Eryshae

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Lieutenant Rellis

Amir Estate – Lower Cells

The iron door groaned open again. Rellis ducked beneath the lintel, three soldiers filing in behind him. Their boots clanged against the stone floor, loud in the suffocating quiet. Mira lifted her head. Her hair was damp, plastered to her cheeks, the torchlight throwing cruel shadows over the bruises down her neck.

She didn't speak at first. Just watched as the soldiers spread out, waiting for orders. "Unchain her," Rellis said flatly. There was hesitation, the kind that came from men who preferred their prisoners shackled to stone. But the lieutenant's tone left no room for argument. The nearest guard stepped forward, keys jangling at his hip. One by one, the man unlocked the manacles above Mira's head.

The chains clattered down the wall like dead snakes. Mira's arms collapsed, limp and trembling, too numb to catch her fall. She crumpled, but before she could hit the floor, Rellis caught her by the shoulders. His grip was firm, steady. Not tender. Not cruel. Just unyielding. She blinked up at him, lips cracked into a wry smile. "Careful, Lieutenant. You keep saving me from falling and I might start thinking you care."

Rellis didn't answer. He lifted her upright and nodded to another guard. Iron cuffs snapped shut around her wrists, binding them together in front of her chest. A short chain linked them to a belt around her waist, tight enough that she couldn't lift her arms higher than her sternum. "Better," one of the soldiers muttered. Rellis silenced him with a glance.

Mira tested the cuffs, chains rattling. Then she looked at Rellis. "So what is it this time? Execution? Exhibition? Or are you finally going to tell me what game your master's playing?" Rellis didn't flinch. He adjusted the cuff strap, checking the lock. "Transport."

Her brows rose. "Transport," she repeated, as if tasting the word. "That's a polite way of saying cage with wheels." No answer. Just the scrape of steel as Rellis tightened the restraints one notch further. She leaned closer, enough that her breath brushed his jaw. "You can cuff me, bind me, march me through your lord's gates with a chain at my throat. But you and I both know what happens when you start moving pieces across the board."

Rellis's eyes flicked to hers.

"You lose control of them," Mira finished, voice low, almost intimate. "And that's when the game gets interesting." The soldiers shifted uncomfortably. But Rellis held her gaze, his own unreadable. Finally, he turned to the men. "Bring her to the washroom. She goes out clean." The soldiers moved to obey. Mira tilted her head as they dragged her toward the door, chains scraping stone. She called back over her shoulder, voice rough but deliberate:

"You can bind my wrists, Rellis. But don't forget, I gave you my loyalty before they gave me these chains. Decide which one weighs more." Rellis stood in silence as they hauled her out. Only when the door slammed shut did he let out the breath he'd been holding. It must be mind games he thinks to himself. His hands flexed once, unclenching, before he followed.

The washroom stank of lye and copper. Steam clung to the stone walls, slicking the chains bolted to the floor. A trough ran the length of the chamber, half-filled with cloudy water. The guards shoved Mira forward. She stumbled, chains dragging against the stone, her bare feet slipping on the wet floor. One of the soldiers laughed, giving her another shove toward the trough.

"Hold her steady," Rellis ordered. His voice cut sharp, but steady. Two men caught her by the arms, forcing her to her knees. Mira didn't resist. She tilted her head back instead, wet hair falling away from her face, eyes glinting with that unbreakable spark that Rellis had come to dread.

"Is this the part where you polish me up for the parade?" Her voice was low, rasping, but it carried. "Wash the blood off, scrub me clean, pretend I'm something less than dangerous so your lord can look me in the eye without flinching."

One guard sneered. "Dangerous? All I see is a broken little dove in chains." Her smile curved like a blade. "Keep looking then. Maybe you'll start to notice the talons." The guard raised his hand, but froze at Rellis' barked command: "Enough."

Mira's gaze flicked to him, measuring. Her lips parted as if she wanted to laugh. But she didn't. Instead, she leaned closer to the soldier restraining her and murmured, "He's the only reason your teeth are still in your skull."

They dunked her into the trough. She gasped, came up choking, hair plastered to her face, water beading down her bruised collarbone. Even bound, she managed to make it look defiant. Rellis found himself staring longer than he should have, the arch of her throat, the sharp line of her cheekbone, the way fire lived in her eyes despite everything they had done to her.

He hated himself for noticing. Hated himself more for the quiet, poisonous thought that whispered: She is beautiful.

"Lieutenant?" one of the guards prompted, waiting for instruction. Rellis swallowed, jaw tight. His eyes never left Mira as he gave the order. "Gag the prisoner."

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The guards moved quickly, one unhooking a length of leather and cloth from the wall. Mira laughed softly, shaking water from her hair, as if she'd known the command was coming. "Of course," she murmured, lips curving as the gag was pressed into her mouth. "You can't have me speaking truth in your halls, can you?"

Her words were muffled as the cloth bit between her teeth. But her eyes never looked away from Rellis, not once. And he didn't look away either.

The gag silenced her tongue, but not her eyes. They burned into him, unwavering, a silent storm bound behind soaked lashes. Rellis' chest tightened. He had told himself it was contempt that unsettled him, but that was a lie. It was the refusal. The refusal to bend, to break, to become what they wanted her to be.

He drew in a breath, steadying. "Leave us." The guards blinked. One started to protest, but a single flick of Rellis' gaze froze him mid-word. Boots scraped the wet stone. Chains rattled as they filed out. The door shut, and the washroom fell into a hush broken only by Mira's uneven breaths.

Rellis crossed to the shelf. A stack of towels, crisp and white, folded by the servants. His hand hovered too long before he picked one up. Foolish. Wasteful. But still, he returned to her side, lowering himself until he knelt before her.

The chains rattled as she shifted, straightening her spine, her chin lifting in that same impossible defiance. He reached forward, the towel brushing her shoulder, drying the water as gently as though she were not a prisoner, as though she were not their enemy.

The gag muffled her breath, took away her voice; but her eyes, her eyes screamed meaning.

You don't want this, do you?

You see me. Not what they say I am.

So why do you keep pretending? Rellis' throat constricted. He tried to avert his gaze, but found he couldn't. Each pass of the towel left him more shaken, more raw. Duty pressed on him like a yoke, but beneath it pulsed a truth he dared not name.

He finished at her wrists, careful not to pull against the shackles, careful not to hurt her more than she already was. When he finally drew back, his hand lingered too long before he folded the towel and set it aside. Her eyes followed him the whole way, drilling into him with the weight of everything she couldn't say. And for the first time, Rellis wasn't sure which of them was chained.

The towel slipped in his grip. His knuckles were white against the linen, jaw clenched so hard he thought his teeth might crack. Her eyes would not leave him. Would not let him breathe. For one dizzying moment, he nearly spoke, nearly ripped the gag away, nearly demanded to know what she was trying to tell him. But the words lodged in his throat.

Instead, memory broke him. The washroom faded, replaced by the stench of rot. A year ago. The village near Salisbury. A spawn of Sloth.

He heard again the creak of bone as the skeletons clawed their way out of the earth, their sockets burning with a dull and endless hunger. He saw his men scrambling, blades slipping from sweat-slick hands as the dead closed in, gnashing, tearing.

He remembered how the soil itself had turned against them, soft, rancid, collapsing under their boots like meat gone bad. Nothing grew there. Nothing lived there. The whole place was a tomb.

And at the heart of it: the Hollow Root spawn. It did not move. It did not fight. It simply watched from its pit, vines sunk into the corpses of the village, drinking, feeding, patient as stone. Sloth incarnate. The end of striving. The silence of labor is forever undone.

He had sworn then, standing knee-deep in filth and death, blade slick with marrow: never again would he falter. Never again would chaos take root where his will could hold the line.

The memory snapped, and the washroom returned. Mira was still there, shackled, eyes cutting into him like knives. Rellis jerked back as though burned. He dropped the towel, his face hardening, mask slamming back into place.

"Enough." His voice was iron now, forged sharp to keep the weakness from bleeding through. He turned from her, his hands clasped behind his back, posture rigid, the very picture of discipline. Only the tremor in his fingers betrayed him, hidden behind the armor of stance.

For a heartbeat, silence hung heavy. Then the door creaked, boots shifting outside. Rellis cleared his throat, voice cool, unyielding. "Guards. See that she is prepared. No indulgence. No leniency." The mask was back. But the echo of bones rising from graves lingered, gnawing at him. And so did her eyes.

The command left his lips like a blade sheathed. The moment was gone. The door groaned open, boots clattering against stone. The guards filed in, helmets low, eyes flat, ready. "Restrain her," he said. His voice was clipped, as though speaking it aloud left an aftertaste.

They moved in without hesitation. Cold iron seized Mira's wrists and another, her ankles. She resisted, but it was pointless, their hands were practiced, their cruelty efficient.

Her eyes darted to Rellis as if to catch him faltering again, but he stood rooted, hands clasped behind his back, expression carved from stone. The warmth of moments before was gone, smothered under his soldier's mask. "On your feet," one of the guards barked. Chains rattled as they dragged her upright.

The guards marched her out into the courtyard. Torches sputtered against the dark, their glow catching on the hulking silhouette that waited there. At first glance, it might have seemed like a carriage: lacquered wood, brass trim dulled by travel, wheels greased and sturdy. Curtains draped the windows, concealing its interior from prying eyes.

But as Mira was dragged closer, the illusion broke. Inside the wood and polish lurked iron bars, thick as wrists, woven into the carriage's frame. The curtains weren't for privacy, they were a mask, hiding the truth of what rode within. A cage, dressed for the road.

The guards shoved her forward, forcing her up the step and into the hollow belly of the thing. The clink of chains echoed as they secured her to a central ring set into the floor, ensuring she couldn't so much as shift without the metal reminding her of its weight.

Her gag muffled the sound of her breathing, but her eyes blazed over the cloth. They locked on Rellis as he approached the carriage door. For an instant, just an instant, the mask slipped. He saw her as she was, not a prisoner but a woman: drenched, gagged, shackled, yet unbroken.

He swallowed. Then the soldier returned. The door slammed shut. A heavy lock clicked into place. "Ready the team," he ordered. His voice was ice. "We ride at dawn."

The disguised carriage rolled forward, wheels crunching over gravel. To an outsider, it was nothing more than a transport, unremarkable, forgettable. But Mira knew the bars hidden just behind the curtains. She knew the truth of her prison. And so did Rellis, each creak of the wheels grinding at the fragile seam inside him that she had already begun to split.