Sylvanis marched up the stone stairs.

With iron keys in hand and her weapon slithering behind, Sylvanis moved fast to the thick wooden door. She fit in the keys and twisted them, and she felt the lock lift from the stone. Then she pushed the door open and stepped from the dungeon. Deyus close behind, they moved into the great castle hall.

Torchlight flickered on the grey stone walls. No decorations or ornaments cluttered the corridor—only stone, dark and daunting. Beyond, through an archway, the King sat feasting, watching musicians perform and women dance. Six guardsmen stood surrounding his chair.

Sylvanis took a long stride forward. Her eyes turned to slits, her anger flared, and she beckoned her weapon with a twist of her hand.

Instead Deyus caught her wrist, staring in troubled awe.

“What are you doing?” he whispered.

“More than you, I imagine,” Sylvanis hissed. “If our path lies over the graves of those men, then I will hasten us towards freedom.”

She jerked her hand away.

Sylvanis watched her lover’s back straighten, and his gentle eyes narrow. His neck stiffened, and he took a step backwards.

“Sylvanis, my love,” he said softly. “What bitter words escape you? Are you not the gentle girl I know? To contemplate such action? To hasten towards it? What darkness has its roots in you?”

Sylvanis paused. Very suddenly she came to her senses. Again a fog lifted from the girl’s tender heart, and all at once she seemed to regain herself. She looked down the hall at the men she’d decided to kill.

To kill, just moments ago.

Now it seemed to her a far off dream.

Sylvanis wrapped herself up in her arms. Her head burned, her heart ached, and with nothing else to do she threw her arms around her love, holding him tightly through the cold and bitter pain.

“Oh Deyus,” she trembled in the flickering hall. “What has come over me? What wicked thoughts have snared my heart? Where did these evil desires come from? I do not know what to do.”

She winced as he pulled her closer, slipping back behind the door and pulling it shut. Somehow, through the pain, she felt comfort.

“Come,” Deyus said, releasing her. “Escape tonight will be impossible. Let us return to our cages and sleep.”

“No!” Sylvanis cried. “What if the King should come? What if you are to be wounded? Deyus I am losing my hope. Were you to be injured, I might fall into those thoughts eternal.”

Deyus looked deeply into her eyes and smiled.

“For you, I would bear a thousand pains,” he said. “Let us return to our cells tonight, and rest thoroughly. Then, before dawn, before that old cretin wakes with the sun, we will flee.”

“At dawn,” Sylvanis said.

“At dawn.”

Slowly, Sylvanis nodded. Her heart felt as heavy as a stone. She turned to the old wooden door and locked it, glancing one last time at the King and his men. Then the two went back down into the dungeon. Sylvanis held her love’s arm as they walked down the stairs. The two parted ways, and they trudged back to their cells.

That night, as she tried to sleep, Sylvanis woke suddenly to the sight of her serpent consuming the corpse of the guard she had killed. Between its memory and the torment in her heart, she slept little that night.