Page 54 of From the Myths of Kings

“Yes,” Rook admitted. “It isn’t what you think, though. I arranged to meet with her because I thought I could convince her to join our cause. I thought we could ally with Aurandel to stop Selussa, to form a united front against her.” He shook his head and lowered his eyes. “But I quickly learned it was a fool’s hope. Raven is under the thumb of the Order. They’re whispering in her ear and “advising” her on the next steps. They’ve turned her against me entirely. Even as her brother, I couldn’t convince her of Selussa’s threat.”

Seeing the defeated slump of Rook’s shoulders was enough to free Saoirse’s tongue. “I’m so sorry, Rook.” She couldn’t imagine the emotions he was feeling. His only sister had chosen to believe the word of conniving acolytes over the voice of her own brother. After everything they’d been through together, Raven’s rejection was probably more heart-wrenching than even their parent’s deaths. “That must be excruciating for you.”

Rook’s eyes snapped up to hers. To her surprise, the corners of his lips upturned into a soft, mournful smile.

“Thank you for saying that.” Gratitude touched his eyes.

There was something different about his gaze now. When he’d left her in the hanging gardens, Rook had been shuttered off. Unnamed emotions had swum in the depths of his eyes, locked stubbornly away. Now, his bright gaze seemed more open and earnest even as his physical body was deteriorating. She found herself smiling back at him. Heat crawled into her cheeks. What was wrong with her? They were locked in a Titans-forsaken prison and being forced to compete in a ridiculous second-rate Tournament that would likely claim their lives. There was nothing to be smiling about. But seeing the softness of his gaze had sent her pulse hammering in her throat. Maybe Aurelia had talked some sense into him, after all. She tended to let people know what they needed to hear whether they asked for it or not.

“As adorable as this little reunion is, my point still stands,” Neia interrupted, “You’ve made a grave mistake in coming here.”

Saoirse’s already hot cheeks became more inflamed. Did she look that besotted? She averted her eyes and suddenly found a very interesting pebble on the ground.

“She’s right,” Hasana confirmed. “Grivur’s delusions and paranoia have led him to come up with a bizarre form of punishment for us. He’s decided that the Tournament’s botched ending needs to be atoned for. He’s taken it upon himself to host a series of games?his own version of the Tournament if you will. He wanted one representative from each kingdom to play.”

Rook’s face morphed from confusion into absolute horror as he processed her words, his eyebrows raising to his hairline. “Grivur wanted me to come.” It was more of a statement than an actual question. “I’ve fallen right into his trap.”At everyone’s silence, his question was all but answered. He wrung his hands together anxiously. “Surely there must be something we can do? Adresin and Noora are still anchored beyond the shoreline. Aurelia is awaiting my return. They will come for us.”

“For their sakes, I pray they don’t try and rescue us,” Neia said darkly. “They’ll be outnumbered if they come. Grivur’s underguards are crawling over every inch of this city, and he’ll expect more rebels to come for us when they start noticing we’ve disappeared. Captain Rymir Barrow has become the new commander of his armies, and he’ll be ready and willing to spill blood.”

Neia was right. Terradrin was the most populous kingdom in Revelore, with an army numbering in the hundreds of thousands. Hasana’s rebellion once made a dent in that number with a good number of soldiers secretly loyal to her cause, but now there was no telling how many had turned their backs on the rebellion and joined Rymir’s faction. No one could be trusted now. At the behest of Grivur, many of the soldiers once posted in Meysam were now stationed in the sprawling Under Kingdom. Any efforts made by Aurelia or Adresin would be easily thwarted. If Rook had convinced Raven to ally with them, they might’ve had a chance. But as it stood, their numbers were simply too few. They were helplessly trapped here like insects on the sticky lobes of the carnivorous plants on the Isles of Mythos.

The hope in Rook’s eyes dimmed as the futility of their situation settled. Their mission had always been fragile and fraught with risk, a string of carefully plotted steps that could come crashing down with one wrong move. In this case, several wrong moves had been made and now they were backed against a corner with no way out.

“Then we’ll just have to survive Grivur’s games. We can make it out.”

“I don’t think there will be any surviving these trials,” Hasana replied with a sad shake of her head. “Even if we did manage to make it through the games, Grivur will be waiting on the other side with an executioner’s blade. I fear death is our only fate.”

“Then we’ll face the knife of fate together,” Saoirse found herself saying. “We’ll not cower in fear.” If death was inescapable, she wanted to tackle it head-on. She was terrified of what they would face, but the presence of her friends made it a little less daunting.

“You’re right. We can face this together.” Rook’s gaze slid back to Saoirse and she held his stare. His eyes were laden with unspoken words.

In the hanging gardens, Rook had thought sharing his secrets would kill him. Now, it seemed holding them back from her was more painful. She wished they could have a moment alone, but his gentle gaze was enough of a gift. She’d thought she had shattered his heart beyond repair when the truth came out about her bargain with Selussa. She never thought she’d see the compassionate Rook who’d saved her in the trials again, but here he was, staring at her in this musty prison like she was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen. Why did fate always bring them back together at the most inopportune moments?

Neia grinned, the first true smile Saoirse had seen on the commander’s face since Rymir’s betrayal. “All right then. If it’s a show Grivur wants, then we’ll give him a spectacle.”

24

SAOIRSE

The underguards came for them the next morning.

At least, Saoirse thought it was morning. It could’ve been the middle of the night for all she knew. She’d spent the last several hours trying to sleep on the cold floor of her cell. But the dreadful anticipation of what was to come had gnawed at the edge of her mind, leaving her wearier than she had been before. Questions drifted in and out of her waking mind: Where would the games take place? Would they be given weapons? Or would it simply be an execution dressed up in the frills of a makeshift Tournament in which they had no real chance of survival?

In between bouts of inconsistent sleep and worry over Grivur’s games, she’d stolen glances of Rook from across the prison block. He was curled up against the back of his cell, silvery wings folded around himself like a dove in a nest. As noble and selfless as she tried to be, Saoirse had dreamed of him far too often not to be secretly grateful he’d come. If she was to die, she was thankful Rook would be at her side. She only regretted that these abysmal circumstances provided the backdrop of their reunion.

When the unsettling screech of the prison door echoed through the cell block like the untimely chime of an execution bell, Saoirse was ready for whatever horrors lay ahead. Grivur’s daughter, Sloane, accompanied the bevy of underguards. She wore a gown of rich crimson that matched the glossy sheen of paint on her lips. Her pale length of white hair spilled over her red-clad shoulders, reminding Saoirse of blood against the snow.

Sloane stopped in front of Hasana’s cell and gave her an apologetic glance. “It’s time.” The daughter of the mad king almost appeared sorry as she unlocked Hasana’s prison cell and stepped back, allowing the underguards to lead the Tellusun princess out of the enclosure.

Sloane moved down to Rook’s cell and gestured for the guards to escort him out with the flick of her wrist. They yanked him upright and he stumbled forward, a soft groan escaping his lips when they stabilized him around his injured torso. He’d grown visibly sick over the last few hours. Saoirse had no idea how he would manage to pull through and compete in the trials. Her stomach hollowed out as she watched him stagger forward, his wings dragging limply on the ground. Could he even hold a sword? If it came down to it, could he run?

She continued worrying over Rook as Sloane unlocked her cage, the flash of her vibrant red gown swallowing up all light in the dim limestone corridor. Saoirse barely registered the underguards as they hauled her out of the cell and shoved her down the prison block, her eyes still focused on Rook as he stumbled ahead of her. She heard Neia’s cell being unlocked behind her, accompanied by breathless curses as the former commander of Terradrin was led out.

“You must come too,” Sloane told Tezrus, turning her moon-pale focus to the old man. “In the absence of any Elders to host the games, you shall serve as the Master of Trials.”

Saoirse sucked in a breath, her stomach dropping out from under her. She wrenched her head over her shoulder and watched as Sloane unlocked the old man’s cell. Tezrus’s cloudy eyes went wide as the underguards snatched him from where he kneeled on the floor and shoved him forward. “But I haven’t been an Elder for twenty years,” he protested weakly.

“My father has made up his mind,” Sloane offered thinly. “He wants to replicate every detail of the Tournament, down to having an Elder oversee the trials as they always have in the past.”

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