Page 51 of From the Myths of Kings

She looked down at the city below. Her black eyes narrowed as more bolts of lightning cleaved through the clouds and illuminated the rain-drenched decorations adorning the city. In the darkness, it was difficult to make out the snow-white banners of silk that hung on doorways and the pale petals that lay sodden in the street, tossed by onlookers as the royal family had led a ceremonial procession down the mountain earlier in the day. But with her otherworldly eyesight, the woman could easily surmise what had occurred hours before.

“Whose impending nuptials were honored today?” A sly smile crept across the woman’s face as she surveyed the cheerful decorations that were now soaked by the storm.

“The Auran Princess Yrsa departed for her upcoming wedding. She is to be wed to the Mer King Lorsan in a week. The parade was cut short by the storm.”

The woman’s smile unfurled into a full-blown grin. Her teeth glinted as another crack of lightning streaked through the sky. “How wonderful. I have always loved weddings. And I have missed the ocean more than anything. It is quite poignant that I shall return to the sea once again. Let’s give the happy couple a gift they won’t soon forget.”

“Then let us make haste, Queen Selussa Apate, Mother of Si?”

A crack of thunder peeled through the air like a death knell, pulling Rook out of the unsettling dream and back to the present in a violent rush. Although Rook’s eyes were open, he still saw the darkened temple with its hundreds of flickering candles spread before him. He could see the dark stain of membranous fluid on the marble floor. He could smell the acrid scent of sulfur in the breeze. The wound on his abdomen pulsed with pain.

Gradually, reality returned to Rook. Unfocused cavern walls loomed around him. A blur of white filled his vision. He tried to wipe his eyes and blink away the haze, but he couldn’t move his hands. The smear of white sharpened into long hair and pale skin. The woman standing over him was not Selussa. Instead of ink-black eyes, two eyes the color of snow peered down at him.

The Terradrin woman had just finished putting iron cuffs around his wrists.

“I didn’t know the Auran prince was prone to fits of madness. He’ll fit right in with Grivur’s court.”

23

SAOIRSE

Locked in Grivur’s windowless dungeon, Saoirse had no idea how many days had passed since the mock ‘banquet’ Grivur had hosted for them. As she lay on the cold floor, she couldn’t guess what time of day it was. The underguards brought them food so irregularly it was difficult to discern which meal was delivered.

Saoirse stared up at the stone ceiling and tried to guess how many levels they were below the surface. Her eyes traced over the stalactites dripping down from the low prison ceiling. A single droplet of water splashed on her cheek. So far, she’d counted seventy-five droplets splashing onto her face. With thirty seconds passing between each drip, it was the easiest thing she could use to measure how much time had passed.

Splash. Splash. Splash.

The waiting was the worst part of their confinement. The absurdity of their impending trials loomed thickly over the prison block. At any point, the underguards might retrieve them from their cells and the games would begin. A knot of anxiety had begun to burn in Saoirse’s stomach as the days slipped by. King Grivur hadn’t spoken a word to them since their ‘tribute’s banquet,’ and so far, the underguards hadn’t given any indication anyone from Hasana’s rebellion had come searching for them. But she knew the day of Grivur’s games would eventually arrive. And when it did, she’d be forced to relive the Tournament all over again.

Splash. Splash. Splash.

Saoirse turned over and felt the droplets of water slide down her face. She stared at the bucket of titansblood that sat against the iron bars of her cell. The underguards had reluctantly given her more of the potion after she’d run out of her personal stores. When she’d finally convinced them that in a matter of hours, she’d be writhing on the floor unable to breathe, they’d scrounged up some mangrove and willowherb and allowed Hasana to make the concoction for her. She wasn’t sure why the herbs were here in the Under Kingdom, given they were native to the Maeral Sea and had no other use aside from allowing Mer to breathe on land, but she was too weary to question it. She didn’t need as much of the elixir down here as she’d needed in the Shujaa Desert. With cloudy droplets clinging to the cool walls and floor, the air was laden with moisture. Even so, she’d needed to convince the guards that Grivur wouldn’t have his tribute from Elorshin if she died of suffocation.

Beyond the iron bars of her cage, Tezrus was huddled in the corner of his own cell. Despite Larken’s promise that the prison walls had been warded against magic, Tezrus had initially attempted to use his stone-singing abilities to free them. But he’d stopped trying when it became obvious no amount of willpower would make the stone listen to him. She watched as Tezrus sat cross-legged in the shadows, tracing indiscernible shapes and runes in the dust to occupy himself.

Saoirse felt an immense amount of guilt at the sight of his stooped shoulders and hollow eyes. He was an elderly scholar, not an adventurer. And their voyage had taken a toll on him. She could see it in the way his breaths rattled his chest and the way his sallow skin had somehow grown paler. Although Tezrus had willingly volunteered himself, she still felt responsible for his fate. Did the old man regret coming with them to Terradrin? If he could turn back time, would he return to the Soundless Oasis and live out his days in peace?

Saoirse tore her gaze away from Tezrus and rolled over onto her back, resuming her mindless counting of droplets from the ceiling. As she turned over, she felt something hard against her hip bone. Expecting to uncover a stubborn pebble under her bedroll, Saoirse was surprised to find the small vial of Selussa’s blood in her pocket. She sat up quickly. She’d completely forgotten that she’d tucked the small obsidian flask into her pocket before they’d left for the Under Kingdom. Just as Hasana had sent the Tellusun Relic with Kaja for safekeeping, Saoirse hadn’t wanted to leave the vial on the ship. She turned the small cylindrical container between her palms.

Selussa’s eerie voice echoed through her head: Blood is more valuable than gold. It can unlock doors and seal promises. It can bring great fortune and favor, but it can be spilled so easily. Her great-grandfather’s blood had once locked Selussa away within the Fretum. When Saoirse had given her own blood to Selussa as a seal of their bargain, the Sea Witch had used it to free herself from the ancient prison and shapeshift. Did Selussa’s own blood hold any kind of power they could use against her?

Saoirse crept over to the wall of iron bars she shared with Tezrus. The obsidian vial thrummed in her hand as though it were alive.

“Tezrus,” she whispered. “Are you up for conversation?” She curled her fingers around the bars and leaned in.

None of them had exchanged many words in the days following Grivur’s negligible banquet. It seemed futile to discuss strategy or conjure up escape plans given they had no idea where their prison block was in the Under Kingdom. Tezrus in particular had been as silent as the grave, choosing to draw strange symbols on the dusty floor for hours on end. Saoirse didn’t blame him.

The old man jerked toward her as though he’d been roused from a trance. He relaxed when he found her staring at him between the iron slats. “Saoirse.” His reedy voice sounded even thinner. He crawled over to the wall of bars they shared and settled heavily against the iron.

“How are you feeling?” Saoirse scanned his pallid skin and the dark circles under his eyes.

“I’ve been better,” the old man replied. A smile tugged on the corner of his mouth. It seemed his wry sarcasm hadn’t been completely lost.

“I’m so sorry we involved you in this. I feel responsible.”

His pale eyes darted to hers. “No, this isn’t your fault,” he admonished gently. “I knew the risks when I joined your voyage. I made this decision knowing I might die.” He patted her curled fingers reassuringly. “And I know that all this,” he gestured to the prison block, “might be the worst fate we could’ve imagined for ourselves, but it isn’t. We’re lucky the Terradrin Elders never returned to the Under Kingdom. Had they fled Coarinth after the Tournament, they would’ve tortured me for evading them all these years. And as mad as Grivur has become, they would’ve made these ‘games’ much worse for you, that much I’m sure of.”

“What do you think the Elders are up to in Coarinth?” Saoirse asked. Something was unsettling about their absence. With their mistress finally freed after a century of imprisonment, she doubted the Order would hide idly away in their temple. She suspected they were advising Raven on her next moves against the rebellion, but they must also be working toward some other, unseen goal.

---