NAHTAIA STUDIED THE grains in the wood steps that wound down to the dungeon entrance. Though she knew the sentries escorting her, she had nothing to say. Fear chilled her blood. She’d never been in the dungeon herself, but she’d heard stories. Rats the size of rabbits were said to scurry about, eating the remains of faery prisoners long passed and nibbling on the ones yet living. Her skin crawled and erupted in a myriad of bumps.
Lerth, the sentry on her left and the more built of the two, looked down at her arm with a frown. He must have felt her skin prickle.
“I never thought I’d be leading you down here, Nahtaia,” he said.
“Oh, I had a feeling,” Greng, the sentry on her right with a broken nose replied. “Especially after the Sa—”
“Shut it, toadstool!” Lerth scolded. “Really, Nahtaia
