Chapter 47. A Tortured Soul... Without a Soul

Rafe

The dungeon stinks of urine, mildew, and wet stone. Not to mention old blood that has seeped into the floors and will never come up. I avoid coming down here whenever possible because it wreaks of death and decay, and nothing remotely pleasant ever happens here.

Likewise, I don’t like to send people here. I’ve found some people prefer this sort of duty more than I do, so ever since King Axel put me in charge of prisoners a few years back, I’ve delegated as much of their care to Kris as possible. This is where that bastard really shines. He can get someone to confess their deepest darkest secrets without even breaking a sweat.

When I’m finished with Jerim in the feeders’ quarters, and we’re quite certain everything that has been contaminated has been thrown out, I make my way down here. My boots thump along the stone floor as I follow the dim lights toward the sound of crying.

I summoned Kris as soon as I found out what was going on. I di