The air inside the underground holding cells was thick and damp. It smelled strongly of rust, old sweat, and dried blood.
Water dripped slowly from the stone ceiling, echoing in the heavy silence.
Darius stood in front of the heavy iron bars. Varic stood right beside him, holding a flickering torch. Kael paced back and forth behind them like a caged animal.
Inside the cell sat three Blood Council soldiers. They had been captured at the docks during the brief, confusing attack just a few hours ago. They were wounded, bleeding through their dark crimson armor, but none of them looked defeated. In fact, they looked almost arrogant.
"I am going to ask you one more time," Darius said. His voice was completely calm, but it carried a sharp, dangerous edge. "Where is Morcant preparing to strike next?"
The first soldier, a man with a deep cut across his cheek, laughed. He spat a mouthful of blood onto the cold stone floor.
