Page 16 of Twisted Bonds

Her voice is pitched with panic. An edge of pain laces the question.

“I’m sorry. You’re the first person I’ve seen that isn’t Tairyn or one of his goons in… months? I’m not exactly sure how long I’ve been here.”

I steel myself for the oncoming puddle of sobs next door, bracing myself for the sense of helplessness I know will overcome me. I don’t think I can handle any more despair, but for her I’ll be strong. Yet before I even finish my words, the metal door of her cell is clanging as she rips and yanks on it in a fit of rage.

“Tairyn! You son of a bitch! If you’ve hurt them, I swear on everything you find holy, I will exact my slow and painful revenge. FUCKERRR!”

Not the distressed damsel I initially assumed, then.

The last word echoes down the dank corridors of the dungeon, and I can’t help but let out a choked laugh. It has been so long since I’ve heard anyone stand up to Tairyn. Despite the dire circumstances, it’s refreshing. I press my cheek against the cold stone and just listen to her labored breathing slowly return to normal.

“Callum?” Her voice is softer now, but I can still hear the underlying strength in it.

“Yes?”

“Do you know where we are?”

I shake my head, forgetting for a moment that she can’t see me. “I have some guesses, but I can’t be certain,” I admit. “Somewhere deep underground, an ancient mountain. From the different sediments evident in my walls, I’ve determined this must be in the Western Slopes due to the high concentration of-”

“How far are the Western Slopes from the Litwood Forest?”

A part of me bristles slightly as my pent-up observations were just about to pour out of me. Although… yes. That can wait. Prioritize information.

“The Litwood? At least a week’s ride. Why?”

“That’s the last place I remember being. It’s where my… friends were.”

The pause before the words friends demands my notice, like my mind desperately wants to analyze a profound hesitation. A discovery. I press my hand over my chest, a vain attempt to still my nerves. If this woman is who I think she may be…

“Are you hurt?” I ask, almost fearful of the response. What could I even do if she’s bleeding to death on the other side of this wall?

“No, no. I’m… fine.” She says it like she’s almost surprised by her answer. “I’m Mira.”

Even the letters of her name tickle some deep part of my subconscious mind. A knowing.

I must be imagining this.

“What song is that?” she asks. I cock my head in confusion, listening for a hint of music that may be echoing from above. “The one you were humming just now.”

I was humming? I rewind the moment, paying closer attention to myself. I suppose I was humming. “A traveling troupe passed through the city I was staying in the night before I met Tairyn. I guess that melody stuck with me.”

She gives a thoughtful hum.

My fingertip aches, and I glance down to see it wrapped up in a fray thread of my shirt hem turning blue. Absently, I unwrap it and wrap a different finger instead. I open my mouth to explain the unique sediment patterns just as Mira says, “So, what’d you do to get in here?”

A stab of anxiety rips through my chest. It’s not as though Tairyn read me a list of charges before bringing me here.

I don’t know. It’s the truest response I have. Sure, there’s speculation to be had, but that’s not the same as the truth. In fact, it all felt very sudden and out of place.

My mind flashes back to that day in the Great Library of Azuryn. I always loved that great hall. The quietest of all the Great Libraries. The monks who run it take a vow of silence. I was flipping through pages of Remorse, Lexicon of Echoes, when he took the seat next to me.

I suspected immediately who he was. A scent, a feeling. Something about him resonated deep inside me. And no one sits at the same table, much less in the next chair. He began with making idle chitchat about a grimoire laying discarded in my stack. I found him to be both informed and opinionated, a combination of qualities I enjoy engaging.

The subject of our connection to one another didn’t arise at all. I suspect he was feeling me out. At the end of our whispered debate, he asked me to meet him again later that evening in a tavern, as he had some business to attend. After agreeing, I reached over to shake his hand and his eyes glazed over. It was so fast, so subtle. I would have missed it had I not been looking for recognition between us when we touched. Looking back with my current knowledge, I can only assume he had some vision about me.

“We met in a taproom one evening. It was our second encounter. Both were friendly debates. One moment, we were discussing politics and the ongoing conflict on the Holy Isle. The next, I wake up here. That’s all I know for certain.”

“Ok, so you’re not a murderer or anything. That’s good to know.”

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