The Messenger( Iva) novel Chapter 185

The Truth 11-T

They walked out of the bedroom and into the corridor. Then down the grand staircase, past the great hall, past the rooms she had begun to recognize. But they didn’t stop there.

The scenery began to change.

The ornate tapestries gave way to bare stone. The warm torchlight grew dimmer, flickering in iron sconces that seemed older than the rest of the castle.

The air turned cooler.

Damp.

There was a smell-something metallic, something that made her stomach clench.

Iva’s footsteps slowed.

“Caleb,” she said carefully. “Where are we going?”

He didn’t look back at her. His voice was flat when he spoke.

“The dungeon.”

The word dropped between them like a stone into deep water.

Iva’s blood turned to ice.

She wanted to stop. Wanted to pull her hand from his and run back up the stairs and pretend she had never asked. But her feet kept moving, drawn forward by his grip and her own desperate need to know the truth.

They descended a narrow spiral staircase. The light grew dimmer. The smell grew stronger-damp stone, rust, something else she couldn’t name.

At the bottom, a long corridor stretched before them. Cells lined both sides, their doors thick and ancient, reinforced with iron. Most were empty. Most were dark.

But not all.

Caleb led her to the last cell on the left.

He stopped in front of it.

Iva’s eyes adjusted to the gloom. The cell was small, barely large enough for a cot and a bucket. And inside, curled on the cot, was a woman.

She was thin. Too thin. Her dark hair hung in greasy strands around her face. Her clothes were torn, dirty, hanging off a body that had clearly not eaten well recently. But her eyes-her eyes were sharp. Aware. They lifted to meet Iva’s, and something flickered in them.

Recognition. Fear. And beneath that, a spark of something else.

Defiance.

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The Truth

Iva’s bile rose to her throat, as she recognized the girl… she was the same who visited the penthouse.

Claim

Her stomach heaved. She pressed a hand to her mouth, swallowing hard, trying not to be sick right there on the stone floor. The metallic smell made sense now. It was blood. Old blood, dried and forgotten, but blood nonetheless.

Caleb’s voice came from beside her, low and tight, spoken between his teeth.

“Iva,” he said. “Please meet Sonia.”

Sonia.

The name landed like a slap.

Iva stared at the woman in the cell. This was the person who had stolen her identity? Who had pretended to be the Messenger? Who treated her so arrogant when they met?

But looking at her now-broken and starved and locked in a dungeon-Iva felt something she hadn’t expected.

Pity.

“What happened to her?” Iva whispered.

Caleb’s hand tightened on hers.

“She was caught in the act trying to feed us more black magic. Plus, her entire pretend act was uncovered.” His voice was cold. Empty.

He took a step closer to the cell, and Sonia flinched back against the wall.

“She had been impersonating you for weeks,” Caleb continued. “Weeks of pretending to be the Messenger. Weeks of accepting gifts and tributes from packs who believed she could save them. Months of lying.”

Iva’s mind reeled.

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

Caleb turned to look at her. His face was hard, but his eyes-his eyes were conflicted. Torn between the man she knew and something darker.

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