Page 22 of From the Myths of Kings

The torchbearer is glad not to see the prisoner beyond the metal bars. It makes his job easier.

The prisoner has been locked away for so long that most have forgotten who it is. Either that or those who do know of their identity have never told a living soul, refusing to share the prisoner’s name even with the guards who periodically creep down the tunnel to bring them food. People in purple robes used to come down here in the beginning, but over time, they gradually stopped visiting. It’s been three years since the last cloaked visitor had stood outside of the prisoner’s cell. The other torchbearers theorize that the prisoner huddled in the shadows of the cell like the blind salamanders who live down there is a beast too hideous for the light. The occupant never speaks, so it is hard to tell if they are an animal or a person.

“Brought some more food,” the torchbearer mumbles as he shuffles up to the bars. His voice echoes eerily through the silent cavern.

As usual, the prisoner says nothing in return. The previous bucket brought down a few days ago is empty and sitting outside of the cell door. The torchbearer tries to cast the light deeper into the cell, but the shadows skitter across the small enclosure and cloak the prisoner as though protecting them. He glimpses a barefoot dragging back into the corner before darkness masks the prisoner entirely. Only glassy eyes with dilated pupils peer out of the shadows, the whites of their eyes bloodshot.

“Good, you’re still alive.” The torchbearer shoves the bucket of food and bottle of wine through the bars and hastily steps back just in case the starving caged beast decides to rip off his hand with knife-like teeth.

“Yes,” comes a reply. “Unfortunately.”

The torchbearer nearly jumps out of his skin, catching himself just in time before he hits his head on the low ceiling. He nearly urinated himself at the sound of that raspy voice. A woman’s voice. Not a beast then. Or maybe she was a beast. Many strange creatures have been known to speak the common tongue of man.

Uneasy, the torchbearer scampers back up the path without looking back. He doesn’t want to engage the prisoner in conversation. He doesn’t want to know who she is or why she is a prisoner.

He doesn’t want anything to do with her. Just like the rest of the world, he wants to forget about her.

“Please,” the voice calls. “Please, let me out.”

Just like all his previous dreams, Rook woke in a sheen of sweat, half believing he’d just been in that damp cave himself. He swore the cloying scent of loam and mold still lingered in his nose. As he lay in bed with the flush of dawn creeping in through his open window, questions lodged like arrows in his mind. Who was the imprisoned woman? Was it a fictional scene stolen out of a dust-coated myth, or was it a present reality?

His mind tracked back to the man with the torch, whose colorless eyes reflected the flames like cloudy water. With the man’s white hair and the dream’s cave setting, it was likely the mysterious prisoner was kept somewhere in Terradrin. Again, he wondered if the dream had been extracted from a moment long ago, or if it was a window into some poor unfortunate soul’s current reality. If he had gotten a better glimpse of the shadowy prisoner, he might’ve been able to determine the meaning of the dream. Those pale blue eyes glinting in the darkness were seared into his memory.

Rook rose from his bed and hurried across the chamber. He cast aside the curtains and stood in the sunrise, letting the dawn winnow away the claggy dampness that seemed to linger from his dream. Slowly, he pulled out the tiding feather from his pocket and held it up to the light. Raven’s message appeared: Meet me in 3 days. Name the location and I’ll be there. The letters glowed like heated metal, awaiting his reply. He took a deep breath and closed his eyes.

“Good tidings, sister. Meet me at Widow’s Cove in three days. Come alone.” His words scrawled across the feather-like glowing ink spilled from an invisible quill, replacing Raven’s original message.

Widow’s Cove, a small bay found on one of the mid-islands that made up the Isles of Mythos, was sheltered by lush trees and high teeth-like crags difficult to traverse on foot. He would not easily be followed by Sune or Aurelia if he briefly stole away. It would be a quick, efficient meeting. He would meet Raven, inform her of Selussa’s treachery, secure her alliance, and then return to the rescue party before anyone knew he was gone. With Rook’s message now emblazoned on the tiding feather, he whispered his sister’s name and sent it flying out the window. It stole away on a phantom breeze and flitted out of view.

He prayed that his stubborn sister would heed his instructions. If Raven brought a sizeable flock of soldiers with her, she would be spotted by rebel scouts. If Sune and Aurelia caught wind of any Auran soldiers stalking the Isles of Mythos…He didn’t want to think what they’d do to him.

He tried to calm his racing heart. Ultimately, whatever happened next was out of his control. Either Raven would show up as instructed or he would be labeled a traitor. Until then, he would put his head down and assist with the rescue efforts. Rook quickly dressed and slipped out of his chamber, trying to chase away the growing unease that frosted over his heart.

There was no turning back now.

11

ROOK

Please, let me out.

Rook thought about the prisoner in the cave all morning. That pleading voice followed him through the clouds like a wraith on the wind.

Please, let me out.

Even now, as Rook trailed after Sune and Aurelia on the back of a pegasus, the haunting dream dragged him down into that sunless prison of stone. For the hundredth time, he wondered why he was plagued with such bizarre nightmares every night. Did they mean anything, or were they simply Selussa’s parting gift of torment?

He had been so close to confiding in Saoirse about the dreams last night. She had looked so painfully sincere in the moonlight, raw emotion rippling off her in waves. It took everything in his power not to collapse into her arms and let all his secrets tumble out of his mouth like confessions to a high priestess. But he couldn’t afford to be vulnerable with Saoirse again. Even if he no longer harbored resentment toward her, his fractured heart wouldn’t put itself in the position to be torn in half again. He couldn’t face another betrayal. Besides, would Saoirse even want to explore whatever sparked between them if she knew how broken he was now? Would his fits of anxiety?Hasana had called them panic attacks?repulse her, or even worse, make her pity him? She had fallen in love with the confident, self-assured prince of Aurandel, not the frightened shell of a man he was now. It was better this way.

“We’re nearly there,” Sune called over his shoulder, his voice snatched away on the wind.

Rook looked at the belt of islands that sped past. They’d left the city of Bezhad at dawn with a caravan of thirty winged horses. Trailing at the back of their entourage, several teams of pegasi were hitched to empty carriages that would ferry Mer refugees back to Tellusun should they choose to come with them. Along with means of transportation, they came supplied with food provisions, medicine, and plenty of barrels of titansblood. Several of Hasana’s Healers also traveled with them, their horses strapped with overflowing satchels of medicinal supplies to treat the inevitably large number of wounded Mer.

Their first destination was the Isle of Kronis, the first scrap of land in the island chain just off the coast of Aurandel. Their spies told them there were not many Mer refugees on Kronis, considering how close it was to Aurandel. For the last century, trade between Aurandel and Tellusun was conducted under strict regulations. The middle islands boasted lax trading regulations and maintained a neutral position between the neighboring nations, so it made sense the fleeing Mer would take refuge in the central bridge of islands.

After scouting Kronis and offering aid to any displaced Mer there, they’d move on to the Isle of Zephyr and so forth, visiting each island and setting up additional rescue outposts for any remaining Mer who might escape from the Maeral Sea after they left. As they’d be stationed in the middle islands for a longer period, Rook would be allowed to sneak away unnoticed and meet Raven at Widow’s Cove.

Rook glanced at the jungled islands below, watching as their shadows flitted across the treetops like ghosts. Dense green forests stood stark against the pale sand, stretching along the chain of islands. Tides lapped along the white sand beaches, leaving trails of frothy sea foam as they retreated. But there was something off about the crystal blue water that cradled the islands. A gradient of black drifted inland like poison, radiating out from the distant city of Kellam Keep. Rook scanned the horizon and noticed the dark water grew more opaque the farther out he looked. Like blood in the water, the strange substance stained the beautiful waves of the Maeral Sea and washed up on shore. He couldn’t see anything below the surface of the water, but he knew the ocean teemed with monstrous creatures hungry for blood. His stomach churned as he thought of all the Merfolk whose homes had been destroyed and whose lives had been lost in the wake of Selussa’s takeover.

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