The monks marched Emily and Dorian to the tower at the end of the cliff and down its tightly spiraling staircase. Several times, Emily's feet slipped on the steps, and she was lifted up and upbraided by her captor, a powerfully built woman with jet-black hair and a severe expression.
Emily's failed teleportation, thwarted by a bucket of water, had lasted just long enough to burn up most of the clothes she had borrowed from Octavia. With the Stoneshell and Bronzeband also confiscated, she was naked but for a few frayed, heavily singed scraps of tunic left on her shoulders.
From the base of the tower, she was marched through Tiedavon Abbey, past solemn clusters of blue-robed monks. She was a prisoner now, an enemy, and the monks no longer averted their gazes from her bare skin but stared openly with expressions of contempt and barely concealed prurience. She felt every inch of her exposure in the cold night air and from the unyielding stares of the monks.
But it was the lack of her magical artifacts that made her feel truly naked, more so than she had even on the cliff or the beach. The uncomfortable jolting of her unrestrained breasts was made tenfold worse by the absence of the warm fire-summoning pendant above them.
Dorian, similarly bound, but still clad in a threadbare blue loincloth, was being frog-marched just behind her.
Near the ruins of the dome, there was an opening in the ground, below which a torchlit staircase descended. The way was cramped and narrow, and even Emily had to crouch to avoid hitting her head.
The air grew colder, damper, as they were led down the winding stairs, descending deeper into the abbey's foundations. This, then, was what had been meant by the lower cells. An underground prison.
Finally, they were shoved through heavy wooden doors into a section of narrow cells carved out of the rock. Thick, rust-pitted bars sealed each opening. A monk unlocked one creaking door, shoved Emily inside with bruising force, and slammed it shut, the heavy bolt thudding home. Moments later, she heard Dorian being thrown into an adjacent cell.
Emily landed hard on the cold, damp stone floor. The cell was tiny, barely large enough to pace three steps across. A trickle of slimy water ran down one wall, pooling in a corner. There was no bed, no light source save the dim torchlight filtering in from the corridor. The air was thick with the smell of salt and mildew.
She scrambled to the bars, gripping the cold iron. "Let us out!" she yelled, shaking them futilely. "You've got the wrong people! Richard tricked you!"
The powerful female monk glanced back at her with contempt. "Save your breath, thief. The Council will hear your case in the morning." The wooden door slammed shut behind her.
Silence descended, broken only by the omnipresent groan of the sea and Dorian's muffled cursing from the next cell. Emily slid down the bars, collapsing onto the floor, the stone rough and cold against her bare buttocks.
Helplessness washed over her, cold and absolute. The Stoneshell had been taken once more. The warm, constant presence against her chest, source of fire and strength, was missing. She touched the empty space where it had lain, feeling only her own skin, cold and clammy.
Her left ankle tingled, feeling unusually naked. The Bronzeband was back in Richard's possession. The image of his triumphant wink burned behind her eyelids. He hadn't even needed to fight them--he'd orchestrated their downfall perfectly, using their own actions and the monks' hostility and desperation against them. He now had power over stone once more, along with his resonance magic, and the trust and favor of the monks of Tiedavon. He was more dangerous than ever. And it had all been enabled by a moment of pity from Emily.
And then there was Aria. Bromberht. Jivaro. All the others. Suddenly struck motionless in the middle of whatever they were doing, involuntarily decorating the halls and courtyards of Paja Abbey. But it wasn't the first time--what must they think of her, always losing control of the artifact destiny had charged her to defend? And they would have a lot of time to think now, trapped as they were. Guilt coiled tight in her stomach, sharp and sickening.
"Dorian?" Emily called out, her voice raspy.
"I'm here," his voice came back, rough with anger, but surprisingly close. "Are you alright?"
"No," Emily whispered honestly. "Are you?"
A harsh laugh echoed from his cell. "Silly question. I'm sorry I asked."
"He played us," Emily said, her frustration boiling over. "He stole the Azure Essence and then gave it back, painting himself as the hero and us as villains. And now he's more powerful than ever, and it's all my fault."
"I wonder if he saw my preparations," Dorian said. "Perhaps he spied us from the beginning, listened in, made a plan that meant he wouldn't have to fight."
Emily pounded a fist against the stone floor, ignoring the sting. "How could they be so blind? Kastor saw us arrive! He knew we hadn't had time to steal anything!"
"They wanted the Essence back and someone to blame, an easy story," Dorian said wearily. "We fit the bill perfectly. Outsiders with powerful artifacts, cause a scene upon arrival, demand access to their most precious resource... Richard just gave them the narrative they were already leaning towards. And they already trusted him. He told you that."
They fell silent again, the weight of their situation pressing down on them. The cold seeped into Emily's bones and her stomach growled with hunger. She hugged herself for warmth, hands rubbing against the fraying remnants of her tunic, still clinging uselessly to her shoulders.
"Aria..." Emily murmured. "When I'm not wearing the Stoneshell, she..."
"She froze again," Dorian finished grimly. "I remember. She and the other statues."
"We have to get out of here, Dorian," Emily said fiercely, pushing herself up from the floor. She peered through the bars into the dim corridor. Empty for now. "We have to get the Stoneshell back. And the Azure Essence. Somehow. I know that sounds crazy."
"Agreed," Dorian's voice was tight. "Easier said than done, though."
"You still have some of that cloth, right?" Emily asked. "With the blue pigment that you said helped you escape from the monks last time? Can't you use that?" She blushed slightly at the implication.
"It's no use," Dorian replied. "These walls are solid rock and the bars solid iron. That's what holds us here, not a containment spell. My art works against magic, not material." There was a loud clanging sound as Dorian struck one of the bars at the front of his cell. "And even if we get out of here, we still have to find where the monks have hidden your artifacts. To say nothing of our initial mission of getting the Azure Essence."
