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“ I see you made it all on your own,” Jesmine said as a way of greeting me. She wore another elegant, long gown, this one all indigo and lace with a scooped neckline.

“Yes, my lady. You look lovely, as always.” The words slipped from my mouth— I guess I am going to try flattery after all .

She gave no response to my compliment and pointed to the wood chair. “I have important guests to attend to and much work to be done, so hurry up now.”

I seated myself and outstretched my arm.

Jesmine removed the bandage from the previous day and grabbed the small blade waiting on the side table. “Jarrett!” she called. A crease formed in the center of her brow as she focused on the task and ignored my gaze.

Without warning, she cut my forearm, gripping and pulling my wrist painfully as the blood flowed steadily out and up into the drawing vial.

“Jarrett!” An annoyed sigh escaped her, and she grumbled under her breath. “That mongrel of a man is useless. I need flasks and he is nowhere to be found.” She moved to take the vial away.

Not wanting to waste the opportunity to make myself valuable, I said, “I can get them for you.”

She paused and turned to me; her eyebrow arched as if confused why I spoke.

“The flasks,” I clarified.

“Hmm,” she mused, her features lifting. “What a good idea. Wait here.” She took the vial into the side room.

Moments later, she emerged with a torch in her hand—an Ashloran torch. “Take this and go down into the dungeon.” She handed me the stick with the blue flame burning at the end.

My stomach flipped.

“You know where the door to the dungeon is, I trust?” Her eyes drilled into me.

I swallowed the lump in my throat and nodded. I couldn’t take back the offer, not when I had only done it to gain her liking.

“Good. Go to the dungeon door, take the stairs down, and follow the corridor all the way to the end. The storage room is the last door on the left and the flasks are on a shelf in the third row to the right. I need half a dozen or so. And be quick.” She waited, assessing my reaction.

I smiled, trying to hide my reluctance. “Yes, my lady.” Searching for an excuse and coming up empty, I turned to the door and scrambled out of the lab, torch in hand.

Jesmine was testing me, and I was determined to impress her.

My legs felt numb. One foot plodded in front of the other, down the curved hallway and on to the next. Reaching the stairs, I followed them down to the first floor of the fortress.

I had passed the dungeon door every day when leaving and returning to my room. It was only the one time, when walking by it with Claire, that I heard a skin crawling shriek from below. I prayed I wouldn’t encounter the source of that noise today.

The dungeon door was crafted from a dark, almost charred wood. I stared at the round obsidian knob and braced myself, making a plan to get in and out as quickly as possible.

My palm tingled as it laid over the cold, black, glass-like surface.

I twisted the knob and pulled.

The hinges released a moan.

The stairs and walls leading down were made of a rough gray slate that greedily ate up my torchlight.

As I proceeded, the air turned cold and dank; the stairwell spiraled down into the unknown. The smell of smoke and decay grew pungent as I reached the bottom step. I paused and let my eyes adjust.

The blue flame cast an eerie glow into the surrounding space.

I listened for any signs of movement. After moments of holding still, a distant trickle was the only sound to reach me.

Continuing quietly, I wanted to remain unnoticed by anyone or anything that lurked in the gloom. As it seemed all pathways in the fortress did, the passage curved and curved, obstructing my view ahead.

On my right-hand side, the first door became visible. It was substantial, made of thick battered wood, with iron bars slatted along a small opening at head height.

I swore the wavering light caught on a pair of beady black eyes within. But I had no intention of stopping, and hurried by without a backward glance.

There were several more doors on the right side, all equally daunting. I picked up my pace, eager to put them behind me.

The dim light made it impossible to see more than a few steps beyond, and I began thinking the passage might have looped around on itself.

A shuffle sounded from ahead.

I stopped and waited, trying to ease my breathing.

Moments passed, but the sound didn’t return. There was no choice but to push on.

The passage ended, and a single entryway on the left appeared—just as Jesmine had said.

The storage room door was skimpy compared to the others I passed, propped open with a small wedge.

Inside, a lantern hung from a hook on the far wall. Flickering shadows cast throughout the chamber. Crates and supplies filled row after row of shelving in both directions. The air sat stagnant, with an odor of rotting wood and strange chemicals.

Three rows on the left? … No … It was three rows on the right.

Hoping I remembered correctly, I turned right and passed the first row of shelving.

A large hand wrapped around my neck.

My scream stifled—I was pushed up against the hard wall. The jolt knocked the torch from my hand. It clattered to the ground.

Severe eyes loomed down on me, darkening.

“What are you doing in here?” spat a deep and demanding voice.

“The Keeper … sent me,” I choked, squirming against the cold stone.

Penetrating eyes flared wide—silver-gray eyes—it was the Ashlora man I had encountered on my first day.

Eyebrows lifting, the hand at my throat released. “Human,” he uttered, taking a step back. “Why would she send you down here?”

Too stunned for words, I remained still and silent.

“Never mind. Go back upstairs,” he ordered.

Hopeful the threat had faded, I reached for my torch. “I was sent to get flasks,” I said. My hand shook as it wrapped around the wooden staff— it could be a weapon if needed.

He let out a cynical laugh, his face obscured in the shadows.

Moments passed as we stood motionless, assessing one another.

With the large Ashlora obstructing my way, I was about to flee back through the doorway when he turned, his silhouette vanishing into the third row.

Pulling in a long breath, and letting it out slowly, I searched for the courage to stay and finish my task.

Before I could act, the stranger reappeared with a small crate of clinking glass.

He lifted it toward me. “Here. Hurry back up. And don’t drop your torch this time,” he warned, although his voice lacked the hostility it held a moment earlier.

“Thank you.” I took the crate slowly so as not to give him a reason to attack.

Cradling the flasks in my right arm, tightly clutching the torch with my left, I backed out of the chamber.

My gait was steady as I moved down the winding corridor, frequently checking behind me.

By the time I reached the top of the spiraling stone stairwell, I was breathing heavily, heart pounding.

I pushed open the solid wood door and latched it firmly behind me.

The natural light and fresh air were a welcomed sensation.

Back in Jesmine’s lab, she was at a far table, heating a beaker of dark liquid over the flame of a stone.

Sparing me a quick glance, she said, “Leave them on the table.”

Of course, there was no thank you from the witch. I didn’t know what was down in that dungeon other than the mysterious Ashlora man, but she’d sent me down there knowing it wasn’t safe.

Why does she keep the flasks in the dungeon anyway?

I resisted the urge to slam the crate down and gently set it at the center table and made to leave.

“Nova,” she said in a teasing voice. “Aren’t you forgetting something?”

It took me a moment to realize that I still held a firm grip on the Ashloran torch.

Her lips curled as she instructed me to set the torch in the wall bracket on my way out.

“Are all Ashlora so wicked?” I asked Claire.

We were cleaning the room of the lanky man that had called me a nasty creature. Thankfully, his stay had ended, leaving one less threat in the halls.

“What happened?” Claire replied. “You look upset.”

“Jesmine. She sent me down into the dungeon to get flasks.” My blood was still heated from the morning’s events.

Claire stilled, focusing on me as I continued. “And when I was down there, an Ashlora man attacked me.”

“What!” she gasped. “Who attacked you? Are you sure it was an Ashlora?”

“Well, I may have startled him, but he grabbed me before I had a chance to declare the Keeper had sent me. He was definitely an Ashlora. Those unmistakable gray eyes came uncomfortably close.”

“I’m glad you are ok,” Claire said. “I hate the dungeon. When—”

“Ahmm,” a voice sounded at the doorway.

It was the older Ashlora servant—or Ms. Salty, as I referred to her. She stood with her eyes fixed on Claire. “You’re needed below. One of our helpers is sick and we need you to cover her duties.”

Claire shot me a look. She appeared less than eager to follow the Ashlora’s orders, but continued out of the room, leaving me to finish cleaning the guests’ floor.

The next morning, I trudged up to the third floor for my blood offering. I was relieved to see Jarrett waiting when I entered the lab.

Taking my spot in the chair, I held out my arm.

“Glad to see you could make it today.” I commented with a tight smile.

I bit my cheek to keep myself from adding, it would have been nice if you were here yesterday to fetch the flasks.

Deep down, I knew it wasn’t his fault. I had been foolish to offer to go in his place, which was the only reason I held my tongue.

Unaware of my inner turmoil, Jarret gave me a curt nod and began the process. “Make sure you keep the area clean. We have a lot of collections to make, and you don’t want to get an infection.”

“I’ve been keeping it covered while doing my cleaning tasks,” I replied.

As he tightened the band and prepared my arm, I studied his eyes.

They weren’t the same gray as Jesmine’s or the other Ashlora’s, but more hazel with a solid gray border.

He must be an Eccentrik —one of mixed blood.

There weren’t many Eccentriks in Fernton, none that I knew, and I’d never met someone with his eye color, but it was too different from any other race.

“Is there something you need?” His eyes caught with mine.

“No, sorry. Just tired is all,” I said. While the man was always civil with me, I wasn’t about to dive into his lineage.

Jesmine’s voice crooned from the back room. It sounded like she was explaining a procedure to one of her students.

A deep timbre replied.

It took me a moment to place his voice—it was the Ashlora man from the dungeon. His tone was less severe and more cordial as he chatted with the Keeper, but I was certain it was him.

Fragments of their conversation drifted into the room … “I’m expected to return in the upcoming weeks … discuss the extraction …”

“Yes … at that time I am sure we …” They traded parting words while making plans for a future meeting. I couldn’t gather the rest.

“Ok, we are all done here.” Jarret said, interrupting my eavesdropping.

I quickly gathered myself and exited the lab. I didn’t want to risk another encounter with the Ashlora man, intriguing as he was.