When Raymond woke, he was in a stone room. No windows, low ceiling, thick door. A dungeon.
He almost laughed, but his face wouldn’t move. His cheekbone was broken, his jaw shattered. The pain was the only thing that let him know he wasn’t asleep or hallucinating.
For two days, he was left there, alone. No food, no water, no company.
In his silent prison, he kept his mind as light as he could, focusing on little things, like how the space wasn’t dark. Gems in the wall and ceiling lit up the room.
He was also glad it was dry, as he knew much about the Belarnt private cells; every noble family, at least, everyone at the very top of nobility, had such things, and he knew how bad the Belarnt ones could get.
The Belarnt’s, miners by trade and profession, had very special cells. Old, former
