Bellamy and Stevens found themselves in metal shackles in a dungeon in Polis, not before the king, explaining the situation with Kane's assistance.
"We didn't do anything wrong," Bellamy assured Stevens. "Kane will explain. Echo just tends to overreact sometimes."
"She threw us in a dungeon. Isn't that more than a little overreaction?"
"Look, you're a soldier," Bellamy interrupted, keeping his voice low. "They won't expect you to know anything. Whatever happens, you stick to that."
"What?"
The footsteps Bellamy had heard stopped at the door to their cell. Echo stood there, flanked by two giant Azgeda men. Why were grounder men so big?
"Take Bellamy. He is close to their leader," Echo directed.
Bellamy managed a reassuring nod to Stevens before he was shoved out of the cell and around the corner. Bellamy was thrust to his knees in a room whose floor was covered in blood. No way this ended well.
"Echo, we have a truce," Bellamy tried to explain again. "Ask Kane. Ask Roan, your king."
"Your actions do not make sense given the truce," she responded, face and voice void of any emotion. "Explain."
"I did!"
A blow to his temple with the hilt of her sword sent him to the ground.
"Explain!"
"I can't!"
"Get him up," Echo ordered.
One of the men grabbed Bellamy by the arms and hauled him to his feet. He hung there, arms pinned painfully behind his back, wrists wrenched into an uncomfortable position.
"Speak," Echo snarled.
"I did," Bellamy wheezed, the awkward position making it difficult to breathe. "There's…no more. I have the seal."
Echo reached into his pocket and pulled it out. In a sudden surge of anger, she swung it at him.
Bellamy tried to duck, but it still caught him in the face. He grunted and could already feel blood trickling down his face. "What do you want?" he asked, spitting out blood and a tooth.
"Why were you hunting?"
"We need food. Eating…some'ing we do…when we're hungry."
Echo sighed. "Teach him. I will return." She left the room.
"Echo! Talk to Roan. He can ex—" Bellamy's shout was cut off by a rather solid fist to the stomach. He doubled over with a groan.
By the time Echo returned, Bellamy hung limping, gasping for air and well aware of how a punching bag felt. He moaned.
"Have you decided to speak?"
"Roan?" he countered weakly. If she would just speak to Roan, all of this could be explained. Or at least stopped. Surely Roan didn't want to test the truce with Clarke by beating Bellamy. If there was one thing Roan and the other grounders understood, it was not to mess with the people close to Clarke. Even Kane could get them out of this. Echo just had to actually communicate with people.
"Water," Echo said, pointing to a large tub in the corner.
"Wait, what? Echo, it's the truth," Bellamy insisted. "Just talk to someone. They can explain."
"You are weak. You have nothing to say to me, yet you speak anyway. Is it to avoid the pain? Are you not the second to the great Wanheda, the Commander of Death? She has chosen poorly."
Bellamy wanted to argue, because he wasn't Clarke's second, and wasn't he a sort of Commander of Death too, since he'd pulled the lever with her? But it wasn't a title he nor Clarke wanted, as they'd talked about this morning.
Suddenly, his head was under water, and he couldn't breathe. Bellamy struggled, but he knew it was hopeless. The men were twice as big as he was, and he was already weak from the beating they'd given when Echo had left, not to mention his head still pounded from her sword, and the world spun a little when he moved too quickly.
When he was at least pulled up, he gasped desperately, lungs on fire.
"Tell me what is happening."
Bellamy glared and spat on her shoe. He had nothing more to say. Speaking was weakness.
"Again."
It was a vicious cycle. Echo would have him dunked, he'd refuse to respond to her questions and taunts, and his head would go under again.
The last thing he remembered was Clarke sleeping on the couch, Octavia's glowing butterflies dancing all around the Princess's still figure. Then—darkness.