CHAPTER 874: COLD AND WET (PART TWO)

"M-moving," Jocelynn told herself as she wrapped her arms around her body and tried to rub some warmth into her arms. If she could keep herself moving, that should help her to stay warm, shouldn’t it? But shackled to the wall in such a narrow cell, she could only take one or two steps in any direction before the chain around her ankle pulled taut, stopping her from pacing or moving very far.

Within an hour, the cold had stolen all feeling from her fingers and toes, leaving them pale and stiff as winter twigs. Her muscles cramped painfully with each violent shiver, and when she tried to stand, her legs trembled so badly she nearly collapsed back onto the cot. Even speaking was difficult as her jaw muscles seized up between chattering teeth.

"In-inquisitor!" Jocelynn yelled. "You c-can’t t-treat a lady l-like this! I’ve d-done n-nothing wrong!" Her mind clung to that statement like a lifeline in storm tossed seas. She’d done nothing wrong, nothing that the Inquisition could have any reason to imprison or torture for. She was innocent and she could prove her innocence if they would just let her!

But when she shouted for the Inquisitor and she strained her ears for sounds that he or someone else might respond to her cries, she only heard faint, muffled cries from the cells adjoining her own. The stone walls and thick door muffled the sounds too much for her to make out any words, but the voices sounded like they belonged to at least two different men who were trapped along with her.

"Oh no," she realized, pressing both hands to her lips as her eyes went wide in horror. Two men. Captain Albyn and Sir Elgon. Her cousin, Eleanor, had been taken prisoner with her, but she’d had some hope that the other members of her tiny collection of advisors in her conspiracy to escape would have avoided the reach of the Inquisitor. They were supposed to be in Lothian City, searching for the supplies they needed to flee the march. If they’d been captured too...

"Guards!" Jocelynn shouted. "I w-want to sp-speak to Marquis B-bors! A l-lady c-can’t be t-treated like this!"

Her repeated shouts, however, were met with only stony silence and the muffled cries from the other cells.

"At l-least, g-give me a b-blanket!" Jocelynn pleaded. "It’s t-too c-c-cold in here!"

But no matter how much she begged or pleaded, no matter how many times she threatened that there would be consequences for treating the daughter of a count this way, the heavy wooden door never budged. No help ever came, and Jocelynn was left alone, shivering and cold in the dark until her throat was hoarse from crying out and her body felt like it would tear itself to pieces with the intensity of her shivers.

Eventually, it all became too much for her and the darkness of her cell blended with the cold exhaustion that tormented her body to pull the young lady into an even darker, dreamless sleep that lasted until the weak light coming in through the cell’s only window began to grow brighter with the light of day.

Still, it wasn’t until hours after dawn when Jocelynn jolted awake to the sound of a -CLANK- as the iron bar on the door was thrown aside and the door to her cell opened, revealing the looming figure of the crimson-haired Inquisitor carrying a lamp that felt brighter than the sun after a night spent in such deep darkness.

"Well," Percivus said with a broad, almost eager smile. "It looks like you’ve survived the night. That’s good," he said as his eyes roved over her young, supple body, lingering on the curves that her damp dress clung to as if he couldn’t wait to tear the fabric away to expose the soft, pale skin beneath.

In truth, it wasn’t the desire to ravish her body that lit the fire within his hazel eyes. The Inquisitor had long ago turned away from the temptations of the flesh that would only distract from the work of cleansing the world of darkness. No, the young woman before him represented a different, rare kind of treat, one that he intended to slowly savor in the coming weeks.

Even now, shivering and cold, wearing a dress that had grown wrinkled and stiff after being slept in while it was wet, Jocelynn still radiated the arrogance and indignation that was so common among noblemen and women when they fell into his hands. The attitude that said that she was too special, too precious, too important to suffer or struggle the way countless common people all around her did.

She had never in her life known what it was like to pass a night cold and shivering because there was no wood for the hearth. She’d never gone to bed hungry because there was no money for food. She’d never spent the night just trying to keep dry because the roof above her head leaked in the cold winter rain.

But now she’d had a taste of the common man’s struggles, and already her pale, seafoam eyes burned with hatred when she gazed at him, and it was that look that Percivus truly savored. It would take time to snuff out that flame of hatred and resistance, but soon, this pampered young lady would learn what every commoner learned from their youngest years.

It’s futile to resist those above you, and no amount of struggle would ever let the common man triumph over those born into the privilege of the aristocracy... just like no amount of struggle would let a weak woman like her triumph over the power of the Inquisition.

"Now, I finally have a bit of time to spend on you," he said as he walked into the room, carrying with him a bundle of coarse fabric and a wooden box with a leather handle and a heavy iron clasp.

"And I’m so looking forward to our time together..."