City in Ruins

by R. K. Ryals

  I inhaled, drawing strength from the stale air around me. “I am the daughter of many gods,” I answered.

  A whip was jerked from the wall, the back of my tunic ripped open to reveal my flesh.

  Blayne grinned. “How many gods do you have?”

  “Many.”

  The leather strap tore across my skin, sending burning pain radiating across my back. My head fell, my gaze falling to the marks on my wrists.

  “Help me,” I begged the gods.

  Silence.

  “How many gods do you have?” Blayne growled.

  My head rose, my hard gaze meeting his. “Many.”

  Another lash. The force of it sent my body reeling, the chains swinging. The gods did not save me, and I wondered if this was a test of my loyalty.

  Two more times Blayne asked me about my gods.

  Two more times I answered with, “Many.”

  Blood dripped onto the floor at my feet, and I watched as the drops flattened against the dark stone. Splat, splat, splat, I told myself. The drops were like distorted flowers, starting out as a tightly closed bud before blooming. Like red roses.

  Words, I thought suddenly, are powerful.

  It seemed oddly profound that words had brought me here. That I’d started this journey in an Archive, that I’d written an order for the man standing before me in the name of a king, and that I now found myself hanging in front of the same man after using the document I’d been forced to write to charge him with treason. Words were powerful.

  “How many—” Blayne began.

  “Many gods,” I interrupted, my head rising. “I am the daughter of many gods. I am a girl, a boy named Sax, a savior, a dragon rider, a scribe, a mage, a consort, and a diplomat. Most of all, I am a dragon, and I am the daughter of many gods.”

  Blayne Dragern’s cheeks flushed, his eyes flashing fire. His hand rose. The whip fell.

  The blood rained down. Drip, drip, drip, my mind sang, as if my body needed the chant to remember it was still alive. Drip, drip, drip.

  Pain. Burning, unbearable pain. Drip, drip, drip.

  I never screamed. My mind was separated from it all, as if it had detached itself from the situation, as if it could no longer deal with the horror.

  “Stop!” Blayne shouted, his face twisted in anger. “Get rid of the blood and throw her back in the cell. We’ll continue later.” He stepped toward me, careful to avoid the crimson drops at his feet. Red roses. “You will break,” he hissed.

  He stomped away, Gabriella’s golden snake hissing at me from her silken dress as she turned to follow.

  The guards threw bucket after bucket of water against my back, leaving my ripped tunic splayed open when they shoved my dripping, torn body back into the cell.

  I sagged against the bars.

  Power danced along my spine, and I knew even though the gods hadn’t listened when I’d been hanging from the shackles that they came to me now, my back healing as they touched me. Invisible fingers smoothed ripped flesh.

  “Will you keep doing this to me?” I asked the gods. “Heal me after every torture? Am I to prove something to you?”

  There was no reply.

  In the cell next to me, someone moved, the sound startling. Five days’ worth of food trays and cold buckets of water, and there’d been no sound of life in the cubicle next to mine.

  A dragging foot was followed by a gravelly voice. “You are a strong one,” a man said. “It’s a crime what this country has become, what the people have turned into.”

  My face pressed against the bars, my eyes wide circles in my head. “Who are you?” I rasped.

  A wrinkled hand, the fingers splayed, reached into the corridor. A ragged, ripped sleeve hung over a bony wrist.

  “I’m a king.” The man laughed, the sound hysterical.

  I knew the sound of madness, and even though many would have been fooled, I wasn’t. This man wasn’t mad.

  “You’re a king?” I asked.

  Silence.

  The man froze, his fingers curling into a fist. “You’re the first person who’s asked me that as if I was telling the truth rather than losing my mind.”

  I pulled myself further up against the bars, the healing skin on my back stretching painfully. “I’ve seen madness. I’ve heard it. You don’t have the sound of madness.”

  The man’s hand remained outside his cell, and even though I was hesitant to do so, I reached for his fist, my body pressed as close as it could get to the bars to touch him. My palm folded over his hand.

  There was a sharp intake of breath. His hand opened, allowing my fingers to curl around his. His skin was cool, papery thin, and hard.

  “Who are you?” I asked again.

  The man sighed. “I am King Brahn Dragern of New Hope.”

  My answering gasp was loud, my mind spinning with the revelation.

  “Your Majesty,” I breathed, “How long have you been here?”

  He didn’t pull his hand away, and I didn’t let go.

  “Four years from what I can tell,” he answered.

  My breath whooshed out of me. Had I been standing, I would have staggered. Four years! For four years the king of New Hope had been in this dungeon. For four years, he’d been locked away. During those four years, my king, Raemon, had allied himself with a country harboring a secret, a secret so large even Cadeyrn wasn’t aware of it.

  The Prince of Sadeemia was on a diplomatic mission to see a grandfather who no longer sat on the throne. Who hadn’t sat on it for four years!

  When Cadeyrn arrived in New Hope, he wasn’t going to be met by King Brahn. He was going to be met by King Blayne and Queen Gabriella. He was going to be met by the queen who’d attempted to murder his wife and child. He was going to be met by the king who’d allowed it simply because he wanted me. I hadn’t quite figured out what made me so important, why Blayne cared so much about a scribe. Unless his goal was ruling Medeisia.

  Chapter 23

  For some reason, I couldn’t make myself let go of the king, as if releasing him would make him disappear.

  “We’ve got to get you out of here, Your Majesty!” I insisted.

  The old man’s hand tightened on mine. “There is nothing left for me here. My people think I’m dead, and my children have turned against me.”

  My heart broke. “Your children?”

  Terror consumed me, drowning me in fear. “Please,” I thought, “Please don’t let it be so.”

  “Yes,” the man answered wearily.

  Inhaling sharply, I asked, “How many children do you have, Your Majesty?” I was pretty sure I knew the answer, but I had to be sure.

  His hand began to slacken, and I yanked on it, refusing to let go.

  “How many?” I repeated.

  “Two,” he answered. “Blayne and Isabella.”

  I cried out, my entire being consumed with a pain more powerful than anything physical. Blayne and Isabella Dragern.

  Everything began to fall into place. Sudden tears left tracks down my cheeks. There’d been no screams when I’d been hanging from the shackles, the whip scouring my back, but I wanted to scream now.

  Isabella Dragern, the Queen of Sadeemia.

  “She would do that to her own family,” I whispered.

  King Brahn tugged on my hand. “What is it, child?” he asked.

  My forehead pressed against the bars. “Tell me, Sire,” I inquired, “when was the last time you saw your daughter?”

  By the way the king’s fingers twitched, I knew I’d gotten his attention, knew that he’d grown alert, my questions pulling him up against the bars. “Four years ago,” he answered. “When she helped lock me away.”

  The sob that followed was unexpected. My heart wasn’t breaking for me. It was breaking for all of us.

  “Who are you, child?” the king asked.

  I’m not sure what made me say it, but the words came anyway. “I am Drastona Consta-Mayria. I’ve been everything, and I’ve not been anything. I’ve b
een too much, and I’ve not been enough. I am in love with your grandson, but I am not his wife. I may also be the mother of his child.”

  King Brahn’s hand became a vise around mine. “My grandson?”

  I swallowed back tears. “Cadeyrn,” I whispered, my voice breaking on his name. “He’s a good man, Your Majesty. I fear both of your grandsons have been played a fool. Countries have fallen and so many people have died in the name of your children’s war. There’s so much I’m not sure about right now, and so many things I suspect is true. If they are, it’s going to destroy a lot of people.” I tugged on him. “We’ve got to get you out of here, Sire. We’ve got to get you out and show your people you aren’t dead. We’ve got to put you back on your throne.”

  “It’s impossible,” he rasped.

  Anger made my voice rise. “We have to try! Do you realize all of the turmoil your country has caused? Your son helped influence my mad king, and your daughter has been doing very heinous things in the name of your monotheistic god. It’s brought one kingdom down, has almost destroyed a second, and may end up starting war with a third.”

  Memories assaulted me. The anger Queen Isabella had directed at me in Sadeemia when I’d suggested an alliance with Henderonia and Greemallia, when I’d suggested that Cadeyrn accept the Henderonian gods. I should have seen it then, should have realized how violent her anger had really been. So many things I hadn’t understood before … Gabriella’s assassination attempt on me, for one. She’d been in league with Queen Isabella all along. I’d foiled their plans.

  “But I wrote a missive ordering the assassination of Gabriella to Blayne Dragern,” I thought.

  “And yet,” a voice intruded. Escreet, the Goddess of Scribes. My goddess. “And yet, Blayne was in route to meet Gabriella when you found Cadeyrn in the Ardus. With a missive from Raemon, Gabriella could have faked her death while Blayne used the missive to convince Freemont to take out Medeisia, to garner control of the country. Once King Freemont was king of both nations, then Isabella and Blayne could rise up, could use their combined forces to overthrow the Sadeemian monarchy. Combining Medeisia, New Hope, and Sadeemia would have created the biggest monotheistic nation in the Nine Kingdoms along with a strong alliance with Greemallia. I told you, little one. This has always been a war of words. You are my child, scribe. Save them!”

  My heart pounded, my hands growing clammy against the king’s, but I didn’t let go.

  “You got me here, didn’t you?” I asked Escreet. “The gods have known all along, haven’t they?”

  “No,” she answered. “You got yourself here, Stone. Gods are powerful, but even we don’t see everything that’s coming. Humans have free will. It will always make them unpredictable. You, my dear, are a true scribe of Medeisia. Knowledge is more powerful than weapons. Knowledge is even more powerful than the gods. Call on us now, Stone. We won’t fail to answer you any further. Our failure before brought you here, holding the hand of a king.”

  Tears soaked my cheeks.

  “Your Majesty,” I called, tugging on his hand. “I have an idea.”

  Chapter 24

  For two days, I spoke with the king, our hands meeting between the cells when the torture chamber wasn’t in use. For two days, the guards didn’t come for me. For two days, I made plans with the gods. Deep down, I knew Lochlen and Cadeyrn were coming for me, and the terror in me grew. This war, the one I was fighting now, had to be done without their help. It had to be done with the aid of gods and kings. With words rather than swords. For two days, King Brahn and I made plans, and with each day my respect for the king grew.

  Like his children, King Brahn had been a hard, unforgiving king who’d used sadistic methods to control his people. He’d refused to accept the idea that religious freedom should be an option in New Hope. Unlike his children, however, he’d later allowed himself to be convinced otherwise. His change of heart had resulted in the marriage alliance between Sadeemia and New Hope.

  Unfortunately, the damage to Brahn’s children had already been done. They’d been raised under their father’s toxic rule, and had not been thrilled with his new, unbiased changes.

  “It’s my fault that I’m here,” Brahn confessed, his fingers pressing against mine.

  I held his hand because he’d gone four years without kind, human contact. I held his hand because a man who’d lived his life being so angry needed to learn what it meant to love. I held his hand because it gave me the strength to keep moving forward.

  I respected Brahn’s resilience, the fact that he’d used his guilt to keep him alive for four years despite the miserable circumstances. He’d spent four years enduring awful conditions and consistent torture as a way to punish himself.

  “We all make mistakes,” I told him. “True leadership isn’t about making the right choices, Your Majesty. It’s about what you do to fix the wrong ones.”

  The king squeezed my hand. “I see what my grandson sees in you, Drastona Consta-Mayria.”

  My cheeks flushed. “Just Stone, Your Majesty.”

  He squeezed my hand again. “Then by all means, child, just call me Brahn.”

  For two days, we developed a united front, an odd friendship forming between us. It was a friendship I knew I’d be proud of.

  For two days we prepared.

  Then came the day of escape.

  It was past midnight on the third day when I thrust my hand from my cell, signaling to the king. The guards on night shift were less alert than the ones in the day, spending most of their time gambling while the prisoners slept. They’d be easier to foil.

  King Brahn’s hand met mine in the darkness, and then fell away.

  Closing my eyes, I called on Silveet, on the creatures I knew roamed the palace and the prison. Tiny feet scurried over stone. Even though I’d prepared King Brahn for this, I still heard him gasp.

  “By the gods,” he breathed.

  I fought back a laugh. “Am I converting you, Brahn?”

  Mice, roaches, and spiders marched in dizzying arrays before our cells, the mice’s beady eyes and the insects’ grotesque appearances making me uneasy, even if I had been the one to call on them.

  “My queen!” they chanted.

  My hands clutched the prison bars. “We need a way out,” I ordered. “We need keys, and …” I swallowed hard, “If the guards interfere, we need them taken out.” The mice and insects began scurrying away, but I called to them, stopping them. “Kill only when you have to,” I added.

  I was having a déjà vu moment, memories of my time with Kye in the Medeisian dungeons slamming into me. I’d learned a lot about myself and what I was willing to ask of others since then.

  Two mice ran toward us, a ring of keys dragging the floor behind them. They dropped the ring with a clang just inside my cell, and I gripped them. Standing, I tried each key in the lock, trying my best to remain calm despite the risk of being captured.

  It was the sixth key that worked, and I opened the door just enough to squeeze through, the door’s hinges creaking. Pausing beyond the door, I inhaled, listening for approaching guards, but there was nothing except rising laughter from a chamber at the back of the dungeon.

  I gripped Brahn’s cell, getting my first look at the man who’d held my hand the past few days. He was skinnier than I thought he’d be, his ribs pressing against the rags he wore on his body, but his face and eyes were strong, a determined expression plastered across his features.

  “You are younger than I expected,” the king whispered.

  I inserted the first three keys, my fingers fumbling with the lock.

  “You are, too,” I said with a wink.

  A long, white beard covered the king’s face, but it didn’t hide his smile, didn’t hide the way his slanted eyes crinkled in the corners.

  “You’re good for an old man’s spirit,” he told me.

  It was the fifth key that opened the king’s cell, and I pulled it open carefully, wincing when it groaned.

  “You’re g
oing to need that spirit tonight, Your Majesty.”

  Slinking past the door, he took my hand firmly in his. “Brahn, my dear. Come! There’s a hidden passage just up the corridor.”

  Together, we skulked through the shadowed prison, mice and insects surrounding us, guarding us. Occasionally, King Brahn threw them an uneasy glance, but he never faltered.

  We’d just climbed a short flight of stone steps, when we heard the guards cry out.

  “Go!” I ordered the creatures below us.

  King Brahn placed his hand against a large stone, and the wall fell inward. We stumbled into the passage, the darkness a hindrance. While I was more cautious, the king was not, his hand pulling on mine as we sped through the black tunnel.

  “I built this,” he told me. “It comes out just beyond the palace gates.”

  Screams rose up behind us, human screams, and I winced, my stomach churning. There was no time to waste, no time to feel guilty for the lives I knew would be lost that night. This was my only chance to fix what had become of Medeisia, Sadeemia, and the people I loved.

  The tunnel thinned, forcing me to walk behind Brahn as we ducked to avoid the low ceiling.

  “It’s here,” the king exclaimed, pausing so that he could feel along the wall, his fingers searching. There was a click, and the tunnel suddenly opened to the night.

  New Hope, like Sadeemia, was a country who made it’s living from the sea, but it was also lined on one side by rich forests. The forests were our goal.

  “We have prisoners on the run!” a man yelled.

  Boots pounded the castle walls, and horses neighed in the distance.

  “Now,” I hissed. “We have to go now!”

  Together, we ran out into the night, the king’s bare feet and my worn boots tearing over grass, stone, and dirt. A moon just days away from being full hung above us, throwing too much light on the ground below. My heart pounded, my breath coming fast and harsh. The king wasn’t faring as well.

  I tugged on him. “We can do this!” I assured him. “For my people and for yours.”

  Pulling his arm over my shoulder, we ran together, our fear propelling us forward, our adrenaline keeping us from feeling any pain.