13
Yseult
I kept my head high as Tristan led me through the castle. The stone hall was clean and empty of people, except for a few guards in each archway who saluted Tristan as we passed.
My bravery lasted until the commander paused in front of a great iron bound door. He took out a key and unlocked it, pushing it open with a grating creak. The stench hit me—the smell of death and dark magic.
When I hesitated on the dank step, he paused with me.
“You do not have to do this.”
“No,” I hardened myself. “I want to.”
I regretted my words as we descended. The air grew thick and cold, shadows flickering like monsters on the dripping walls.
Tristan kept a hand on my arm. He pressed close, and I felt he would scoop me up in his arms if he could.
The further down the harder it was to breath
