The Unfortunate, стр. 55

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

MARLISA

After having spoken with her son, the queen returned to her chambers and donned a cloak, but as she began her descent to the dungeons, the conversation with Banan returned, and she considered how she had answered, how she had reacted, and if it could have and should have been different.

“Is there any reason this request could be seen as treason?” he had again probed.

“Never.” Marlisa’s tone had been rather defensive. But what should I have expected? They had been speaking of treason after all—a crime of which she was innocent, at least in the context her son had used. Banan had asked about the request for Deogol’s support and nothing more.

But even though the answer had apparently satisfied the prince, he had still countered, “And that is all? A vague request of support?”

“Yes. That is all.”

But the answer had not been immediate because it was not all she knew. It was not the entire truth. Although she had withheld nothing about the request, there was so much more about her relationship with Deogol she had not revealed, so much Banan could never know.

She had hesitated, and it had been more than apparent.

Banan had not questioned her reluctance to answer, but surely the pause had been noticed. It had to have been. But her son had only offered another inquiry.

“Are you certain?” He had walked to Marlisa, had placed his hands on her shoulders, and had again probed, “If you have knowledge of any treason, confess now …”

Then Banan had showed uncertainty for the first time by having allowed his words to trail. It had been subtle but still apparent, but the queen had acted as if she had not noticed. She had begun to consider her response. The second mention of treason had not specified any certain act. To withhold anything about Deogol and herself would have condemned her. She did not and had not been able to speak the truth, but she had not lied either. “There is nothing involving the plan about which Deogol is aware,” she had coolly answered.

“I should expect him to provide a similar account?”

She again paused and had begun to ponder. There was nothing about the request, but Marlisa had not known and had even feared what Deogol would reveal about their relationship. She had nevertheless nodded.

Banan had again ignored the hesitation, simply returned the gesture, and had dismissed the queen.

✽ ✽ ✽

As her memories concluded, Marlisa descended the final steps into the bowels of the castle. It was not the first time she had visited the dungeons, but the corridors were dimmer, and the stench was worse than the queen had remembered. This visit, however, was unlike any prior. She gagged once and had to remind herself it was not a time for weakness. She had to remain strong, and she had to be prepared for whatever horrors awaited and whatever Fate had unsympathetically delivered.

Even with the light of her torch, Marlisa found it difficult to locate Deogol’s cell. She could see the bars of numerous holding areas, but the interiors of each cell were too dim for the queen to discern. She could hear heavy breathing—the type that accompanies sleep, intermixed with snores. Slowly she approached the nearest cell and after having confirmed the occupant was asleep, the queen moved closer and extended her arm until the torch illuminated the interior. Then she discovered the horror and scurried away but did not avert her eyes. She could not do anything except stare at the despicable form who lay in the fetal position. The man had streams of dried blood on his chin, his cheeks were discolored from multiple bruises, and his eyes appeared swollen, but that was not the worst. The prisoner’s right hand had been mutilated and his left had had every other finger somehow detached, leaving nothing but gore-encrusted stubs between the remaining digits.

No. It cannot be. She again repositioned the torch so the man’s face was the focus of the light. Still she could not tell, but at last she was overcome with relief because the occupant was not Deogol. What Marlisa had seen, however, had only intensified her fears, and reminding herself to be strong did little to lessen them. Fate be merciful! What horrors he must have suffered. Please let it be nothing like this for Deogol. But the thought, the silent prayer, did little to comfort the Queen, and she had to pause momentarily to gather what strength she could before moving to the next cell.

Not his.

Then the next.

No.

And the next.

The same.

She felt discouraged, but as she reached the midpoint of the wide corridor, she heard movement followed by a hushed yet familiar tone.

“Marlisa.”

She turned quickly, still unsure from where the voice had originated.

“Marlisa. I am here.”

Where is he? She continued to move her torch in a half-arch motion—right to left, attempting to find the cell before she eventually answered with a similar, hushed tone. “Deogol?”

“Here,” his tone became louder. “I am here.”

Still it required several moments, but at last she identified the location, rushed to the cell, and gripped Deogol’s hand. There was no indication of torment—no bruising, no apparent weakness—but she did not hesitate to ask, “Have you been hurt?”

He shook his head. “Banan is a man of his word. I have cooperated, and in turn the interrogation was civil as he promised.”

“What did they ask?”

“Mostly it was about my past and the first time I was suspected, but …” When he did not finish, the queen, fearing the worst, inquired, “They asked about us, yes?”

He nodded again.

“And?”

“Forgive me. I did not want to be tortured.” Deogol’s voice faltered. “I answered all their questions. They know everything. Please forgive me.”

Everything. It was remarkable how one word could carry such weight, could be so damning. Despite the shame it meant for her,