This was the last of them. She’d poured through hundreds of books since Jackson left on his mission, but these five were the ones she thought most likely to hold the answers. She rubbed her eyes, then lifted a book from the top of the pile. The warmth of the fireplace beckoned, and she placed the book on the rug, grabbed an afghan from the back of the couch, and wrapped it around her. The chill that’d plagued her ever since Jackson had left her alone in the training room finally started to dissipate.
Jackson. She’d been able to keep her emotions at bay while she concentrated on her research, but now that she was still for a few moments, thoughts of him crept in. A tear trickled down her cheek, followed by another. She didn’t bother to wipe them away. Instead, she simply grabbed a box of tissues from the end table and curled up on the rug with the blanket pulled tightly around her and let the tears fall.
She longed to return to her own realm, her own life—the one she had before Jackson barged in and ruined everything. That wasn’t really fair. She knew that when she wasn’t so mired in self-pity. Her own destiny had obviously brought her down this path.
Deep sobs wracked her body. Her hands shook when she pulled a tissue from the box. She blew her nose, but the sobs continued. She wept for herself, for her sister, for the loss of her parents and grandmother, for the loss of her home that Daygan had ordered his savages to burn to the ground. She wept over Jackson’s betrayal. How could he have turned his back and walked away, left her and run off to complete a mission he knew she didn’t approve of?
Some queen she’d make. At the first sign of trouble, she buried her head in a blanket and cried her eyes out. She heaved in a shaky breath and rubbed her aching chest. Her head pounded. All right, she had her pity-party, time to get a grip.
She pulled the blanket from her head and lay on her stomach, her feet extended toward the fire. The big leather book in front of her held some of the most ancient stories she could find. There was no mention of whether they were fact or fiction, but there was reference to an elite team of warriors invading other realms in search of soldiers. She wiped the last of the tears from her cheeks, opened the leather cover, and took great care while turning pages that were brittle and yellowed with age.
She hiccupped. Great. Just what she needed. She ignored the constant interruption to focus on the story. The warriors would be sent by one more powerful than themselves, one who would know what was needed and not be afraid.
She found the section where she’d left off, but the words swam in and out of focus. Her eyes burned from too many tears and sheer exhaustion. The dim lantern lighting didn’t help. Whoever heard of a world without technology? Squinting to bring the words clear, she struggled to concentrate. She had to make sense of this. It seemed so straightforward to her. The Cymmerans had no right to kill and abduct humans from their realm. Period. Plain and simple. But was it?
What of her own role? Had Jackson not tried to…acquire…her—she swallowed the stab of fear the thought still brought—she never would have found her way to Cymmera. What if these men were destined to be here? What if Elijah was right, and they would have suffered tremendously before dying anyway?
She rested her elbows on the rug, weaved her fingers into her hair and squeezed. After a moment, she released her hair and rubbed her puffy eyes. What ifs chased each other around in circles in her mind. In and out of focus, like the words on the page.
A dim blue light bathed the book.
Ryleigh froze.
The light brightened, turned deeper, changed altogether. The phenomenon, gripped her, held her gaze riveted to the open page. Red light glimmered across the book’s surface.
Ryleigh pushed up onto her knees, allowing the blanket to fall from her shoulders onto the floor behind her. Mia’s door was still closed. All seemed quiet. Pink light emanated from the narrow crack beneath her own closed bedroom door.
She climbed to her feet, mesmerized by the myriad of colors shifting across the floor. Green light washed over everything. She took a step forward, the effect of the changing lights hypnotic, calling to her, drawing her closer. Another step. Yellow. She tilted her head, tried to see beneath the door. Nothing but pure, yellow light, beckoning to her. She reached the door and stopped, her eyes glued to the light spilling across her bare feet.
Her mind screamed at her to grab Mia and run, but the lure was too strong to ignore.
The light changed again. Red this time. Deep red, the color of blood. Her hand trembled as it reached out, despite the pleas from her mind to stop, and pressed flat against the heavy wooden door. She hesitated a moment…then shoved the door open.
Blood-red light enveloped her, dragged her across the threshold.
Elijah must have brought the stone to her room. He’d been with her when they’d fled through the tunnels and into the family vault where she’d first seen the stone sitting upon its pedestal, when the first vision had assailed her. His voice echoed in her mind. “The stone has been passed from queen to queen. It offers visions, prophecy, guidance…”
The only light in the chamber emanated from the stone sitting atop the tall pedestal, illuminating the carvings. Hundreds of images etched into the glass pedestal, small pictures, reminiscent of ancient hieroglyphics. White light poured from the stone.
She knelt before the frosted glass pedestal and ran her fingers reverently over one of the images etched there. The image of three men, one of them slung over another’s shoulder. Had it truly been a vision? The image had come just before Jackson had returned from battle carrying his dying father, Dakota standing firmly at his side. She hadn’t been there when they returned, hadn’t witnessed it, but she’d heard the stories. It could have happened just the way she’d seen it.
A chill ran through her, raising goose bumps. The light continued to shift. Red…pink…white…red…pink…The flickering glow cast shadows and color across the images adorning the pedestal, bringing them to life.
She stood, her heart aching with the need to hold the stone, to cradle it in her palm. Tremors shook her hand as she reached out. She hefted the stone, not surprised this time by its weight or the warmth it radiated. Her palm tingled as the stone’s color deepened once again to blood red.
Shadows swirled, black wisps shifting deep within the center of the stone. Ryleigh lifted it closer. A dragon took shape, gliding smoothly toward her. The black silhouette of the rider stood out against the red background. Familiar. Another form emerged from the depths of the stone. This one propped in front of the rider. But no less familiar. Who? Had someone been hurt? She knew the shape. Not Dakota.
She squinted, trying to clarify the vision.
The stone heated. No. Not yet. She struggled desperately to bring the image into focus. Two men astride the dragon. One slumped to the side. The other holding him up. She gripped the stone tighter. Held it even as her palm burned.
She couldn’t hold on. Pain shot up her arm. The second image, the man slumped to the side. So familiar. She fought to see the features.
A small cry escaped as her hand flew open and the stone dropped to the floor. It burned brightly, casting a fiery, red glow against the glass pedestal. The image Ryleigh had just witnessed formed in the glass. A blood red outline of the two men soaring through the darkness, the dragon’s wings fully extended.
She clutched her burning palm against her stomach and waited for the stone to once again begin its colorful shift through the rainbow. When the image on the pedestal no longer appeared red, and the stone glowed a deep midnight blue, she lifted it from the floor and placed it reverently atop its base. Then she turned and fled the chamber.
She had to find Elijah. She ran through the living area of her suite, crossed the chamber, and pushed Mia’s door open enough to peek through.
Mia lay curled up, blanket around her waist, book clutched in her arms, lantern lit on the bedside table. Her soft rhythmic breathing assured Ryleigh she was asleep.
Ryleigh left her sleeping, reli
eved Mia had found some peace, and headed for the hall. She hauled the door to their suite open and slid through. Without waiting for it to fall shut, she took off down the hallway. The echo of her harsh breathing and her pounding footsteps rebounded from the stone walls. The stairs were steep, and she almost lost her footing and tumbled down. She grabbed the railing and scrambled to regain her composure, launched herself from the bottom step the instant she reached it, then stopped short. She stood in a circular chamber that rose straight to the fifth floor of the castle. Each floor had a balcony overlooking the rotunda. Several passageways branched off the main area, and she was certain one of them contained Elijah’s suite. But which one?
“Hello?” Silence. There should be servants bustling about, guards surveying the area. The few children of the chambermaids should be running through the hallways.
Ryleigh’s head spun. She had to stop Jackson. No way could she allow him to complete his mission, especially if she was right about his intended target.
Each of the openings had the same arched entrance, stone floor, and white stone walls.
She headed through the archway beneath the stairs. It was the only one she was familiar with, the one that led to the kitchen. She ran, her footsteps mocking in the eerie silence. She burst through the door, and six women turned to her, eyes wide at the intrusion.
“Please, I must find Elijah. It’s urgent.”
The women looked at each other, probably wondering if she’d lost her mind, before one of them stepped forward. “I believe he’s in the Council Chambers, Your Highness.”
Ugh…with the, your highness. If only they knew what a mess she was, they wouldn’t be so quick to bow to her. “Which way is that?”
The same woman gestured down the hallway. “Go back to the rotunda, and take the first hallway on your right. It’s at the end…”
Ryleigh didn’t hear the rest of the statement as she fled the kitchen. She only hoped she could find him when she got there. She ran faster, through the rotunda and down the hallway. Her pulse thundered in her ears. A stitch cramped her side. She kept running. She had to stop Jackson.
When she reached the door, she shoved through without even knocking. “Elijah.”
The seer lifted his head and jumped from his seat. “Is something wrong, My Princess?”
“Yes.” She bent at the waist, unable to bear the cramp any longer. Air. She heaved in a deep breath. “You…have to…stop…”
“Here. Sit.” Elijah led her to a chair.
She took the seat and leaned her head against the high back. She had to gain control. Elijah handed her a glass of water, and she took one deep swallow, grateful for the soothing coolness against her throat.
“Please, Elijah. You must stop Jackson from killi—uh—completing his mission.”
The already pallid man paled even further. “I’m sorry, Miss Ryleigh. That’s not possible.”
“But you have to, Elijah. There’s been a terrible mistake. I think, anyway.” The vision had seared into her brain in much the same way it had etched into the glass. Two men astride the dragon. One of them certainly Jackson, the other…no. It wasn’t possible. What were the chances? Would destiny be so cruel?
“Forgive me, My Queen. I do not mean I won’t stop them.” Elijah swallowed hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing with the effort. “I mean it’s too late.” His gaze met hers. “The men have already returned, with the…umm…” He cleared his throat. “…targets.”
Her heart ached for him, fear of having made a mistake obviously battering his self-confidence.
“Where are they?”
“Who? The Death Dealers?” His brows drew together over his piercing blue eyes. Eyes like ice.
She shifted in the chair, sat up straighter, perched on the edge. “No. Their victims.”
Elijah winced. “They’re in the dungeon.”
She shot to her feet. “Take me to them.”
Elijah’s mouth fell open. He shook his head. “I’m sorry. I’m afraid that’s not possible.”
“Why not?”
“Uh…” He frowned, then smiled. “Well, for starters, Jackson would have my head.”
That was probably true. “I have to see the men who were brought here.”
“I’m sorry, but there’s just no way.”
Ryleigh stiffened her spine. He’d left her no other choice, but she couldn’t help feeling like a real witch.
Elijah was different from the warriors of Cymmera, more delicate, fragile, sensitive.
Knowing she was about to hurt him brought a dull ache to her chest, but it didn’t stop her. It couldn’t. “I order you to take me to those men. Immediately.”
Elijah’s eyes widened in shock. His already thin lips pressed together in a tight line and almost disappeared. When he simply stared at her for a moment, she held her breath waiting to see if he’d refuse.
He bowed his head. “Very well…Your Highness. Follow me.” He turned and walked silently from the room.
Great. She’d hurt him. Ryleigh lowered her head and followed the prophet, his slumped shoulders stabbing through her. “Look, Elijah…”
He held up a hand but didn’t stop walking. “It’s fine, Your Highness.”
“It’s not fine. I’m sorry. I must see them, Elijah. Please understand.”
“I understand perfectly.” Except his attitude said he didn’t.
Men. Why did they have to be so difficult? She fisted her hands at her sides. Then gave up and trudged behind Elijah in silence.
They crossed an open area she’d never seen before at the back of the castle. The spires and turrets of the white stone castle tipped with dark green roofs were more stunning than anything she’d ever seen. Even in the midst of a dying kingdom, its majestic beauty stood out. She tried to imagine how it would look amid a sea of colorful flowers and green trees. Maybe one day. Although it would probably take a better queen than her.
Elijah stopped at a large, dull, metal door. He contemplated her for a long moment before sliding a stone aside and removing a key from the small, carved out space. He opened a chamber filled with weapons, chose a small dagger and tucked it into his waistband. His let his robe fall closed, effectively concealing the weapon, before closing the chamber door and placing the key in the big metal door’s lock. When he turned it, the door swung smoothly inward. Elijah took a lantern from the wall, lit it, and plunged into the darkness without a word.
Hmmm…she would have a lot of work to do to repair that relationship. If she even could. She followed on Elijah’s heels, gripping the railing tightly so as not to slip down the steep, stone staircase slick with mold.
Dampness and the smell of mold nearly overwhelmed her. These tunnels were nothing like the others she’d seen in Cymmera. The walls were built from stone, as was the floor. Puddles of what appeared to be dirty water—but who really knew—dotted the uneven floor. She carefully avoided stepping in those, since she hadn’t taken the time to put her shoes back on. Another door stood at the end of the tunnel. A solid door, with no windows, so she couldn’t see past it.
She gripped Elijah’s arm with a feather-light touch.
He stopped but didn’t turn to face her.
“Elijah…” Even her soft whisper echoed through the tunnel. “Why are these men kept down here…like this? I thought they would be offered the opportunity to be warriors?”
He finally turned to face her. His eyes kind in the soft flicker of the lantern. “My Princess…” The title held none of his earlier sarcasm, only genuine compassion. This was the man she knew. “The prisoners will be offered every opportunity. We’re a dying kingdom, yet each of them will be offered a small home and the chance to fight for Cymmera. They may become part of our…family, if you will.” He took Ryleigh’s hand in his as if hoping to soften whatever he was going to say next.
She held her breath. Waited.
“Some men realize their situation immediately and choose to join us.
Others…Well, others don’t. They need to understand their fate if they choose to remain…untrustworthy.”
“So, they really are prisoners?”
“Yes. But, once they pledge their allegiance to Cymmera, they will be released. Revered even, as our people know they are here for a reason.” He squeezed her hand in his delicate fingers. “Please. Can I talk you out of this? They are caged, but they could still be hostile. They are not yet aware of their predicament. They would not have been conscious when they were brought here, have not yet been…enlightened, shall we say. Perhaps the pris—”
She pinned him with a glare.
“Men…would be more receptive to your visit once they understand what’s happened.”
“I’m sorry, Elijah. I know you only want what’s best for me, but I must do this now. It’s quite urgent.” Elijah was the last person she wanted to hurt. She swallowed her disbelief in the stone’s accuracy, her uncertainty about her role as queen, her skepticism about prophecy being real. “When I returned to my room earlier, the stone…” She shrugged, unsure how to explain the powerful lure she’d felt from the inanimate object. “It called to me. When I lifted it, I saw something. Something I’m not sure is accurate, but I must check.” She searched his eyes for understanding, for forgiveness. She forced a whisper past the pain gripping her throat. “I need to know.”
He studied her for a fraction of a second, then nodded. “Of course, Miss Ryleigh.” After one more reassuring squeeze, he released her hand and unlocked the door. He held it open but leaned close to her ear as she passed. “Do not get too close to the bars.”
She hesitated, a moment of intense fear almost making her turn back. Almost. Lanterns lined the wall opposite a row of cells, bathing the chamber in dim light and shadows. Maybe twenty cells, made completely from stone except for the front walls, which were made of thick, black, metal bars. She couldn’t make out any sort of door or opening. The bars extended in one full piece from the floor to the ceiling. She had no clue how they got the prisoners into the cages.
Lost Princess Page 5