Caelith spent three agonizing days within the depths of the Imperial Prison.
No one dared lay a hand on her; Rhaegar's unspoken, lethal warning had reached every official involved in the investigation. Yet, while they did not torture her body, they sought to systematically break her spirit.
One interrogator after another entered her damp cell, launching an endless barrage of questions.
What was her relationship with the Grandien faction? Did she know where the rebels were hiding? Why had she met with them? What treason were they plotting? Why was she trying to overturn the old case?
The grueling sessions bled from dawn until deep into the night. Again, and again, and again.
Yet Caelith never wavered. She answered nothing, revealed nothing. She sat in absolute silence through every interrogation—as silent as stone, as silent as winter snow, as silent as a grave. No matter how loud they shouted or what they threatened, she simply lowered her eyes and endured.
