So when Gladys enters his cell that evening with a tray full of food, Rydan can’t help but feel ecstatic. “Gladys, my friend! How I’ve missed you!”
As per usual, the handmaiden does not respond. She approaches his cell and, with what appears to be a small smile (although he may be imagining it), she pushes the tray through the bars.
Like a ravenous beast, Rydan scours through the food like a baby bear discovering meat for the first time. Gladys sits back and watches silently, as usual. Her gaze used to bother Rydan, but it doesn’t anymore. Company is all he wants, no matter who it is.
And, speak of the devil, when he looks up, Gladys is no longer sitting outside his cell. Instead, eyes the color of fresh blood stare back at him. Rydan grimaces as images of a beheaded Elvira swirl around his mind. The crimson-eyed man rises and Rydan shuffles backward on his hands and feet.
Am I seeing things? Is this man really here?
If he hadn’t just eaten, he probably would have written it off as another hallucination—he’s had lots of them these days—but the food had quickly settled in his stomach. What he was seeing before him was real, not a hallucination.
“Rydan, is it?” The man’s voice is smooth as silk.
For a moment, Rydan feels comforted, but then he looks back into the man’s blood-red eyes. He doesn’t say anything, doesn’t nod. He fears that giving any indication as to who he is will lead to bad things. Very bad things.
“Don’t look so frightened,” he says. “Believe it or not, I’m here to help you.”
Rydan continues to stare at him. Finally, he asks, “Who are you?”
The man chuckles. “My name is Xerin. Xerin Grey.”
The name isn’t at all familiar, which messes with Rydan even more as he tries to recall meeting someone named Xerin from his past; but he comes up empty.
“Let me help you,” Xerin says. “You know my sister.”
Rydan racks his brain for a girl in his circle of acquaintances with the last name Grey, but comes up short. His lips part to speak, but Xerin beats him to it.
“Elvira.”
Rydan can feel his mouth drop as the words hit his ears. Everything Vira told him comes flooding back in a tidal wave of memories. She grew up in Chialka. The fires of Eroesa separated her family. She and her mother ended up in Trendalath, but her brother and her father . . .
The words come out as a croak. “You’re her brother.” Rydan scoots himself closer to the bars, trying to get a closer look at Xerin. Except for the blonde hair and pale features, they really don’t look much alike, especially when comparing their eye color.
“Affirmative,” Xerin confirms. He turns and walks away from the cell, retreating back to the barrel of hay. He leans forward so that his elbows are resting on top of his knees. “I just spoke to her before I came in here.”
The words are like music to Rydan’s ears. “She’s still alive? How is she?”
Xerin hits his tongue against the roof of his mouth, a clucking sound echoing through the dungeon. “It seems like you got her in a bit of trouble.”
Rydan lowers his gaze. “I honestly didn’t know I wasn’t able to talk to her, or anyone for that matter.” He raises his head. “No one handed me a rulebook for dungeon etiquette.”
Xerin laughs. “Snarky one, aren’t you?”
Rydan keeps his eyes trained on him. “How did you get in here? Where is Gladys?”
Without warning, a soft yellow glow suddenly appears around Xerin’s body. Rydan’s jaw drops as he watches him morph into the shape of Gladys—eyes, ears, mouth, hair. There are no differences to the naked human eye.
“Wow,” Rydan breathes. “That’s incredible.”
Xerin-now-turned-Gladys doesn’t say a word.
Rydan shifts uncomfortably under the gaze. “Okay, you can change back now. I get the point.”
A smile graces Gladys’s face, a rare sight indeed, and Rydan watches the transformation happen again. He claps his hands a few times. “Truly remarkable.”
Xerin looks over his shoulder. “Do you have any more questions, or can I say what I came here to say?”
Rydan straightens up, feeling slightly offended at Xerin’s tone. Apparently, he asks too many questions for his liking. “Go right ahead.”
“As I mentioned, before I came here, I visited Elvira. She’s fine,” he adds quickly, “but she may not be for much longer. It seems Tymond wants to make an example out of her.”
“An example?” Rydan’s hands curl into fists. Tymond better not be planning to execute her, or do anything at all to harm her. “So what is he planning to do?”
Xerin shakes his head. “It doesn’t look promising for her. That’s all I’ll say. But I did give her some information to use at her disposal.”
Rydan tilts his head before asking, “What kind of information?”
Xerin gives him a wicked grin. “I know where Arden Eliri is.”
DARIUS TYMOND
IT’S EARLY MORNING when Darius awakens. Soft snores escape Aldreda’s lips. She’s in a deep slumber, so he does his best to slide out of bed as quietly as possible. He pulls on his robes and his shoes before opening the door to their bedchamber. He looks at Aldreda one last time to ensure she is still asleep before quietly closing the door behind him.
Sunlight pours in through the stained glass windows as he walks along the hallway. He turns right and continues to walk for a few minutes until he reaches the chambers in the far west corridor—the guest quarters. Without knocking, he flings open the first door. The bed is made and the room is tidy. It almost looks as if no one is staying there. He opens the doors to the next few bedchambers. Same thing, neat and tidy.
Good. His Savant is taking him seriously.
As he’d instructed, each member had left to search his respective territories. He’d given Landon the North quadrant, consisting of Volkharn, the Vaekith Mountains, and the Roviel Woods. In the Northeast were the Lirath Cave, Eadrios, and Sardoria, to which he’d given to Benson. Julian had been given the South, which included Declorath, Miraenia, and Chialka. And last, but not least, was the Southeast, consisting of Eroesa and the Isle of Lonia. He’d assigned Clive to this territory, knowing full well that it’d keep him as far away from Trendalath—and his wife—as possible. Clive hadn’t seemed too fond of the idea, but he’d obliged.
Tymond had decided not to send anyone to Athia, seeing as some of his men had come from there on the way to the castle. They’d reported storming some inn nearby in search of the final member of the Savant, but to no avail.
Disappointing, really.
Darius leaves the far west corridor and briskly makes his way to the Great Room. Much to his delight, the room is empty. He strolls to a nearby table and pulls a piece of parchment that contains a map of the Lands of Aeridon from his robe. He runs his hands over the parchment in order to smooth its many crinkles.
One day soon, he hopes to rid each of the cities, making Trendalath the sole kingdom in the territory. His eyes flit to the Roviel Woods, then to Sardoria—that one will always remain a problem.
Queen Cerylia Jareth is quite formidable, even by his standards. A good-natured woman, surely, but Darius knew from the first day he met her that she had a dark side—one capable of perilous things. He’d rather squash that while he has the chance than find out what those things are.
He turns his attention back to the map. If his calculations are correct, then Benson should return first, followed by Landon, then Julian, and lastly, Clive. Unless, of course, one of them finds Arden. They’d been advised to send their carrier kestrel at the end of each day to report back with any news. If Arden is located, he’d directed them to detain her and immediately bring her to Trendalath castle.
We’ll see just how inclined they are to follow my orders.
His thoughts scatter as one of the doors to the Great Room creaks open. Darius begins to roll the parchment up, but stops as he sees Aldreda enter the room. He
r hair is unkempt and there are bags under her eyes. Apparently her slumber wasn’t as deep as he’d originally thought.
“My Queen,” he says with a polite nod.
She doesn’t greet him, just walks forward with her hands resting on her lower abdomen, as per usual.
Darius notices the stoic expression on her face. “Is everything all right?”
Aldreda’s face pales. “I’m not well.”
Darius finishes rolling the parchment up and stuffs it into a pocket within his robe. “Please, sit,” he says as he gestures to one of the chairs.
Aldreda shakes her head. “I won’t be staying long. I just wanted to tell you that I’m not well and will be in our chambers for most of the day.” Her eyes flit to the parchment sticking out of his pocket. “Has the Savant started their search?”
Darius immediately knows what she’s getting at. She wants to know where Clive is. It’s enough to make his blood boil, so he answers with a sharp “Yes,” before strolling past her to leave.
She catches his arm. “Darius,” she whispers.
He looks at his wife, her eyes full of longing and despair. “I know this hasn’t been easy on you. But I want you to know that I am yours. I am loyal and faithful to you.”
The words burn his ears. Images of Clive and Aldreda exchanging glances at the table resurface. But instead of getting angry, he just says, “I know.”
She squeezes his arm tenderly. “I know you have plenty on your mind right now, but it’d be nice to take a day off from ruling the kingdom. Perhaps we could spend some time together.” She gives him a hopeful smile.
Unfortunately, all Darius can see are lies, betrayal, and deceit. Disgust overcomes him, but this time, he can’t hide it, nor does he have any desire to. “Perhaps when Clive returns, he can take a day off, seeing as his responsibilities are minimal compared to my own.”
Aldreda removes her hand and takes a step back. “After everything I just said to you, about being faithful and loyal . . . about being yours . . . this is how you choose to behave? By lashing out at me?” She shakes her head in disappointment. “You’re better than that, Darius.”
Without thinking, he growls, “It’s My King, to you.” He can tell by the look in her eyes that he’s gone too far.
“I’ll be going now, Darius.” She clicks her heel and whirls away from him. As she reaches the door, she turns back around and places her left hand back on her bump. “I can only hope that you’ll treat this child better than you’ve treated me.” And with that, she swings the door open and slams it shut behind her.
Darius holds his breath for three seconds and then screams.
CERYLIA JARETH
SHE’D SEEN IT with her own two eyes. Aldreda Tymond. Plunging a dagger into her beloved husband’s chest. Her heart wrenches at the thought as she rolls over onto her side.
It’s only been a few days since she and Opal had traveled back in time—to fifteen years prior—but Cerylia has no plans to leave her bedchambers. Reliving the heartache and sorrow seems to grow worse, not better, with each passing day, and it’s enough to cause concern.
Both Delwynn and Opal have visited her multiple times a day, but they never seem to make it past her closed door. She knows they mean well, and that they just want to check on her, but Cerylia knows what’s best for her at a time like this. And right now, she needs to be alone. The sadness will pass, just like it always does, but that doesn’t make it any easier or help to speed up the process. How she wishes it would.
She flips over again, but this time lies on her back. The bed seems to have taken the shape of her body, and she’s almost positive there will be an indentation whenever she decides to rise from the confines of her mattress and actually leave the room. She gazes up at the ceiling, at the intricate paintings of angels and lords who are supposedly watching over her. Even though the sun is going down, the reflection of the paint twinkles, like brightly lit stars in the night sky.
Stargazing used to be one of her husband’s favorite pastimes.
An image of his death reemerges once more, and she has to choke down the bile that creeps up her throat. No matter what she does, no matter what she looks at, she can’t pull her mind away from the atrocity.
Enough.
Moping won’t do her any good. And it certainly won’t bring her husband back. She’s better than this. She has to be.
Just as she’s getting herself together and pulling her robes on, a light rapping on her door sounds. She finishes smoothing her hair, then walks to the door to open it. There stands Opal, looking just as distressed as Cerylia imagines herself to be.
I suppose our visit to the past has affected her, too.
“May I come in?”
The queen steps aside and ushers her in. “Where are my manners? Of course, do come in.”
Opal stands in the middle of the room as Cerylia closes the door firmly behind her. “Please excuse me if this is out of line, but I wanted to see how you were doing after . . .”
Cerylia puts her hand up and nods slowly. “No need to rehash our recent travels. I am doing well. Not as well as I would like, but I think it will come with time.”
The girl fidgets with the hem of her tunic. “I just wanted to tell you that it wasn’t easy for me either.” She raises her eyes until they lock with the queen’s. “I know what it’s like to lose someone close to you.” She pauses, and Cerylia is surprised to see her tearing up a little. “Anyway, I’m here for you if you need me. Anything you need.” She reaches out and places her hand on top of the queen’s.
Cerylia hesitates for a moment, but decides to place her free hand on top of Opal’s. “Thank you, my dear. Your generosity and kindness have been noted.” She gives the girl a small smile. “And come to think of it, I think I know of a way you can help.”
Opal regards her with large doe-eyes.
“My dear,” Cerylia says, “I think it’s about time we round up the Caldari.”
BRAXTON HORNSBY
“DO YOU THINK I should try to go talk to Arden?” Braxton sits in the middle of Xerin’s living room by the fire, watching intently as his new friend sharpens his weapons. Daggers, hunting knives, longswords, and the like are strewn about the kitchen table. Braxton has never felt fully comfortable around blades, but he has a feeling he’s about to get real comfortable real quick.
Xerin ignores his question as he finishes sharpening a bronze dagger with an intricately designed handle. If Braxton had to guess, based on the bird-like features crafted into the wood, it’s likely his favorite weapon.
He takes his silence in stride. “Why a falcon?”
At this, Xerin’s head pops up from his work. “They’re beautiful, majestic creatures that are renowned for their speed. While in flight, they can reach over 320 kilometers per hour.” He lowers his gaze again and takes a small rag to wipe the excess metal shards from the blade.
Braxton clears his throat before saying, “I’m going to step outside and get some fresh air.”
“You’re not going to talk to Arden, right?”
And just like that, Braxton has his answer. “No. Just going to take a walk.”
Xerin nods. “Very well.”
Braxton gathers his pack and throws it over his shoulder, along with his bow and arrows and makes for the door. He glances back one more time, but Xerin has moved on from the bronze dagger to the longsword and is wholly concentrated on polishing it. He shuts the door quietly behind him, then inhales a steady stream of fresh air.
For the sun just setting, Orihia seems pretty well lit. He walks along the stone path outside of Xerin’s dwelling, heading away from the rest of the Caldaris’ houses. Glowing orbs light the path before him, in reds, greens, purples, and blues. The walk is quite relaxing, and is much needed, given recent events.
After a while, he plops down on a giant mushroom. He extends his legs, surprised that his entire body can fit on the surface area with no problem. He gazes up at t
he canopy of intertwining tree branches. Insects hum their pleasant melodies and uniquely colored birds fly overhead. He closes his eyes, feeling serene and at peace for the first time in weeks.
He must have dozed off because the next thing he knows, a twig snaps and there’s someone standing right in front of him. Braxton shoots up from the mushroom. Still sitting, he rubs his eyes, but it only takes him a few seconds to discern who stands before him. The one person Xerin told him not to talk to.
Arden.
“Would you like some company?”
She says it so casually, it almost makes Braxton feel as though they’ve been acquainted since they were children. Hardly the case. Xerin’s warning pops into his mind, but he quickly shoves it aside. Something about Arden intrigues him, and if they’re going to be training together and, ultimately fighting for the same cause together, then what’s the harm in getting to know each other better?
Braxton scoots over, even though there’s plenty of room on the mushroom, and pats the space next to him. “Have a seat.”
Arden sits down next to him and he notices that a petite marble fox has been sidling at her feet the whole time. The fox jumps onto the mushroom and curls up beside her.
“Where’d you get a fox?” Braxton asks.
Arden shrugs. “Estelle gave her to me. She originally followed her around until I showed up.”
“What’s her name?”
Arden smiles as she pets the fox behind the ears. “Juniper.”
He grins as he raises his hand to stroke the black and white fur. “That’s an interesting name.”
“She only eats berries. Juniper berries are her favorite.”
He slides his index finger up and down underneath Juniper’s chin. “Well then, I suppose I misspoke. It’s a very fitting name, isn’t it?”
“As long as you see the error of your ways.” A coy smile tugs at her lips, and he senses that she’s already becoming more comfortable around him.
He gives his best pouting face. “It would appear that the Caldari like you more than me. I didn’t receive a welcome present.”
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