Erita shook her head. “No. By that time I was already good friends with Inecha, and she was in danger. That's why I came to Cuskelom.”
Heldon tried to lift his shoulders into a shrug, but it hurt. “That doesn't explain why you stayed though.”
At this, Erita hesitated and lowered herself to sit back on the edge of her cot. She looked back down at her hands. When she had magicked Vixen and Inecha to Cuskelom all those years ago, she met Honroth and Heldon. Theran had already been banished by his father to Endleath, but she met him a little later when Honroth fetched him—and surprisingly Lorrek with him—to help them eliminate the threat of the Rakessat. Before she left Jechorm with Vixen and Inecha, Lorrek had told Erita to wait until he returned to Cuskelom before leaving his father's kingdom. Though Lorrek appeared briefly that one time to fight the Rakessat, he left just as quickly by falling into the Orb of Oblivion. In that moment, Erita hadn't known what to do; was she to still wait for Lorrek, or could she leave when she wished?
She decided to wait—for a time, and in that time she watched Theran throw away his inheritance and storm away, claiming to seek out his youngest brother. She witnessed Honroth take on the burden of the crown that rightly belonged to Theran, and she observed how conflicted Heldon had been during this time of transition, and she tried to be there for him. However, he had never seemed to notice her efforts, and she wasn't about to bring them to light.
She shook her head. “It doesn't matter now. What matters is we're still stuck here.” She cast her weary eyes to the ceiling. “Theran is somewhere being held by Verddra. You're chained to that wall, and I can't use my magic.” Dropping her gaze to her hands, she sighed. “I hate feeling this helpless.”
Hearing her talk like this caused Heldon to frown, and he sent her a worried glance. Erita was always a pillar of calm—or absolute determination when the occasion called for it, but she never gave in to doubts; then again, he had never seen her without her magic. “Don't think about it.” His voice caught her attention, and she looked at him. Heldon nodded then tilted his head back against the wall—straining against the chains again. “I find that helps.”
“But you're uncomfortable. Those chains—”
“It could be worse.” He opened his eyes and leveled his chin to look across the way at her. Then he gifted her with a crocked smile. “At least I'm not on a torture rack.”
“True.” Erita consented. “But still...” She brought a thoughtful, poised hand to her chin and considered the situation. Carefully—as not to alert Verddra—she picked at the invisible restraints on her magic draping her cell. It was a wonderfully crafted spell but not altogether solid—rather more like a weaved cloth. If she poked at the spell enough, she might be able to puncture it. “Heldon.” She came out of her thoughts and looked at him. “I have an idea. You have to trust me.”
Hours later, Erita still chipped away at the invisible, magical restraints when Heldon heard the dungeon door opening. “Erita,” he hissed at her. “Someone's coming.”
She stopped and withdrew herself further into her cell. She didn't want to draw the attention of whomever was coming because it would shatter her concentration, and she was too close to succeeding to allow herself to fail now. She stilled all movements and held her breath—waiting.
The guards came in and went to Heldon's cell. The chief guard looked beyond the bars to his chained up prisoner as he flipped through the keys to find the right one. “The Countess wishes to have a word with you.”
Heldon thinned his eyes. “Where is my brother Theran? I heard he was here.”
The guard looked at him, unimpressed, then he glanced back at Erita. “I suppose she told you—not surprised.” He finally unlocked the door to Heldon's cell and yanked it open to step inside. “I hear Prince Theran is on an errand for the Countess—in Jechorm, if I heard correctly.” He grabbed the chain’s lock and slid a key inside.
“Doing what?”
The man shook his head. “I didn't ask.” The key 'clicked' as it released the lock on the chain, and the man took the metal cuff off of Heldon's left wrist.
“Excuse me, gentlemen.” Erita's voice—cold and calculated—drew the attention of the guards. When they glanced back at her where she stood in her own cell, she narrowed her eyes and blasted them off their feet with a burst of magic. “Heldon, now!”
Heldon snapped out of his surprised daze then looked at his right hand still in the chain—handblade on his wrist, his key to escape. He looked back at Erita, “Retrieve her first then get out of here.”
“Heldon, hurry!”
Hearing the urgency in Erita's voice, Heldon swung his left hand over to his right hand.
“No!” the prison keeper launched to his feet—sword in hand.
“Heldon!”
A flash of pain, and Heldon gawked. His right hand burst with overwhelming pain. With a sickening feeling, he forced himself to look.
The keeper's sword had cut off his hand just below the cuff chaining his arm to the wall. His right hand—now free but severed—fell to his side pumping blood profusely. Overcome by pain and loss of blood, Heldon cradled his injured arm close to himself and slid down the wall to the floor.
In the last moments of consciousness, lying in his own blood, Heldon blinked and realized that on the floor before him lay his handblade—still whole but bloodied. His key home—inches away. Heldon tried to reach for it. As darkness came closing in, he saw the keeper of the prison snatch up the handblade, toss it in the air once, and then Heldon closed his eyes.
Verddra magicked into the dungeon just as Heldon lost consciousness. Having felt the rupture in her spell cast over Erita, she knew something had gone wrong. Now, looking at Heldon's unconscious body, at his bloody and missing hand, ire rose within her. She locked eyes on the keeper of the prison, who had Heldon's bloodstained handblade in his hand.
With a shout, Verddra outstretched her hand, slammed the man back with a blast of magic, and held him pressed against the wall with an invisible force. “What do you think you are doing?!”
The man's eyes widened, and he found he couldn't move. Knowing the countess could kill him with a thought, he looked to the handblade in his hand and tried to reason with her. “It was...an accident!” His fingers fumbled with the handblade but lost their grip, and he watched it tumble out of his hands, only to be caught by Verddra's magic.
She levitated the handblade to herself then snatched it out of the air and pocketed it away into another dimension. Her focus remained on the guard, and her patience thinned, so she slowly curled her fingers into a fist. “I don't care.” She neared him with icy eyes. “I did not give you permission to cut off Prince Heldon's hand.”
“He—he t-tried to escape!” He struggled against his invisible restraints as he felt the pressure tightening around his throat, but he couldn't even pull his arms away from the wall to claw at his throat. “Countess, please!”
“Verddra! Heldon needs to be healed. He is losing too much blood.” Erita broke Verddra's concentration and earned a glare from her, but Erita grabbed the bars of her cell and nodded at Heldon. “He won't be much use as leverage if he’s dead.”
Narrowing her eyes, Verddra looked back at the guard. “It would be so easy to end your life right now. A simple snap of my fingers, and you're dead.” However, she lowered her hand and ignored the guard when he dropped to the ground heaving for breath.
Verddra went to Heldon's side and knelt beside him. Taking hold of the bloodied stump of his arm, she took a deep breath then directed her magic to close the wound, stop the bleeding, and knit the skin together. Once finished, she rose to her feet and looked down at the keeper of the prison. “Take him to a guest chamber.” She jutted her chin at Heldon. “He is no threat to me now.” With that, she turned on her heel, and Erita saw that she prepared to magick out of the dungeon.
“Wait!”
Verddra stilled and glared at Erita behind the bars.
Erita felt very small. She felt
responsible for what had happened to Heldon, but she wasn't about to inform Verddra of her part in the incident. “Do what you must, but please let me accompany him. He will be in shock when he wakes, and someone he trusts should be with him.”
In that moment, Verddra regretted sending Theran to Jechorm. She would have preferred him to be with his brother rather than a sorceress. However, what was done was done. She only settled one final glare on Erita before vanishing from sight.
“No...” Erita whispered as she tried to reach out through the bars of her cell to stop Verddra, but it was too late; she was gone. Erita gripped the bars and bowed her head against them as she watched the guard lift Heldon, slinging him over his shoulder, and headed out.
Before the guard left, he stopped by Erita's cell and looked at her. “Don't think that I don't know you're behind this. One day I'll make you pay.”
She locked fiery eyes with him. “See that you take care of him.” She nodded at Heldon's unconscious form then shifted her gaze back to the guard, “...or I will make you pay.” With that, she backed away from the bars and sat on her bed, watching as the man took Heldon away.
Once alone, Erita sat down on her cot, folded her hands on her lap, and bowed her head, feeling a great grief wash over her. This was all her fault! She curled her hands into fists. She shouldn't have tried to counter Verddra's magic. She wasn't strong enough. What had she been thinking? Now she truly did not know what to expect from Verddra.
21
“Therth of Cuskelom—welcome. It is a surprise to see you here.”
Theran turned at the voice of a woman, and he frowned when he realized she had mistaken him for Therth. “Of course, she remembers Therth from when he came here with Lorrek.” He kept this to himself as he took in his surroundings and the sight of the woman.
They stood in a windowless corridor with strange white, humming light running along the center of the ceiling. Theran had never cared for the technology of Jechorm, and the unnatural cleanliness of this place unnerved him.
The woman before him wore a simple white dress, and her vibrant red hair framed her pale features. The brilliant and unnatural brightness of her blue eyes caught his attention, and Theran frowned. “I'm assuming you are not human...?”
She tilted her head to a side as if amused. “Kyra—that is my name, and you are right. I am a humanoid of the Syheaf Edition. We did not expect to see you here, Therth of Cuskelom. Please,” she turned, “come with me,” and gestured for him to accompany her. Without waiting to see what he would do, she began walking.
Theran hesitated but then fell into step with her. He wanted to ask why she thought he was Therth when she should be aware of his dealings with Jechorm as Prince Theran. However, this seemed to be the least of his concern; he needed to find this girl named Fawn and return her to Verddra in order to earn his brother's release.
Clearing his thoughts, he took in his surroundings—endless identical corridors—but directed a question to Kyra. “Are you familiar with a young woman named Fawn?”
Kyra slid a glance his way then gave a curt nod. “There was a girl with such a name.”
Theran narrowed his eyes when he heard the word 'was'. “What happened to her?”
She offered him a mechanical smile as she stopped before a door in the hall. “You should speak with Pelham and Asalda about her. They would know.” Stepping closer to the door, she waited for it to open at her presence and then stepped inside.
Cautious, Theran followed and looked around. He had expected a small windowless room to serve as an office but was taken aback by the wide and spacious room which had an entire wall made of a glass window. He noted the several sitting areas here and there, but his focus zeroed in on the narrow table directly in front of him where a woman sat with her back to him, studying holographic information. She wore a Jechorian style dress—tight and short—and the ridiculous heels. Theran doubted she could physically defend herself in such attire, but he knew that probably meant she was sharp of mind and with words. He would tread with care.
“Asalda,” he heard Kyra say softly to the woman. “Visitor.”
At last, the lady swirled her chair around—sitting with legs crossed, hands steepled, and a pale smile. “Ah, Therth of Cuskelom—so good of you to come back to us. I trust your time with Countess Verddra has proven...beneficial?”
Theran did not want to begin to wonder what that could mean, but he noted how she too mistook him for Therth. “Next time I see that cousin of mine, I want answers.” Pocketing away this promise for another time, Theran straightened where he stood. “I have been asked by Countess Verddra to seek out a young woman by the name of Fawn. I am under the impression you may know of her.”
Though the smile remained on her face, it turned icy with the hardening of her eyes. However, Asalda remained pleasant. “Of course—Radella was her name at first, but as time went on she insisted on being called Fawn. Such a delicate, deceiving name for such a girl.”
Theran frowned. “What do you mean?”
With a sigh, Asalda dismissed Kyra with a gesture and rose to her feet—coming to stand at a height almost equal to or taller than Theran because of her shoes, but she didn't notice his unease at this. She pressed a button on her desk, and a holographic image of a girl appeared. Theran drew near to get a better look.
The girl had a childish appearance—big eyes, smooth face, petite built. Theran understood why she might have earned the nickname Fawn because she looked as delicate as such a creature—as if she were easily frightened or surprised. Yet something dark stirred within her eyes—something sinister. Theran couldn't name it.
He pulled back with a frown.
Asalda nodded and deactivated the image. “Your friend, Vixen, was very instrumental for bringing Radella back to us after many years. I would like to thank her for that one day.”
Surprised by the mention of Vixen in all of this, Theran tried not to let it show on his face. Instead, he waited for Asalda to continue.
“Fawn is a powerful sorceress, equal in power to Countess Verddra and Prince Lorrek—and other great users. She is unique in that she does not depend on her magic for power alone, but she is a skilled warrior in the field. She had requested to remain with us once she returned to us, so she could properly train. Her mother wasn’t keen on this, but Verddra had more pressing matters to address elsewhere, so Fawn trained with our Guardians and even deactivated a few of them before she disappeared.”
Theran snapped his gaze back around to Asalda. “Disappeared?”
“Yes, everything was going according to routine until one day she simply failed to show up for training exercises. When we checked security footage of her quarters, we found she simply disappeared.”
“Magicked.”
Asalda nodded. “Exactly.”
Realizing this was not going to be as simple as he had hoped, Theran heaved a sigh then folded his arms over his chest. He leveled Asalda with a hard look. “Any idea where she might have gone?”
“Not yet.” Asalda shook her head. “I have had a team of Guardians searching for her because I knew that one day Verddra would come demanding to have her daughter back. I had hoped to be able to hand Fawn over to her at such a time, but alas...” She spread her hand out and shrugged, “That was not meant to be. My apologies.”
Theran stepped toward her. “I will not leave here without Fawn.”
Asalda smiled—completely unfazed by Theran's unspoken threat. “I thought not, and we can help you, but we ask for something in return.”
At first Theran wanted to refuse. He was done with roundabout deals. He wanted to find Fawn and get her back to Verddra in order to free Heldon. Why couldn't things be that simple? Narrowing his eyes, he forced himself not to sigh. “What is it?”
“Nothing much.” Asalda leaned back against her desk and crossed her arms. “There has been...mention of an uprising among the Guardians—they are a humanoid like Kyra, but a Solfax edition rather than a Syheaf. Their armor is f
ueled by magic, and this gives each of them a single unique ability—shielding, speed, manipulation of sound, gravity, and all such things as you can imagine. They are trained into warriors the day they are activated. Now it seems a virus has somehow gotten into their systems, leading some to thoughts of revolt. We have already deactivated a few that have threatened the safety and peace of Jechorm.”
“So what do you want me to do about it?”
“I want you...” she pushed away from the desk, “to join our team of investigators. They are individuals specifically chosen because the Guardians trust them.”
“And why would they trust me?” Theran lifted his brows. “They do not know me.”
Asalda smiled—a cool, coy smile. “They like a good fight. I'm sure you are a fair match.”
Theran narrowed his eyes.
22
The castle of Serhon. Though the day had dawned, clouds still blanketed the sky over the castle made of sharp steeples and jagged towers—shadows everywhere. As Lorrek entered the city with Esdras and Bodulf, he noted how life carried on as usual. The merchants still sold goods in the streets, the peasants in their poor attire went about their business in the city and throughout the surrounding lands. Nobles did not mingle with them—did not wish to soil their fine clothing—but rather took to the walls and went around the city to their destinations or sent servants in their place.
Merchants held out silk scarves to Esdras claiming, “This would please the lady of your house greatly!” only for Esdras to sidestep them without a glance. The traffic hindered both Esdras and Lorrek, but not Bodulf—he walked in a straight line passing through whomever got in his way, and no one took notice.
Gathering a sigh, Lorrek lifted his gaze to the palace gates in the distance. Though all appeared to be as usual on the surface in Serhon, he knew once he passed through those gates everything would change.
Someday I'll Be Redeemed Page 19