Iron-Bound Flames by Melanie K. Moschella

Author:Melanie K. Moschella [Moschella, Melanie K.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2024-03-19T00:00:00+00:00

Meera’s consciousness drifted a few times, but her discomfort wouldn’t allow her the true release of sleep. Time was meaningless in the dungeon, and she had no notion of how long she’d been there when footsteps sounded on the stairs. Still, she didn’t move. Her mind felt fuzzy with mold. She looked at the prisoner who looked back, and their expressions were mirrored blankness. A voice called, “Meera?” and her name bounced off every hard surface, pulsing like her injured face. She didn’t move. She couldn’t tell whose voice it was.

Then the voice was at the cell door: “Meera?” Someone touched the door and the clang of iron on iron accelerated the pounding in her head. She thought the voice was familiar, but like time, sound was different in the dungeon. She struggled to a seated position—her muscles stiff with cold, and her whole body rejecting the movement. Looking over her shoulder to view the dark figure at the door, she recognized their homely shape and simple white apron: it was Cook. Meera knew she should feel relief, but her heart was as numb with cold as the rest of her.

“Meera, you locked in? You got the key? You hurt?” Cook asked. There was an uncharacteristic tremor in their voice, and they kept glancing around uneasily. Meera had never known Cook to be frightened before, and it pushed the cogs in her mind to resume turning. Cook looked smaller, less sure of themself outside their domain in the kitchen. It was like seeing a flower in the snow … or golden hair against iron bars.

Meera’s mouth felt as fuzzy as her head, and she had to work her tongue around a bit before she could speak. “I’m okay. I have the key,” she replied, fishing for the key in her pocket with stiff, lifeless fingers and slowly pushed herself to stand. “How long have I been in here?” she asked, handing over the key and watching Cook try to move the stubborn locking mechanism with it.

“How long? Don’t know. Guard comes in the kitchen drunk, saying how you ’n’ the prince went in the dungeon then how you didn’t come out. I’m asking him why he didn’t look for you, ’n’ he’s saying how scairt he is, how scairt they all are of the prince. Then he’s saying how he didn’t want to find your body ’n’ see what’s been done to you. I say to him ’you’re not a guard, you’re a drunk coward’, ’n’ I come to find you myself. You gonna tell me what happened? How come you locked in a cell with the key?” Cook looked behind Meera and seemed to register the prisoner for the first time, their shrewd eyes widening for the briefest moment before resuming their usual narrow gaze. The man continued to observe without any change in his countenance.

Meera picked up her bag but left the water and broth by the mat. “Try to drink something if you can. I’ll be back tomorrow,” she told the prisoner.

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