She paces around, kicking a rock on the ground. She checks the clock tower again, it’s two past midnight. He sure is taking a while. The tavern opposite her has now filled up with soldiers that have exited the castle. Rowdily drinking themselves into a drunken stupor. A group off to the side is monkeying around the table. One of them climbing onto it only to immediately trip over himself to fall face flat on the ground, sending his friends into howling laughter. Another group somewhere in the middle is trying to chat up the bar girl that’s working there. And sporadically, a few of them stumble out of the tavern to piss in the alley way beside. Then she’s suddenly hollered at,  

“Hey scar face lady over there.” she turns her attention towards the speaker. A brunette soldier. He’s flushed red, drooping off the table, one arm shaking the mug in his hand as he beckons,  

“Come drink with us. Whoever you’re waiting for doesn’t seem like they’re going to show. Lord Wascald is in a good mood today. Free ale on his tabs.”  

She politely declines,  

“It’s alright. I’m not a big fan of alcohol.”  

“Give it another shot. Drown your sorrows. It’s better than sulking alone.”  

“Huh.” she touches her face, “was I sulking?” 

“I know a sulking girl when I see one.” his intoxicated blond friend beside him joins the conversation, “Let me guess. Got stood up by a lover?” 

“Is he in the army? Give us his name. If we know him, we’ll drag him out for you.”  

“Soril. The White Ghost of Astia.” that immediately made them go silent. Then they burst out laughing,  

“You’re a funny lady.” she doesn’t get it,  

“But I’m not joking.”  

“The White Ghost of Astia. Crown Prince’s Loyal Dog. Lord Soril Blaine. Now, why will he be loitering around here. Last I heard he’s sent to defend Ryden.” huh. Has the news not been passed yet?  

“But Ryden is already sieged. I was there when it happened.” 

“Pssh. Nonsense. If it was sieged, then we would’ve known. Lord Wascald would’ve informed us to close the gates and strengthen the security. We won’t be leisurely drinking out here right now.” strange. Something isn’t adding up here.   

“That’s why Soril’s here, to inform Lord Wascald that Ryden is sieged.”  

“There aren’t any reports of a visitor to the castle today, lady. Especially not someone prominent from the Crown.” his blond friend is contributing,  

“Besides, heard that man’s colder than ice. He won’t be fooling around with no peasant girl like yourself. You probably got lied to by an impersonator. Tough luck.” 

Soril... isn’t the real Soril? That doesn’t seem right. Their description of Soril sounds exactly like him. Then did Soril lie to her about going to see Lord Wascald? No... He has no reason to. As he said, if he wanted to ditch her, he can just outrun her. Soril doesn’t have a logical motive to deceive her.  

Then, that must mean, Lord Wascald is the one that kept secret from his soldiers about Soril’s visit. But why would he? Why doesn’t a city lord want to warn his own men that danger is encroaching? It’s pointing towards one answer. Because he doesn’t want them to know. He doesn’t want them to be prepared for an attack. It’s the same ambush tactic Estelis used in Ryden. Lord Wascald sounds shady. Soril may be in danger! She snaps her head up, rapidly approaches their table, 

“Hey. How do I get into the castle?” but they’re not matching her exigency, 

“The castle isn’t a market you can just stroll in willy-nilly.” the brunette soldier slurs frolicsomely, and the blond soldier waves,  

“Besides. Lord Wascald mentioned he had some private business to attend to suddenly, so he dismissed most of the guards. No one is allowed to enter, not even us.” private business. That must be Soril. Is he held captive by Lord Wascald? 

“Please. This is urgent. Tell me how I get into the castle. This city may be under attack very soon. Get everyone to stop drinking-” 

“Woah, lady. Lady. Calm down. It’s all good. Nobody’s getting attacked. Stop being so paranoid.” They won’t take her seriously. What can she do? Oh. There’s something she can try. Reaching into her pocket, she pulls out a gold coin,  

“If you tell me how to get into the castle. You can have this.”   

“Wait is that-” they squint at the sparkly object she has in her hand, before the brunette one suddenly darts an arm forward, trying to snatch it out of her fingers but she retreats it just in time,  

“Uh-uh. I’ll give it to which ever one of you that tells me how to get into the castle first.”  

“You can’t just brib-” but the blond soldier interrupts him, instantly taking her bait,  

“There’s a crawl hole in the back gardens. 12 o’clock from the griffin fountain. Covered by an ivy bush. Oak tree beside it. Lord Wascald uses it to discreetly sneak prostitutes in sometimes so it’s definitely still there.” She hands him the coin. Pulls out another one,  

“How heavily is the castle guarded? Who’s in the castle.”  

Brunette answers her this time, “only his personal guards remained. About a total of twenty or so armed men, thirty servants, Lord Wascald, his wife and his two children.” She successfully lured them with greed. Retrieving the third coin, she drops another question, 

“Describe the layout. Where are the guards situated?”  

“Four stationed at the front gates. Eight patrolling the perimeters. Six in front of resting chambers of the family in the castle’s main building. And the rest will be guarding the entrance to the dungeons.”  

“Where are the dungeons?”  

“Top of the tallest tower.”  

“How do I get into the tower?” 

“From the stables.” okay. She thinks she has a pretty good idea of the structure now.  

“Thanks. That’ll be all.” she grabs another handful of coins to plop it on their table, “for your troubles.” she says skidding off. Not looking at them go bonkers at the sight and questioning if they’re hallucinating from a drunken frenzy.  

She makes her way around the castle’s exterior walls. Paved with huge cuts of stone, creaked by moss in the gaps, spikes mounted on the top. She spots the oak tree up front. Ivy bush beside it. Just as the soldiers described. She kneels, shuffling through it. A triangular crack, size of a manhole reveals itself. The dirt beneath it has been slightly dug out. Some crawl marks are left behind. Recently made. Untouched by the weather. She squeezes herself through the other end and just as she gets back up on her feet. She freezes. Two guards are patrolling past right in front of her with torch lights. She stays still as she can. A branch snaps beneath her feet. Fuck. So, cliché! Now they’re alerted,  

“Who’s there!” the torch fire is brought towards her direction. She swoops behind a tree before the light can catch up to her. Pressing her back tightly against the bark. Stops breathing. Her heartbeats are getting deafening. She can’t get caught here. But the footsteps are encroaching. Their shadows, getting closer.  

Shit. Shit. Shit. What can she do? She frantically looks around. A little field mouse is emerging from a bush, sniffling her toes. Sorry buddy. She gives it a nudge on the bum. It frantically scurries away with a loud screech. The orange light chasing the direction in which it ran.  

“Oh. It’s just a rat.” Then the light’s brought back to her again. Flickering left, right. Darkness. The guards move forward, but it’s only when she can no longer hear the crunch of their boots that she finally dares exhale. It’s okay. She should be okay now.  

Cautiously. She peeks over the tree. Examining her surroundings. It’s a small sized castle. She’s currently at the back. It’s hard to see details with only the moon’s illumination, so she’s first drawn towards the lights. The room on the top floor of the main building is lit. The bedroom chambers, she assumes. Beneath it, directly at 12 o’clock, is the griffin fountain as mentioned. The tallest tower is off to the side. Towards the east facing wall. So, she is quietly crouching her way over. Stealthily as she can. Tucking herself between the bushes and the tall stone fence. Once she turns the corner, she freezes again.   

Voices. It sounds like people chatting. She ducks down. Lies flat. Waits for a few moments. Nothing happens. She peers through the leaf forage. She’s at the horse stables as she was told. Behind it, is the entrance to the dungeon tower. Two guards, standing on each side of the heavily pad locked door. Whereas seven others, gather around a table in front of them. Leisurely drinking and playing poker.  

It’s more heavily guarded than she had anticipated. The soldiers told her there were only going to be two.  They’re definitely keeping someone in there. But... how would she get in? There’s no way she can sneak past all of them. The stables are brightly lit. There’s a huge lock in the way. She flicks her head up to measure the height of the tower. It’s protruded with vines and stones. A barred window at the very top. Should she try to climb it instead?  

But in Bathory’s body with one injured arm that has extremely limited movements? She doesn’t have confidence that she’ll make it. Or maybe she can try bribing them. No. it’s too risky. It just takes one honorable guard to decline, and this entire plan falls apart. Tsk. This is troublesome.  

Then, the sound of a door swinging open makes her duck down again. Someone’s coming out from the main building on the opposite side. A servant girl. She has a tray of bread in one hand. Lamp in another. She’s going towards the tower. The guards are letting her in. She watches her disappear into the darkness of the spiraling stairs. Another idea pops into her head. This is the best chance she has. 

Quickly, she shuffles towards the main building using the cover of the night. Slipping behind the still closing door that the servant girl previously came out from. It takes her to an unlit kitchen. She swipes a chopping knife off a holster before tucking herself behind the counter, making sure she has a clear view of the door for when the servant comes back.  

She doesn’t have to wait long. Now, carrying only the oil lamp, the servant leisurely strolls in again five minutes later. Placing it onto a tabletop, she’s just about to blow out the flames when Lumeria darts out. Choking an arm around her neck, the servant gasps. 

“Hush.” she presses the tip of the knife against the servant’s back,  

“Don’t make a sound. I’m not going to hurt you.” God. She feels like a villain doing this. The poor girl is shaking like a leaf, frantically nodding at the same time to convey that she’s not going to resist. Still, Lumeria tightens her hold,  

“But I need you to pass out for a while.” until the servant’s gagging falls silent, and she goes completely limp. Afterwards. She drags her off to a corner. Exchanges their clothes. She tucks a gold coin into the pockets of her former brown tunic, whispering a silent apology to the servant despite she’s no longer conscious to hear her, 

“Sorry for the trouble. I hope you can forgive me with this.” 

Then she prepares a pitcher of water. Ties her hair up in a bun. Secures the bonnet back on. She again, leaves the building with a jug in one hand and an oil lamp on the other. Feigning her best confidence, she calmly approaches the tower. The table of poker soldiers doesn’t seem to react to her. That’s good news. But the closer she gets, the harder her heart pounds. She tries her best to keep her hands steady. Repeats to herself to get into her role. She’s just a servant girl. Here to deliver water to prisoners.  

She stops before the two guards guarding the entrance. Keeping her face low to the ground. They aren’t opening the door for her. Instead, they’re examining her. Do they suspect her? What if they know the servant personally? Then one asks,  

“Why are you back again.” looks like they don’t. She’s still safe. 

“The prisoners haven’t drunk anything in a while.” Plural. The servant carried multiple loaves of bread. She shows him the pitcher.  

“Go back. They have no need for such luxury.”  

“Lord Wascald orders to keep them alive.”  

The two guards exchange silent glances, before one steps forward to undo the pad lock,  

“Make haste. No more entries afterwards.” but just as she walks through, she’s called out again,  

“Hey.” She stops. Her stomach drops. She keeps her arms from trembling. The other guard remarks,  

“Did you always have such a nasty scar on your face?” shit. Keep calm. Keep confidence. Don't waver. 

“Yes. Always.” 

“Right.” He closes the door behind her. She finally lets out a breath of relief. She couldn’t believe that worked. Without further ado, she quickly makes her way up the spiraling stairs. It’s a breathless climb to the top. The cells finally come in view, lining around the circumference. And without a doubt, right at the opposite corner, she catches a glimpse of his silver hair, glowing pearlescent under the moonlight pouring in from the barred windows above him. He’s slumped against the wall. Wrists chained up behind his back. 

“Soril!” she calls out, hastily striding over. Lowering herself, she empties her hands to grip the door. This is heavily padlocked too. He’s slowly lifting his head up,  

“Lu...meria?” his voice sounds weak; his complexation is awful; his breaths are ragged and heavy. He was drugged.  

But the moment he registers that it’s her, his eyes widen, and he pushes himself to ask,  

“What are you doing here?”  

“To play your knight in shining armor of course.” she says not looking at him, “told you I’ll find you if you ditched me.” Instead, she’s trying to pick at the lock with the kitchen knife that she took.  

“Wascald was bought. Estelis is coming.” he rasps.  

“I know. I realized that too.” Around them, the other prisoners are frantically stretching an arm out,  

“Free us. Please.” She can’t even open Soril’s lock. Much less attempt theirs. She's really clumsy. The frustration is slipping her grip. She's nicking at her own fingers. God dammit. This isn't working. Thieves make it look so easy. She is starting to regret not taking her lock picking classes more seriously now that she can’t just crush through it. And with one agitated twist. Her knife snaps at the tip. God fucking dammit! Why is she so useless! 

“Reach into my back pocket.” she flicks her head up to look at him. He’s slugging himself towards her. Pulling the chains holding him taut to lean against the bars,  

“Wascald keeps the keys beneath his pillow. Third floor. Center door.” he turns on a side to allow her access. She feels something round and metallic within it. Pulling it out. It’s a smoke bomb he purchased earlier. She immediately understands what he wants her to do.   

“Do you think you can retrieve it?”  

“I will retrieve it.” she says standing up, “wait for me. I’ll be back.”