I don’t deserve you. But I’m going to keep you all the same.

The dungeons in Calldyr are hot.

Sweat soaked through my clothes, dangerously dehydrated, head swimming levels of hot. I can feel the layer of dried salt where it’s crusted on my face.

Still, I don’t drink the water. They haven’t decided what to do with us yet–the children of the leaders of the Apostasy–but I wouldn’t put it past them to just poison us and be done with it. Claim it as an unfortunate contamination in the food or drink they gave us. Quietly doing whatever it takes to cover for their lies is the Navarrian way after all.

The tiny cot in the corner of my cell is stiff and uncomfortable, but I’m so far past the point of caring as I stare up at the stone ceiling and take a deep breath in.

I have to keep breathing. Dad would want me to keep breathing. 

(read the rest at the above link)