The Lost Hero: Chapter 16

It had been a long, boring summer.

Not that he had seen any of it. The sun did not penetrate this far down into the prison.

Ninan lay on the small pile of straw they dumped in here once a week. He kept track of the day by the number of times it had been replaced: ten, just yesterday and bringing the smell of open fields and freedom.

He rotated his wrists, working the stiffness out of his hands and arms. Then his shoulders and torso. His legs cramped in the chill.

Maybe pointless, but he would keep his flexibility for when he was freed. Ero had the advantage in that, twenty years younger.

It was never long until Ninan’s thoughts fell to wondering about the boy and his queen. Did they escape the palace? Were they alive?

He felt sure someone would come to gloat if she was dead. That he would follow her quickly into a grave. The fact that he still breathed gave him hope she was safe somewhere far from the palace. They would want to torture her hiding place out of him.

But for these ten long weeks, there had been nothing. No messenger, no knife in the dark. Just the straw and the meager portions, the changing of the guards and the piss bucket.

Speaking of which.