Page 165 of The Shadowed Oracle
She didn’t know. But she hoped. She hoped her ignorance would spare her. Maybe she’d be left to rot in the dungeons. That wouldn’t be the worst thing. She could wait, hope that Hydor fell, and the victors of this war would whisk her back into the light, praising her bravery and thanking her for her considerable contribution to the cause.
She could see it now. Maybe she’d even be awarded a war medal. Yes, that sounded nice. While they were at it, they could gift her some dark and dashing Prince from the East. She could see that, too. A lavish parade in her honor. The new king or queen of a peaceful Ealis announcing, “Monia Yulenn, for your efforts in the liberation of the Occi Isles, and your brave suffering at the hands of the enemy, we award you with a slab of pure royal muscle, and a kingdom that will throw flowers at your feet for all eternity.”
Mother strike me dead.
She giggled. As that platform neared the light above, and her reality clashed with her fantasy, she had to laugh. She would likely be sent to the gallows within a few days. If not tonight.
A laugh was needed.
“This way,” a deep, gritty voice called out.
She snapped her head around.
No one was in sight.
“Where… where are you?” Monia asked. The lift hadn’t even come to a complete stop yet. It ascended slowly until the platform locked into place, level with the ground floor. She scanned the vast, mostly empty room but still saw no one. “I can’t see you.”
“I’m just here. Your eyes, they haven’t adjusted yet.”
She squinted, suddenly aware of how bright the room was. Torches were on either side of the lift, twice the size of the ones in the dungeon. To her right was a window looking out at one of the waterfalls running through the castle and feeding the Rego River. The beautiful but daunting scene became clearer, and soon her full eyesight had returned.
She scanned the room ahead of her again and found a tall, dark-haired male with his back turned, already walking away.
“Are you going to—” she started, lifting her cuffed hands.
But when she looked down, the chains strapping her to the platform were off. Like magic.
It probably wasmagic, she realized. This was Hydor. There were rumors that the few gifted Viator left in Ealis had either been slain by Makkar or had submitted to his cause. One could travel all the southern kingdoms, all the ancient cities of the east, and not find a single wielder. Yet, in Hydor, in Makkar’s court, it was said there was a small army of them. It was one of many reasons the pits were inescapable. Even if a prisoner somehow made it out of their cell and past the guards, they’d have a dozen or so magic wielders to contend with—including the two most fearsome in all of Ealis.
“Better hurry now,” that same gruff voice beckoned. “Or you’ll get lost.”
Monia considered, looking around at the fire-lit room.Lost. It sounded alright. Any time away from the dungeons was a victory. Maybe she’d explore the castle before returning to the hell she now called home. Better yet, maybe she’d sneak into theking’s kitchen and fix herself a final meal. She’d be caught, but at least she’d have a bit of fun first.
“Don’t make me threaten you,” the voice added, even deeper this time in annoyance. “Follow me.”
She took a cautious step off the platform, chains dragging behind her. She picked up the loose slack, then, following the voice, she made her way to a helical staircase that seemed to go on forever. Step after step, her breath grew heavier, her legs burning with the added weight she was carrying.
“Who are you?” she asked after the pain of it was too consuming. She needed to talk, to distract herself, and the male leading her still hadn’t shown his face. All she could see was his considerable shadow flickering ten or so paces above. Judging by his attire, he was a high-ranking captain or general.
“Sylan,” the voice said. “Don’t you remember me?’
Monia stiffened, the chains noticeably going still.
Sylan.
Yes, she remembered. How could she forget? Even before she’d stood before him in the halls of the Kingdom of the Isles, she knew who he was. Everyone in Ealis did. The mention of his name was always followed by some legendary tale of his conquests. His speed. His ominous magical ability. His immunity to other magic wielders. His wrath.
And what she’d seen in their first meeting, when he’d fetched her and Lucilla to tend to the Lady Ingrid, she’d assumed the stories were all true. There was a murderous calm in his eyes, unlike anything Monia had ever seen.
“I remember,” Monia answered. “I just, I couldn’t be sure it was you. You seem… different.”
The footsteps ceased. “Different how?” Sylan asked. His shadow was now a ghostly nightmare hovering over her.
“Different in a pleasant way,” she blurted. She didn’t know what she was saying. Didn’t knowwhyshe was saying anything.Damn the distraction. The fear of him was overwhelming. “From what—no, I don’t know. Sorry, I don’t feel like myself at the moment. The smell down here, and the dark. Wedidn’t converse for that long anyway.” She paused, thinking. “Did we?”
Much like her trip here to the storied dungeons of Hydor, the interaction had been fuzzy. She wasn’t easily impressed, but in all the tales about Sylan Aloris, all the stories of his greatness, not one of those mentioned what he looked like. His immense stature, his ungodly grace, and his almost offensive handsomeness. He was the most striking Viator, male or female, that she’d ever seen.
“No,” Sylan said. “We didn’t have much time to speak.” His footsteps started again, walking back up the winding stairs. “Unfortunately, we don’t have the time for it now, either. Come.”
