by K. A. Linde
“And for all your education, you seemed to have forgotten the appropriate behavior between a man and a woman.”
His mocking laugh unnerved her. “You’re a beautiful woman, Cyrene,” he said, the seductive tone of his voice returning. “I won’t be the only man vying for your good graces. You’ll learn soon enough that I’ve treated you with much honor by being here tonight.”
He stepped forward again and stroked his hand across her cheek.
“Have I made myself unclear?” She slapped his hand away from her. “Have I shown you one morsel of interest since you made your intentions clear? I think not.”
“It is hardly your words that have enticed me onward. It is the soft blush against your skin—from your cheeks to your ears and down to your breasts,” he softly murmured the last word as he glanced down at her supple curves peeking over the top of her dress. “The increasing heaviness of your breathing as we speak, and—might I?” He drew his fingers to her neck, and she pulled away from his touch as if he were a viper ready to strike. “The rapidity of your heartbeat as we stand so near together.”
“Leave now, Prince Kael.” She added the formality to place a barrier between them.
Kael was handsome and did tempt her, but the manner in which he had approached her and the cutting edge of his voice at her refusal forced her hand. His presence in her room was nothing less than humiliating to her, her family, and their good name.
“Cyrene—”
“Affiliate Cyrene,” she reminded him.
He ground his teeth at the correction.
“Do not expect to receive an invitation again,” she said. “I now know what an invitation entails. Thank you kindly for instructing me in my first lesson in society.” Her narrowed eyes told him if he made one further move, she would not be as considerate for his position as she had been thus far.
“I hope you are so kind to your other suitors,” Prince Kael purred. “May your nights be as warm as the one before you.”
He bowed with excessive flourish, and with that, he thundered out of her living area. The door crashed shut behind him.
Cyrene’s heart fluttered wildly, but it was not from fear. It was pure anger. If he weren’t the rightful Prince of Byern, she would have gone straight to the nearest member of the Royal Guard and had him arrested for indecency.
She collapsed on her new sofa, pulled up her feet to hug her knees to her chest, and let a lone tear fall down her cheek. For what felt like the hundredth time that day, she wished Rhea were here with her.
Hands fell heavy on Cyrene’s shoulders, ripping her out of her sleep. Her eyes opened wide with terror. A forceful scream escaped out of her lungs. Adrenaline coursed through her body, and she pelted out another ear-shattering shriek.
A hand clamped down over her mouth, smothering her shouts. Cyrene struggled against her assailant in the pitch-black room. Another pair of hands pushed her out of her bed, but Cyrene clawed at the hands and kicked out. Her foot connected with something hard, and a person cried out. The hand covering her mouth wavered, and Cyrene took the liberty to bite down hard.
Her captor yelped and withdrew the hand from her mouth. Cyrene hopped out of bed and made a break for the door. Before she could even make it out of her bedchamber, hands latched on to her on both sides. Another scream was cut off mid-cry as a hand slapped her across the face, hard enough to turn her head.
Cyrene gasped in shock as her vision blurred. She had never, ever been hit before, and she was glad for that because the whole side of her face stung like nothing she had ever experienced.
“Move along,” someone said gruffly, pushing her through the door.
Cyrene jostled out of her room. Her feet were bare, and she was wearing nothing but her thin white shift. Her hands fisted in the material. She hated that anyone could see her so exposed.
She was pressed forward into the hallway of the Vines, and she received her first view of the captors. They wore oversized masks shaped like grotesque animals and mythological creatures. It was as if she were at a disturbing re-creation of a masked ball. She hadn’t been to one since she was a girl, but even then, people had worn beautifully constructed masks to shape their faces with glitter, feathers, and painted designs. The captors’ masks were nothing of the sort.
A giant spotted hyena’s face appeared next to her. The wearer shoved her down the hallway, and she collided into another person, who turned around and snatched up her hands. Staring back at her was an otherworldly snarling Indres with a fake like a wolf with large fangs protruding over out of its mouth.
“Watch where you’re going!” the Indres screeched.
“What are you doing to me?” Cyrene demanded, hysteria taking over.
“You will speak when spoken to,” another voice growled. It belonged to a Leif-masked figure, standing nearly the same height as Cyrene. Strawberry-blonde locks fell out of one side of the mask that was all glittering smooth skin with high-pointed ears. The Leif was a deceptively beautiful creature prone to stealing children in the middle of the night.
“No! You will answer me immediately! I am a Queen’s Affiliate,” she said, brandishing the title like a weapon. “You will stop this at once.”
Laughter filled the corridor.
“Be quiet, little girl.”
Something sharp jabbed her in the back. Her feet stilled as the knife punctured her skin. She sucked in a harsh breath at the pain shooting through her body.
“Keep your feet moving, or I’ll use this on your throat.” The hyena cackled in her ear.
Terrified, Cyrene clamped her mouth shut and followed the strange masked troupe. The torches along the hallway had been extinguished, and Cyrene couldn’t make out the route they were taking through the Vines.
Suddenly, the Leif came to an abrupt halt, and Cyrene barely kept from running headlong into the person. The Leif pressed against a nearly invisible door in the pitch-black hallway, and it creaked open. Cyrene bit her lip, trying to rein in the fear threatening to burst out of her.
Her captors shoved her through the pitch black entranceway. Cyrene helplessly stumbled forward and went down a few stairs. At the last second, she latched on to a railing and saved her body from smashing on the hard stone steps.
The group huddled together and descended the steep flight of damp stairs. They seemed to drop farther and farther beneath the castle, spiraling endlessly, and she became dizzy from the descent.
An eerie glow appeared around the next bend. Cyrene’s legs shook with the effort, and she was thankful to finally leave the stairs behind even if it meant they were that much closer to wherever her kidnappers were taking her.
Once they reached the bottom step, someone nudged her to keep moving. Through her terror, she put one foot in front of the other. They traveled through a maze of corridors before entering a room.
Upon closer examination, Cyrene realized it was actually a monstrous cave with ruby-red stalactites dripping dangerously from the ceiling and crystallized stalagmites precipitously shooting up from the floor. From her location on a raised stone platform, a flat black lake stretched out before her across the cave. As Cyrene’s eyes adjusted to the darkness, she noticed several large boats docked at a distance, and a few smaller skiffs were tied near her. The lake must empty out of the castle on the Keylani River, which ran along the city’s perimeter.
She turned away from the lake to the matter at hand and steeled herself for whatever was about to come.
Two rows of fiercely masked faces in high-backed black chairs sat before her. They were absolutely still, staring at her and quietly waiting.
But for what?
Suddenly, ice-cold water cascaded down on her head. The water drenched her hair, matting it to her face, and soaked through her thin shift. As the frigid water hit her skin, Cyrene cried out in shock. She brushed her hands over her eyes to dispel the water. Almost at once, another assault crashed onto her, soaking her to the bone. She had just enough time to close her eyes and mouth befor
e more water rained down.
“What in the name of the Creator is going on?” she screamed through her chattering teeth.
Someone jabbed her in the ribs with a knife blade, and Cyrene flinched from the touch.
“You will speak when spoken to,” the person said, repeating the Leif’s mantra.
“How dare you!” She held her arms around her body to try to retain a semblance of modesty.
A fourth torrent of water poured on top of her head, and she doubled over in an effort to block herself from the frigid water. Her whole body trembled, and her fingers and toes curled in on themselves. Her white shift did nothing to cover her body, but the cold was so all-encompassing that she almost didn’t care.
Cyrene waited for more water to fall, and when it didn’t immediately come, she took a moment to brush her hair back. She stood as regally as she could muster. Staring her captors down, she defiantly tilted up her chin. She didn’t know who these people were or what was going on, but she would not be broken.
“Do what you will.”
“Little girl, you will learn your manners,” a person said from behind her.
A gloved hand shot up in the air, staving off the next surge of water.
“That will quite do.” The man was wearing a terrifying depiction of a Dragon, the fearsome warriors in the Age of the Doma. “Do you think yourself worthy to wear the climbing-vine pin of an Affiliate?”
There. She had been spoken to.
“Of course!”
“Then, you must prove it,” a squat, short individual with a rather fitting dwarf mask said.
“I do not have to prove my worth to anyone. I am an Affiliate. I was selected into receivership to Queen Kaliana. There is no going back.”
“There is if you’re dead,” a peacock-masked individual trilled.
Cyrene blanched. Were they here to kill her? Had they dragged her to this place to send her remains down the Keylani River?
“Enough,” the Dragon rumbled.
Cyrene shivered. She had always feared the tales and fables that included the fire-breathing creature that could level a town with a swish of its tail.
After a short pause, a dreadfully emaciated individual wearing a terrifying Braj mask spoke up.
Braj were even more horrifying to her than dragons. They were vicious killers, who were all but invisible in the shadows. It was said that if a person ever saw the true face of a Braj, it would be the last thing they would ever see. The monsters would carve off the faces of their victims and wear them as a prize.
“Did you know that Affiliates and High Order were once warriors?” the high-pitched voice asked.
“Warriors?” she asked. She had not heard such a thing before.
“Oh yes.”
“That’s not right. After Viktor Dremylon destroyed the Doma, he created Affiliates and High Order for the restoration of Byern. He wanted the country to flourish, and he used the Class system with his new Affiliates and High Order at its head to bring about the peace the citizens all so desperately desired,” Cyrene told them.
“Yet what exactly were they restoring?” a man in a fierce lion mask asked.
“They were restoring the lands for the prosperity of Byern,” she said tentatively. “They were restoring education and knowledge for the people. They were restoring order to the world that they now ruled.”
What else would they have been restoring? The Doma had ruled for too long. They hadn’t seen the plight of the everyday people. Viktor Dremylon had saved Byern.
“And how do you best restore order?” the Braj-masked woman asked.
Cyrene blankly stared forward. It took her a second to piece together what the Braj had meant. After Viktor had pushed the Doma out of Byern, he’d had to restore order and implement his Class system. She had never thought to question how he’d done it. And now that she was, it dawned on her.
Oh Creator! She had been backed into a corner.
The best way to restore order after rebellion was surely through…force.
“He used his warriors to restore order,” she said, understanding it for the first time. “The first generation of Affiliates and High Order were people he could trust through and through. They were Viktor Dremylon’s…warriors.”
The Dragon laughed. “Yes, it is true, and now, you know it. The answer we must know is whether or not you are a warrior.”
“You want to know if I’m a warrior?”
“Yes, and you must prove it to us now,” the dwarf squeaked out, “as we do not believe you belong among us.”
“How can I—”
“You will prove it!” the Dragon called out. “You will prove that you are worthy of such a title.”
“We will leave in a moment and lock the door behind us,” the peacock interrupted. “You must find a way to exit this cave and return to your quarters. If you make it, speak of this to no one. If you make it, then you can consider yourself a warrior, an Affiliate, in truth.”
“Be warned. You are not the only thing in the room.” The Braj giggled.
Cyrene stared at them in utter shock. She was supposed to escape this cave, wearing only her shift, in the dead of night with something else in here. Are they absolutely mad?
“What if I choose not to?”
“Then, you will die,” the peacock said with bloodlust in her voice.
Slowly, the two rows of people stood and crossed the room to the door. A lock clicked in place, and the sudden all-consuming feeling of being alone wrenched itself over her heart. Panic seized her consciousness, and she forced herself to breathe in through her nose and out through her mouth. She needed to keep her wits about her and think.
A torch glowed in a metal slot next to the door, and she jerked it from where it hung. The flame skittered along the lakefront as she searched for something, anything that might help her. She walked half the length of the cave floor and found nothing but water through the entire room. Thrusting the torch out in front of her, she gazed out into the depths revealed by its light. The flames showed no more than a few additional feet in front of her. She gnashed her teeth together in frustration.
How in the name of the Creator do I get out of here?
Still shivering in her soaked nightgown, she returned to the center of the room. What did I see when I entered before they had humiliated me, pitched me in darkness, and left me to die? Red stalactites, the lake, the river, the boats—
The boats!
Cyrene rushed back in the direction of the entrance and gazed out across the flat lake. She would no doubt be unable to man the huge boats alone, and she did not think that she had the skills to do so. The skiffs though were closer and smaller. If she could find an oar among them, then she could paddle her way out of this dank hellhole, regardless of what the river current might be outside of the cave.
Unfortunately, the skiffs were tied quite a bit farther than she had originally thought. It wasn’t too far to swim by any means, but can I even get in the water? What is the thing the Braj had warned me about?
Beyond the depths of the Keylani River, Cyrene had never seen so much water. With the Fallen Desert creeping closer and closer on the other side of the river, scant water survived a summer season. She knew what could be within the depths for she had studied aquatic life, but the real question was if anything could survive in such an endlessly dark lake under the Taken Mountains.
Running the torch along the edge where the mountain met the lake, Cyrene searched for footholds or a ledge that could help her cross. A ridge on the opposite side led up to a dock, but she didn’t know how deep the water was, and she certainly couldn’t jump that far.
She cursed under her breath, smashed the torch back in its holder, and paced in circles. She didn’t want to believe that the masked figures would have put her down here in a hopeless situation. There had to be a way out, and she would find it.
If only the stupid lake would just recede!
A spark lit in her chest at her thought. She felt a tug ba
ck to the waterline. Staring at the ledge on the other side, paces away from where she was, she resigned herself to the fact that there was no other way to get out of the cave than to get to those boats.
Cyrene grabbed the torch once more and returned to the edge. She swallowed hard before placing her toe in the water. Surprisingly, it was warm, nearly the temperature of bath water. She sank her foot deeper into the depths, silently praying she might reach the bottom or at least something that would help her get to the other side.
When she was knee-deep in the water, her foot jarred roughly against a jagged rock. She cried out. Wheeling backward, she pulled her leg out of the water. The cut across the ball of her foot was shallow but bleeding more than she would have liked.
Gritting her teeth, she shoved her foot back into the water and found the rock again. She tested her weight on it, and it didn’t budge. She sighed happily and eased her other leg into the water. She carefully kicked her leg out in front of her, and to her relief, she found another rock. Ignoring the pain in her foot, she nearly giggled when she located another and another.
A ripple pulsed in the water.
Cyrene froze stiffly. There it was—another ripple. Her heart hammered against her chest.
What’s out there?
She was as close to the ledge as to where she had started. She had to risk it. A ripple closer than the last steeled her nerve, and she dashed across another group of stones as fast as her feet would carry her through the black water. She didn’t dare look across the lake as she searched desperately for secure footing.
The ledge was up ahead, and all she could hear behind her were snapping jaws. Her breath came out ragged as the sounds approached faster and faster, gaining on her. Without a second thought, Cyrene dived for the ledge. Narrowly making it, she landed roughly on her right side, skidding against the rough stone. As she rolled away from the lakefront, she lost her torch in the process.
Her face shot up from her crouched position in time to see a pack of feral fish with red scales and razor-sharp teeth jumping eagerly out of the water toward her. She screamed and skittered farther away from the edge. Several flapped against the ledge, ferociously snapping their jaws before crashing back into the depths.