Chains and Broken Magic
Copyright© 2026 by Rachael Jane
Chapter 17: Lyralyn: The Interrogation
After Aelwyn and Mara escape the whole fortress seems to shudder. The kitchens are quieter than usual. Brunna barks fewer orders. The other servants move with stiff, nervous motions. Even the fires seem to burn lower, as if the hall itself is holding its breath.
Then the guards arrive in the kitchen. Six of them. Broad‑shouldered. Stone‑faced. Armed.
“Everyone against the wall,” one growls.
My heart stops. We obey. Collared and uncollared servants ... pressed shoulder to shoulder against the cold stone. The guards search the shelves, the tables, the storage crates. They overturn pots, scatter herbs, sniff jars. When they reach the jar containing raw frostleaf, my stomach twists.
One guard lifts the jar, sniffs it, frowns. “This has been used.”
Brunna bristles. “Of course it has been used. This is a kitchen.”
The guard ignores her. He turns to us. “Who touched this?”
Silence. My pulse hammers in my ears.
He steps closer. “A human and an elf escaped. They used a powder. A powder made from frostleaf.”
Another guard scans our faces. “Someone here helped them.”
Brunna tries to intervene. “My workers wouldn’t...”
“Quiet,” the guard snaps.
His gaze lands on me. Small. Elven. Frightened.
“Bring her,” he says, pointing towards me.
My breath catches. “No ... please...”
But they seize my arms and drag me from the kitchen. Brunna shouts something, but her voice fades as the corridor swallows us.
Two guards take me deeper into the caverns, to a small chamber lit by a single torch. The air is cold. The stone walls drip with moisture. A table sits in the centre, bare except for a single wooden stool.
“Sit,” one guard orders.
I sit. My hands tremble in my lap. The guards stand over me like mountains.
“Tell us how the human and the elf escaped,” one says.
“I ... I don’t know,” I whisper.
A lie. A thin one. A fragile one.
The guard leans closer. “We found traces of frostleaf powder in the arena. Powder only elves know how to use.”
My throat tightens.
“Did you make the powder?” he asks.
I shake my head. “No.”
“Did you help them?”
“No.”
“Did you speak to the human servant Mara?”
“No.”
The guard slams his hand on the table. I flinch.
“Lies. All lies.”
Tears sting my eyes. “Please ... I didn’t...”
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