itself.
"Probably nothing," he said, though doubt lingered in his tone. "These old dungeons are unstable. Rock shifts sometimes."
He turned and began to walk away.
But then he paused and looked back at her.
"Don’t try anything foolish down here," he said, and there was a note of warning in his voice. "These cells are secure. There’s nowhere to go. And anyone who tries to escape or cause trouble down here..." He let the threat hang unfinished.
Then he left, his footsteps fading back down the corridor.
Morgana waited until she could no longer hear him.
Then she slowly brought her hands out from behind her back.
They were still shaking.
She looked at her palms, half expecting to see them burned or marked by what had just happened.
But they appeared normal. Untouched.
Except for the fact that her fingernails seemed to shimmer slightly in the dim light, as if they had absorbed some of the red glow and were still trying to release it.
She pressed her hands together, trying to stop the shaking, trying to control what was happening inside her.
Her magic was responding to the injustice.
Her magic was FURIOUS.
And she was terrified that if she lost control again, if the rage consumed her entirely, she would bring the entire dungeon down around her.
She moved back to the cot and lay down, her body rigid with tension.
She stared up at the invisible ceiling.
And she understood with absolute clarity that she was not just imprisoned by the stone walls and iron bars.
She was imprisoned by her own power.
Because the only thing more dangerous than a conspiracy against a magical being was that magical being losing control in the midst of that conspiracy.
And if anyone discovered what had just happened, if anyone realized that the tremor had come from HER, then her situation would go from desperate to absolutely hopeless.
She was trapped.
Not just by the lies and the conspiracy against her.
But by her own magic.
By the power that was supposed to be her strength, but which could just as easily be the thing that destroyed her.
And tomorrow, she would stand before the council.
Tomorrow, she would have to remain calm and composed and innocent-looking.
Tomorrow, she would have to hide EVERYTHING...the rage and the power burning inside her that wanted to EXPLODE.
Tomorrow, she would have to convince them that she was just a simple servant girl who had somehow found herself in the wrong place at the wrong time.
And if she failed, if even the slightest hint of her true nature was revealed, she wouldn’t just be executed for theft.
She would be executed for being a witch.
For being the very thing that had made the kings interested in her in the first place.
She lay in the darkness, holding herself absolutely still, and waited for morning.
***
*THE KINGS OFFICE*
The afternoon light was beginning to slant through the high windows of Draeven’s office when the knock came.
It was urgent. Sharp. The kind of knock that communicated distress without words.
Captain Rhen, who stood at the door with the bearing of a man who had served kings for decades, looked up sharply.
"Enter," Draeven called from behind his desk, not looking up from the documents he was reviewing.
The door opened, but instead of one of the usual servants or ministers, Timothy stepped through.
Timothy was a guard, one of the palace’s many soldiers, a man in his early thirties with the lean build of someone who spent most of his time on horseback or patrolling the grounds. He was not typically someone who would have direct access to the First King. Yet here he was, asking for entry, and Rhen had let him through, which meant something serious had happened.
Timothy bowed quickly, his movements jerky with tension.
"Your Majesty," he said, and his voice carried an urgency that made Draeven finally look up from his work.
"Yes?" Draeven said, his tone suggesting irritation at the interruption.
"I need to speak with you," Timothy said. "It’s urgent. About the stables. About... about Morgana."
The name hung in the air like a blade.
Draeven’s entire body went still.
His golden eyes, which had been showing mere irritation moments before, suddenly focused on Timothy with absolute intensity.
"Speak," he commanded, and there was something in his voice that made Timothy understand that despite the calm of the word, the First King was now completely engaged.
"It happened this afternoon," Timothy began, the words tumbling out rapidly. "Mistress Calla came to the stables. She came with guards. And with an inspection team. She said it was a palace-wide inspection, that everything had to be checked."
Draeven set down his pen very carefully.
"Go on," he said, and his voice was soft....dangerously soft.
"She inspected everything," Timothy continued. "The tack room, the equipment, the grain stores. She was thorough. But then... then she asked about the upper room. About Morgana’s quarters."
Timothy’s hands were clenched into fists at his sides.
"Master Garrick tried to stop her. He said it was private staff quarters. But Calla said everything had to be inspected. So they went up. I followed. And when they opened Morgana’s trunk..."
He paused, gathering breath.
"They found a necklace," he said. "Gold. With a ruby. Calla said it was Lady Margot’s necklace. The one that was reported stolen three days ago."
Draeven’s jaw tightened.
"Morgana denied it," Timothy said quickly. "She said she didn’t know how it got there. She said someone must have put it there. But Calla wouldn’t listen. She ordered the guards to arrest her. To put her in chains. And then... then she was taken to the dungeons."