Not unusually, something else had been plucked from the pages of the book, instead of the desired gold.
It had been a woman, standing where there hadn’t been a woman before. Stumbletongue’s stammering had somehow brought her out in one piece - on the surface at any rate. Even if it turned out she was damaged goods, at least she had her arms and legs, and a nice face to look at (which was more than could be said of some of the other women.)
They’d locked her in one of the cages, which was nothing more than a cowshed with some hay and a naked light bulb that radiated a cold and unpleasant light. But apparently she wasn’t expected to rot, for a tray of bare bread and water was eventually arranged.
And Basta was supposed to bring it to her.
He muttered to himself in an irritated undertone as he made his way to the cages - (Mortola enjoyed sending him on pointless and stupid tasks that were better suited for the maids) - and cursed a blue streak as he fumbled with the keys.
“ Feeding time,” he said in perhaps the worst way possible, mouth curling into a sneer. ” Not like ‘s any skin off my back if y’choose to starve yourself.”
Long legs were tucked underneath a slender frame draped in cerulean and gold. Gentle hands remained on her lap, steady as a rock as she herself was a statuesque vision. Light was absorbed in her viridian, glassy depths, as she looked around with alertness. With curls still bound to a bun, adorned with ornate pins, Sarah was dressed for a ceremony - not for one that took place in this shed.
She didn’t know what was going on, if this was a ploy for one of her enemies. But, as far as she was concerned, the wars had ended and all of them had been on trial. So who would dare take the Duchess away from her realm, for the move was a bold one, albeit a foolish attempt to trigger more problems.
But what bothered her so much was not the fact that she was captured as much as how? How did they manage to pluck her while she was getting ready in her own chambers? With this thought alone, she remained silent, contemplating the events over and over in her head.
It wasn’t until the string of profanities roused her back from her thoughts and her attention snapped up to the man who worked the keys. Sarah watched him quietly while lifting her chin up so her face would face the unwelcoming light, washing its glow over her features.
Sarah stood up finally with hay attached to the fabric of her robes and dress. When he came in with the display of bread and water, Sarah felt a wash of relief run over her. They intended her to keep her alive; she came to the conclusion that these were not the hunters from years past - they would have killed her and not given her at least the pleasure of having some shelter.
“Thank you,” she whispered in his direction, but did not expect kind words to fall from his scornful lips. But she attempted to have some sort of conversation, something to help her put these pieces together.
Looking over the tray, she reached for it and allowed her green depths, scrutinizing and alluring as they were, to settle on his features. “Where, where am I?” Sarah didn’t know she was pulled out of her own realm, the thought never crossed her mind.