They take her to the palace complex, which is full of soldiers milling in the rain, and then down several flights of stairs to what she supposes is a dungeon, by definition, though it's clean, and there's a cot and a pitcher of water and, once someone notices that she's shivering violently, a change of clothes. They take her holy symbol. This shouldn't be half as upsetting as it is. She knows what they do to you when they take you prisoner and she wouldn't have minded any of it half as much as she minds the way the guard jerks Iomedae's sword and its chain off her neck.

If she were alone she would sob herself to sleep but there are guards posted at the door, and Feliu is still here, and so she maintains her composure. Kneels at the cot and prays and falls asleep right there, kneeling, her head nestled on her hands nestled on the cot.

At dawn she startles awake, aching all over, in a horrible kind of pain which has nothing to do with the poor sleeping position. It is a familiar pain - the blockade of Pezzack felt similar, waking every morning to track which of your family are dead for real and which only in nightmares and which of the memories of their deaths are the real ones - but with an added, dizzying uncertainty. In Pezzack she never felt uncertain. 

"Should I pray?" she asks Feliu, once she's sure her voice will be steady.