Page 40 of From the Myths of Kings

Saoirse turned to Tezrus’s cell, adjoined to hers by a wall of shared iron slats. The old man huddled in the corner of his cell in a trance-like state, his moon-pale eyes glassy and unseeing. He’d had quite the traumatic homecoming.

“Tezrus,” she called gently. “Tezrus, are you all right?” She tapped on the metal bars.

He blinked in her direction and some of the fogginess of his gaze dissipated. He shook his head as if dispelling the shock. “Yes,” he rasped. “Yes, I’m all right.”

“Are you able to use your stone-singing abilities to open the wall? Could we escape?”

Tezrus placed his knobby fingers on the cave wall and shook his head sadly. “This stone has been warded against such magic. My abilities are of no use here.”

“No, they are not,” confirmed a voice from the shadows. “Any magical abilities are obsolete here. That goes for healing magic as well.”

Larken, the female stone-singer who’d betrayed them, strode leisurely into the prison block. The torchlight glinted off her silver hair as she moved down the row of cells. She crouched in front of Neia, a knife-like smile on her pale lips.

“Traitor,” Neia spat. “How could you deceive us? We’ve planned this for months. How long were you and Rymir plotting to turn us in?”

“My allegiance shifted when my brothers were murdered in Meysam,” Larken snapped, her voice quivering with rage. “My family comes from a long line of well-established stone-singers. We’ve prided ourselves on supplying the trade city with the highest-quality minerals and precious stones for a century. My brothers ran several of my family’s market stalls. I warned them the rebellion was going to launch an uprising during the Tournament, but I promised they’d be safe. I was assured the uprising would be controlled, that the rebellion would only target Auran outposts and spare the native Terradrin merchants who built their livelihood in the city. I was promised the uprising would be mere smoke and mirrors, designed to drive out the Auran occupation so we would be free. No real damage would be done. But you weren’t there, were you Commander?”

An almost imperceptible flash of regret passed over Neia’s face. Her mouth hardened as she replied, “You know I couldn’t be there. You know why I needed to compete in the Tournament.”

“But you didn’t see how the uprising succumbed to chaos. You weren’t there to quell the fires that started tearing through the market streets, eating away years’ worth of hard work and craftsmanship. You didn’t hear the screams when the Auran soldiers turned on innocent merchants, killing anyone they thought might be in on it. You weren’t there when our ‘peaceful uprising’ turned violent. You forced Rymir, Xander, Ezra, and everyone else to carry out your dirty work while you feasted in Coarinth and lauded about as a champion. We were sickened by the careless bloodshed in Meysam and decided that enough was enough.”

Neia paled at Larken’s account of the uprising. “I’m so sorry. It was not supposed to be that way. It was supposed to be controlled?”

“My brothers were killed by Auran soldiers,” Larken cut in. Her eyes blazed with pain and fury. “After I promised they would be safe, my brothers were slaughtered in the street. As they lay dying, no one from our rebellion came to their aid or showed any remorse for their death. They were never involved in the resistance, nor did they ever want any part of it. And yet they still paid with their lives.”

She turned to Hasana, her face darkening with hatred. “And you. You’re just like all the other self-absorbed aristocrats who have used the plight of common folk as a tool for your cause, a means to gain sympathy so you can crown yourself the ruler of Revelore. You never get your hands dirty, do you? You simply order an uprising and never think twice about the cost. For you, it’s like moving playing pieces across a board. You move them around and play the game of courts just like every other bloody monarch on this titans-damned continent. People like my brothers compete in a living Tournament every day, a Tournament they never asked to play a part in. But there is no crown to be won, no prize at the end. You and your royal rivals make a mockery of our hardships, taking advantage of our desperation so you can build expendable manpower and wage petty wars. You need us to fight your battles for you. And the only uprisings led by common folk like Ballar Grimstone are never truly given the chance to mature, are they? Ballar wanted to see true change, to see the world toppled right side up. But he and his followers were snuffed out as quickly as a candle flame. Why was Ballar’s rebellion punished for their actions, but your group rewarded? Haven’t you resorted to violence as well?”

Saoirse felt the weight of Larken’s words like a spear through her heart. She was not excluded from the woman’s accusations. Hadn’t she been just as careless when she’d made the bargain with Selussa? At the time, she had thought that by winning the Tournament, she could save her people from a life of oppression. But she’d given little thought to what the bargain would cost her?what it would cost her kingdom. Now, innocent Merfolk were being driven from the Maeral Sea as a direct consequence of her misguided, reckless decisions. Was she no better than the insatiable aristocrats Larken railed against?

Tears glistened in Hasana’s gold-brown eyes when Larken finished, her chest heaving. “Larken, I’m so sorry your brothers died.” Her voice was thick with raw emotion that seemed to take Larken by surprise. “You’re right that every move we make has a cost. It doesn’t seem fair that I am spared from the violence of our uprisings, does it? But I do not take the loss of life for granted, nor am I unaffected by it. I am fighting for a free world, a world that is not enslaved to the Tournament nor to a tyrannical nation. My people have suffered greatly at the hands of petty political games just as yours have. I do not wish to see this turmoil continue for another hundred years.”

Larken’s frown deepened, but the fury burning in her eyes seemed to waver. Tears flowed freely down Hasana’s cheeks now, burning trails of silver across her warm brown skin. “You’re right that any one of us could easily become what we fear the most. With the right amount of power, I could become the next cruel queen of Revelore, falling victim to ambition and avarice. But I swear to you that I do not want to sit on the throne. I do not want Tellusun to become the next Aurandel. I believe we can create a new world together. If we succeed in overthrowing Aurandel and dismantling the Tournament, this world is possible.”

Larken tore her eyes from Hasana’s earnest face and wrung her hands together. “But the careless bloodshed will not cease,” she finally said. “This free world you speak of comes with a steep price. Until you yourself become a playing piece in the game of courts, you cannot know the cost. But you’ll learn soon enough. We’ll see how you fair being caught in the crossfire of paranoid rulers.”

Saoirse felt a tide of conflicting emotions wash over her. She could sympathize with Larken’s pain. She knew what it felt like to be drawn into a conflict she never wanted to be a part of and to have those she loved taken away as a result. She had unknowingly become a pawn in Selussa’s game, her loyalty for her kingdom manipulated into a weapon the Sea Witch used against her. But Hasana and the rebellion took no pleasure in violence or death. They were trying to break the never-ending cycle of bloodshed.

Larken stalked down the prison block, stopping just short of the exit. She looked over her shoulder at them one last time, eyes tracing back over to Neia. Hatred flared in her gaze. “Did you know that you’re not Revelore’s only resistance? There is another who has risen from the ashes. Ballar’s heir is following in his father’s footsteps, working to complete the task his forebearers started. You accuse us of having secrets and curse us for our duplicity. But you are no saint, are you Commander? You should tell them who Rymir Barrow really is, Neia. Or should I say, Rymir Grimstone?” With those ominous words, Larken disappeared into the darkness.

Saoirse’s skin pebbled as Larken’s words washed through the prison block like a wave of glacial water. A sickening feeling bloomed in her stomach as Larken’s accusation sank in. Her eyes sliced over to Neia, who intentionally averted her gaze. In a whisper, she asked, “What does she mean, Rymir…Grimstone?”

Larken had to be lying. She was merely trying to turn them against each other, planting seeds of doubt so their fragile alliances would crumble. Wasn’t she?

“Neia, what is the meaning of this?” Hasana hedged when the commander remained silent. “Have you been keeping secrets or is Larken playing us?”

“She isn’t lying,” Neia finally answered in a strangled voice, as if she choked on the confession. “Rymir is Ballar Grimstone’s child.”

“Does Rymir know this?” Hasana demanded. “Has he known his true heritage this whole time?”

Neia nodded, wiping tears from her face. “I was a young captain when Ballar’s followers carried out the assassinations, still proving my worth and climbing the ranks. After the murders, the world erupted into chaos. A sheen of anxiety blanketed Terradrin in the wake of their deaths, both because we didn’t know the full extent of Ballar’s plans and because we were terrified that Aurandel might punish our entire kingdom. Once the incident was made public, Grivur and his advisors launched an investigation into their deaths. Facing understandable pressure from Aurandel and Elorshin, the investigation turned into a full-blown witch hunt.

“I was appalled by what Ballar’s rebellion had done, and like many in Terradrin, I was anxious to see his group disbanded and punished. I was assigned to Grivur’s inquisition party, tasked with locating the primary leaders involved with the assassinations and arresting them. It was awful, loathsome work, but I was only twenty years old and had little choice in the matter. In the beginning, none of us could’ve imagined the bloodshed Grivur’s inquisition would devolve into. What began as a few arrests collapsed into a witch hunt in which we were executing entire families, punishing even those with the barest, most dubious connections to Ballar’s rebellion. I began having nightmares, tormented by the innocent lives I’d taken.

“One day, I hit my breaking point. After Ballar had been captured and executed for his crimes, his family went into hiding. It took us months to locate his wife and children, who were hiding in the northern caverns of Natassa. I couldn’t make sense of our new orders. The minute we started hunting down the children, I felt wretched. It was so, so wrong. I tried to protect the two other children, but my fellow soldiers got to them first.” Neia’s voice quivered with emotion, true horror plain across her face.

“The last little boy, no more than ten years old, hid himself deep within the caverns. Avgi spiders make their nests in the caves of Natassa. The tunnels are thick with webs and decay. Very few could survive within the caverns for long, let alone a child. None of my soldiers dared to search within the spider-infested caves for long, so after a week, they eventually gave up. But I stayed. I discovered that the child, Rymir, had somehow survived within the caves. He was a survivor. I knew then that I couldn’t bring myself to end his life. Rymir reminded me so much of my own brother, a loss that was still so recent and fresh. He healed me.”

“So you lied to everyone about where he came from?” Hasana breathed. “You told Grivur you had saved him from a Wyrm attack on the edge of the city so his life could be spared?”

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