Page 1 of Prisoner of Darkness and Dreams
Chapter 1
Morgana
Istand before the god Ethira and wait for my judgment.
The image of him might just be a mosaic—the god holding a drawn bow, pointing his arrow to the stars—but I’m sure he’s about to watch my final moments in this world.
Clerics line the walls, their scarlet robes like splashes of blood against the white marble. I might prefer it if they were glaring at me, sneering at me—acknowledging me in any way. But they don’t even glance at me. As far as they’re concerned, I’m already dead. I don’t know how long I’ve been here. A week maybe. Two?
Ever since the transportation spell activated to drag me here, I’ve seen nothing but a windowless cell—until today, when the clerics led me up the sweeping white steps and I glimpsed a city through a window. A sea of ivory buildings baking in the sun. The holy city, Qimorna, beautiful and pristine. Cold and forbidding. Cloaked in blood-soaked secrets.
And tucked away in the heart of it—me. The latest body to add to the pyre. I shiver in spite of myself. I want to be strong, to be brave. But what I really am is alone and scared, clinging to the one thought that brings me comfort.
Leon. I’m certain he got out of Bastion, that wherever he is, he’s alive and safe. When I huddle into a ball on my cell floor, trying to sleep, it’s him Iimagine with me.Hiswarmth and strength I draw on. When I felt like the fear may overtake me, I pictured his gray eyes and low voice, bringing me some sense of calm. It’s not much, but it’s all I have.
Footsteps sound behind me, and my whole body goes rigid.
“Get on your knees,” a cold voice snaps. Before I can respond, a hand is on my shoulder, shoving me down so I hit the hard floor with a bang.
A man with long black hair and a purple sash across his robes comes to stand before me.
“I am Bearer Tributin,” he announces. “I have come to read you your crimes, heretic, so that you might repent before Ethira ahead of your execution.”
A chill sweeps through me. So todayisthe day I die.
“You are a heretic and a thief,” he intones, “a blasphemer against all that is sacred and pure. You violated the sanctity of the very heavens to steal power from the gods—and then profaned the Bastion with your unworthy presence.” His lips twitched a little, as if he was…pleased? “But with the gods guiding our great and noble Grand Bearer,” Tributin continued, “his eyes were opened to your deceit, and he was able to ensure that the sin of your thievery carried your punishment with it, as is only right and just.”
Your sin carried your punishment with it?Wait, was he saying…
“It was a trap,” I said numbly, my stomach dropping to the floor. “You knew we were coming all along.” All those lives at risk. The injuries. Thedeaths. And it had all been for nothing after all.
His eyes glitter with malicious delight. “His Grace knew that murderous group of blasphemers who call themselves the Hand of Ralus would try to make contact with you. When their spies started probing our clerics about his plans, we made sure they supplied the Hand with the information we wanted them to.”
Gods, we’re such fools to ever think we were a step ahead of the Temple. We’ve been playing catch-up this whole time.
“You know, some of your acolytes died because you led the Hand to Bastion. Clerics too.” I glance at the red-robed figures lining the room,wondering if they feel any horror about the way Caledon used their colleagues as fodder for his schemes. If they do, they know better than to show it.
Tributin takes a step toward me. “There is no nobler death than one earned fighting the forces of evil. My brethren would have been grateful to have the chance to give their lives to stem the tide of heresy in this land, and they are even now receiving their reward in the celestial realm.”
“When they get to the celestial realm and find out your precious leader is full of shit, I’m pretty sure they’ll have a different opinion,” I hiss.
The slap hits me so hard I lose my balance and hit the floor. My hands are bound, so I can’t catch myself as I fall. My vision blackens at the edges, and an iron taste on my tongue tells me I’ve cut my cheek against my teeth. I stay down for a moment, waiting for the world to stop spinning and the throbbing between my ears to lessen.
Another set of footsteps echoes across the polished marble, slow and precise. The clerics watching me with faces blank as death masks must recognize the gait, because they straighten. An icy panic prickles across my skin.
He’s coming.
I hear the whisper of fabric sliding over the ground. I don’t dare turn my head, trying to delay the moment I have to look him in the eye.
A man in white robes steps into my field of vision, a scarlet cloak settling around him.
“Come now, Bearer Tributin, what is all this?” His voice is softer than I expected, breathy, like he knows he doesn’t have to raise it to be heard. “I thought I told you to wait until I’d arrived before we proceeded with Morgana Angevire’s penance.”
I look up, setting eyes on Marek Caledon for the first time. Even though I knew he doesn’t age like the rest of us, now he’s in front of me I can’t shake the strangeness of it. He’s nearly eighty, but he looks about forty-five. Jet black hair, with only the tiniest traces of silver woven through it. Clean-shaven, with a slightly crooked nose and full mouth. Not especially tall. Not especially fit. Not especially remarkable in any way.
Except for the eyes. They’re too dark, the blackness of them sucking you in. I’m reminded of standing at the edge of a deep, gaping pit with a wind tugging at you, urging you to plummet down into the darkness. I’ve seen those eyes before, watching me even when I didn’t know who they belonged to.
“I’m sorry, Your Grace.” Tributin bows his head. “The heretic spoke disrespectfully. I regret my lack of self-control.”
