Page 9 of From the Myths of Kings

Saoirse’s mother.

Rook clenched his jaw unconsciously. He hadn’t realized how much she looked like Eleyera. A sharp pain needled his heart at the thought of Saoirse. He felt so many mixed emotions about her now, the primary one being acute hurt. But although he still felt the sting of her betrayal keenly, Rook couldn’t deny he was worried for her out in the Shujaa Desert.

He had initially been relieved when Saoirse left. It meant he could freely wander the halls of the palace without fear of running into her and facing the emotions the mere sight of her evoked. It meant the incessant urge to go to her and forsake all his wounded pride and kneel at her feet with his heart in his hands would no longer plague him every moment of the day. But instead of relief, his thoughts were mottled with anxiety. The days dragged on, and the same questions surfaced, and as much as he hated to admit it, he was concerned for Saoirse’s safety. After several days with no word from her, Rook was beginning to imagine the worst. But Saoirse wasn’t the only one occupying his mind. He thought of the dark-haired girl in his dream, too.

Raven.

His sister hadn’t spoken to him since the day Coarinth had been blown apart by Hasana’s rebels. The last time he’d seen her was right before the final trial when she’d met him and his fellow tributes under the arena. She’d ensured that Veila and Eros would follow through with their task to kill the remaining tributes. She’d been cold and unfeeling then, convinced by the Elders that Aurandel needed to win the Tournament by any measures necessary.

Any correspondence Raven might send to him would be immediately intercepted by Hasana’s guards, but he doubted she would send anything anyway. She was too shrewd to contact her missing brother in such an overt manner. As the ruler of Aurandel, Raven joined forces with the Terradrin king, Grivur, and declared war against the rebellion. Any move she made would be meticulously calculated. But he did not doubt Raven knew exactly where he was. She had spies all over Revelore, and she’d always protected Rook with unyielding determination. She was likely organizing a secret rescue mission at this very moment, thinking Rook had been captured as a prisoner of war who was being held by the enemy against his will.

The dream had been cut short before Rook could see his parents murdered right in front of him, but he still remembered every moment that followed. Amid the chaos, Raven had scooped Rook up and launched them in the air, soaring high above the carnage and gore below. He remembered looking over her shoulder and seeing bright blood spattered on the side of the carriage, his parents’ lifeless bodies gazing at the sky with glassy, unseeing eyes. He remembered the swarm of cloaked assassins who had ambushed them in the woods, their pale eyes glinting up at him and Raven as they flew to safety. They shot volleys of arrows at them, but Raven had dodged each one with expert precision. Even as Rook wailed in her arms, traumatized by his parents’ brutal slaying, Raven remained strong for him, flying back to Coarinth without as much as a single tear falling from her eyes.

Raven had always been protective of Rook, but her vigilance had increased tenfold after the attack. As the only surviving members of the royal family, they clung to each other in the days and years that followed. Rook had been a mere boy, so he grieved freely. Raven, on the other hand, mourned in secret for Rook’s sake and the sake of their kingdom. Having been crowned monarch of Aurandel at just nineteen, she was the new figurehead of a panicked nation that looked to an unflinching ruler to guide them through the attack with composure.

Rook’s heart broke thinking of his sister. Instead of having him at her side, Raven now had no one. To make matters worse, their last interaction had been less than ideal, heated with mistrust on both sides. The divide that had grown between them in the last few weeks was painful and vast, like a knife wedged between ribs. With every day that passed, Rook felt increasingly unmoored, torn between the love and loyalty he felt for his sister and the undeniable truth that an ancient power was coming for them all.

He needed to make Raven understand that fact, he realized. If she gave him the chance to explain every twisted detail of their ancestors’ legacy, she would realize who the true enemy was. And if he could persuade Raven to ally with them, the rebellion might actually stand a chance. The only problem was he had no idea how to contact her without Hasana knowing. Even if there was a slight chance Raven could be convinced to sign a peace treaty, there was no way in Hel Hasana would allow Rook to meet with his sister.

Rook swung his legs out of bed, his mind brimming with conflicting thoughts that made his head ache. The terracotta floors were cool under his bare feet as he crossed the room. Despite the unforgiving heat searinf the Clay City, the buildings were expertly designed to maintain a cool temperature. He’d become familiar with this chamber after pacing its length back and forth for hours on end, lost to his thoughts and overwhelmed by the collapse of everything he knew.

Rook stood before the gold-framed mirror leaning against one earthen wall and stared at his haggard reflection. Dark shadows bloomed below his eyes, evidence of his disturbing dreams and constant state of anxiety. Bandages were still wrapped around his abdomen, concealing the stab wound left by Selussa. With a hiss through his teeth, he carefully unwound the wrappings.

The wound was scabbed over now and the surrounding flesh was mottled with bruising. But although the wound no longer wept, it wasn’t healing like an ordinary injury. For one, it was not rust-colored like the rest of the scrapes and cuts that lingered from the final trial. It was black. Every time Rook touched it, pain radiated outward through his body from the point of contact as though Selussa’s blade had left a trail of needles in his tender flesh. He suspected Selussa had given him more than a death blow that day; she’d given him a curse.

Rook didn’t fully trust Hasana or Saoirse—not after they’d both betrayed him in some capacity—but his belief in Selussa and her unholy objectives superseded the internal wounds they’d both given him. He wholeheartedly believed the forces of every kingdom would be needed to defeat the coming darkness. They would worry about what would happen to Revelore’s political foundation after they survived. If there wasn’t a world to return to, none of it would matter.

After using a numbing salve made of golden root Hasana had given him for the pain, Rook wrapped fresh bandages around the wound, careful not to put any pressure on it. He slipped on a pair of loose trousers and a fresh tunic. He’d been given a brand-new wardrobe of traditional Tellusun clothing when he first arrived, though he’d had to cut holes in the shoulder blades of each tunic to accommodate his wings. The tunic he wore today was dyed an orange hue akin to a sunset, the collar hand-embroidered by the threads of gold House Yerimya was famed for.

Rook looked back at himself in the mirror and nearly scoffed. The bright, airy clothing made his skin look pallid and the circles under his eyes even more ghastly. With a resigned sigh, he pushed back dark, sweat-dampened hair from his forehead, now grown past his usual preferred length. He instinctively reached for the belt slung around his waist, feeling for the scabbard that always hung there like an old friend. His hand stopped short. Pain deeper than any flesh wound gouged through him as his fingers met the empty space where his mother’s dagger should’ve been.

The blade was long gone, of course.

Rook strode to the bedroom door and headed out, not knowing where he was going. All he knew was that he needed to leave this stale chamber and the remnants of a dream that still clung to its walls like cobwebs.

4

SAOIRSE

Tezrus led them to his sanctum, taking them to a glittering waterfall in the deepest part of the Soundless Oasis. The crystal waters poured over the edge of a rock face and collected in a small reservoir hidden behind clusters of palm trees and tangles of blooming orchids. The falling blue water was so clear that reflections of flying birds and tendrils of clouds flitted across its surface, spilling down as though the sky had turned liquid under the Shujaa sun.

They followed the scholar as he led them up a craggy path flush against the waterfall’s side. Saoirse had expected Tezrus to be decrepit after hiding in the desert for twenty years. But though he had to be at least seventy years old, he was surprisingly agile, weaving his way over uneven stones with the strength and ease of a much younger man. His robes ended at his ankles, stopping short to reveal strapped sandals of worn leather. Several times, a stray vine snaked across the path at their feet, or a branch magically appeared right at eye level, but Tezrus merely swatted the foliage away like the oasis was a harmless pest. His life here was just as mysterious as the secrets he kept.

Tezrus stopped at an alcove beneath the waterfall and beckoned for the three of them to follow. There was a gap between the rock wall and the flowing water, just wide enough for them to pass under single file. Tezrus crept forward slowly, careful not to lose his step on the slick stones. Fine mist wafted off the water and formed clinging droplets on Saoirse’s skin. She stopped for a beat, letting the mist kiss her face. It had been so long since she’d felt the touch of water against her skin. She reluctantly broke away from the tempting caress of the waterfall and followed Tezrus as he slipped into a jagged opening in the rock. He ducked his head to avoid the low overhang and gestured for them to do the same.

Beyond the opening, a long hallway plunged into darkness, a crude staircase built into the passageway itself. The roar of the waterfall harried them down the damp passageway, a heartening symphony against the absence of sound they’d grown accustomed to outside. Blue lights flickered on the walls, casting a familiar glow against the tunnel.

Undying flame, Saoirse recognized. It had been so long since she’d seen the fires burning in Kellam Keep, glinting in the waves like pieces of treasure fallen from a shipwreck. Her chest constricted at the sight of the undying flames that lit their way, memories pricking her heart like needles. Her home was likely destroyed now. It had been overrun by the sea beasts Selussa released from the Fretum, the ancient prison Saoirse’s ancestors had banished the Sea Witch to for a century. The eternal lights that had warmed the city of Kellam Keep were probably extinguished now. Emotion thickened in Saoirse’s throat as she thought of her home cast in total darkness, waves bearing down on the once-magnificent metropolis at a depth that evaded sunlight.

“You should consider yourselves fortunate the oasis took a liking to you,” Tezrus interrupted, his reedy voice scattering Saoirse’s thoughts of home.

“Took a liking to us?” Aurelia retorted, her eyebrows raised in astonishment. “We nearly died.”

Tezrus looked over his shoulder at her, the soft skin at the corners of his eyes crinkling. “I’ve seen the oasis act much harsher to strangers. What you experienced was mere triviality.”

Aurelia inhaled, about to unleash a scathing reply, but Saoirse nudged her with an elbow before she could loose her fury. Tezrus didn’t seem the type to speak without wholeheartedly believing his words, and Aurelia’s cutting tongue had gotten them in trouble on more than one occasion.

They turned another corner and came face to face with a dead end. For a moment, Saoirse wondered if the oasis was feeding them another illusion, knitting stones together to form a blockade for its amusement. But Tezrus pushed back the long sleeves of his robe and placed an unworried palm on the stone, muttering a few words on his breath. Obediently, the rock became pliable and rearranged itself to form a doorway, folding into place as easily as soft molded clay.

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