by M. L. Greye
The Dark was the name the Capriths gave Avyrithe Castle’s dungeons. Avyrithe was Caprith’s capitol, its castle an abandoned structure on a hill, except for its dungeons. The actual castle, once the pride of Caprith with its twisting battlements and towers, now lay in near ruins. Its only purpose was the keeping of the Dark. What had begun as the execution grounds for the Wends and important political figures of Caprith had become an institution of the Vrenyx. At first it was run by a team of Nagreth, but over the past few turns, exiled Capriths joined the staff, taking part in the deaths of their own people. No, not always death. The Dark was famous for its torture of those deemed riotous by the Dreens – the enforcement militia Dagon commissioned at the opening of the Dark. The Dreens were men from the Vrenyx who were sent to find the Wends and leaders. But when they ran out of those, the Dreens began preying upon “suspicious” citizens, meaning any who seemed to oppose Dagon. This shift fueled the Dark, allowing it to still exist, nearly seventeen turns later.
Sazx let his breath out slowly. As part of his goals for Caprith, he wished to demolish the Dark. It had served its purpose, and it was now time for it to retire. Not to mention the remorse it had been causing him. The Captain’s Quarters was the outermost estate in Avyrithe, the closest structure to the dilapidated castle. At night, Sazx’s dreams sensed the Dark. Its prisoners would cry up to him, begging for their freedom. Sazx had yet to train himself to ignore them.
With a soft groan, Sazx straightened. He had work to attend to. A knock sounded on his study’s door. Even though Dagon prohibited knocking, Sazx preferred it to the shouting. “Come in, Lorban,” Sazx said without turning. Only his Second was permitted admittance while Sazx worked.
The door creaked open. “Captain.” Lorban stopped in front of Sazx’s thick desk and bowed, “we have received a messenger from Lord Dagon.”
Sazx glanced up from his papers and raised an eyebrow. “And?”
“The messenger says we are to return to the Vrenyx,” Lorban replied. “Lord Dagon wishes us to begin preparations for the attack on Relivaynt.”
“Very well,” Sazx nodded, “we will leave at dawn.”
“Yes, Captain.” Lorban bowed and left.
Sazx leaned back in his chair, eyeing the dark wood of his study. He dreaded the time he would have to spend working with the Velvitors. But the opportunity of leaving Caprith outweighed his dread. He would rather lead an attack on a world with an army of spell casting half-animals than spend another day in Caprith.
* * * * * *
Another night. Zedgry sat shivering beneath a tree where another prisoner stood, trapped and howling, while he waited for another ghost of the forest to keep him up until dawn. And he was sure another one would come. With a groan, Zedgry began rubbing his arms with his hands, urging some warmth into his aching body. It had been dark for at least an hour now, judging by the shadows. His visitor would be here soon, and the knowledge of it made Zedgry’s forehead break into a sweat. Even though he refused to fear them, Zedgry hated their presence. He’d rather suffer from loneliness. At least then he could sleep.
Zedgry clamped his eyes shut, avoiding the mist that enveloped him. It was from the mist that his visitors sprung out.
“Oh, please, not another one!”
The woman’s smooth voice, slightly deep for a girl, brought Zedgry’s eyes open. She had spoken in Eveon, but the accent had been all wrong, like the Nagreth.
“I can’t deal with you tonight.” The woman was young – perhaps just slightly older than Zedgry. She was on her knees to the left of him. “Go away, please. Please, go away.” She was begging.
He blinked, suddenly realizing she was talking to him. Telling him to leave was something new for his nightly visitors. He frowned. “You came to me, not the other way around.”
“Stop, stop, stop!” The woman screamed, covering her ears with her hands. “I want no more of you ghosts!”
“Ghost?” Zedgry stared at her. “I’m not a ghost.”
“That’s what you all say,” she cried. “That’s what you all say!”
Zedgry had intended on ignoring her, but she was far too intriguing. “Aren’t you the ghost?”
This caught her attention. She finally looked up at him, meeting his eyes. Zedgry realized she shouldn’t have. Even though her hazel eyes weren’t piercing, they were captivating. Like the rest of her features, they aroused his senses. Zedgry found himself unable to look away. Not even the grime of the forest could cover her beauty. “Do I look like a ghost?” She asked, her voice sounding annoyed.
“Not like any I’ve seen,” Zedgry admitted.
“Then why would you ask such a stupid question?” She snapped.
“Because if I’m not the ghost, then you must be. It made sense in my mind.”
“Well then your mind is deranged,” she shot back.
“Why is mine the one deranged?”
The woman glared at him and stood. Zedgry noticed her torn skirts only reached her knees and that the top right side of her gown was missing, revealing her pale neck and shoulder. “How dare you insult my intellect?” She narrowed her eyes. “I would slap your face if you would live to feel it in the morning.”
Zedgry laughed, an honest, deep laugh – something he hadn’t done in what felt like weeks. He laughed so hard that tears came to his eyes. The woman only gaped at him. “What’s so funny?”
“Listen to us,” Zedgry managed to get out. “We’re sitting here, covered in grime, fighting over which one of us is the ghost, when neither of us may be. It’s funny.”
The woman stared. “So, you aren’t a ghost?”
“No.” Zedgry shook his head, grinning. “My name’s Zedgry Reien, my uncle put me in here for safe keeping.”
“Your uncle?” She went back to staring. “Dagon is your uncle?”
“Dagon Reien is the brother of my father. We’re sort of in a family feud,” Zedgry replied dryly.
“Oh?” She raised an eyebrow. “What sort of feud?”
He chuckled. “We both want each other dead.”
“I suppose that’s putting it nicely.”
“And simply,” Zedgry agreed. “But what about you? What’s your name?”
“Illein Dairn of Cornnich,” she answered. “It’s a province here in the Vrenyx.”
Zedgry blinked. “What are you doing in Delvich?”
“I’m under similar circumstances. Dagon is holding me here for safe keeping as well.”
“Why?”
“Let’s just say my father was in need of some more land for his horses so I became his bartering chip. I am to be Dagon’s new lover.” She began towards him and Zedgry couldn’t help but stare.
“What are you gawking at?”
“You left footprints,” he said simply. It had been so long since he’d seen any other than his own that it startled him.
“Can you not?”
“I already told you, I’m not a ghost,” Zedgry retorted. “I’ll still be here in the morning.” He paused. “And apparently, so will you.”
“Well, in that case,” Illein laid her head against his shoulder and shut her eyes. “Wake me for breakfast.”
Zedgry felt the warmth of her touch and was surprised by how much he enjoyed it. “I’ll wake you if you’re here for it.”
* * * * * *
Pavn glared into the crackling fire of the inn’s large dining room. He was in Kepleth, nursing his wound. While Ryth had moved onto another city, Pavn and Flortt had remained in Dreed, not just because of Pavn’s fresh scar from the green-eyed snake, but also to wait for Ganin. Pavn had given him a week to capture Tiara before he would search for her himself. Fortunately, Ganin had returned within only a few days. Unfortunately, he did not come with the news Pavn wanted to hear.
“High Royalty? In Langorn?”
Pavn eyed his brother warily. Flortt had practically choked on his lamb shank. He returned his attention to Ganin. “And you say the man was an Ethon?”
Ganin nodded,
his face ashen. “Yes, sire. But he was more than that.” He frowned. “He was the Key’s hair.”
“The Key’s heir?”
“That’s what he said, sire,” Ganin replied.
“Interesting.” Pavn leaning back in his chair, exchanging glances with his elder brother. They were in the tavern portion of the same inn where Tiara had stabbed him.
Flortt chuckled. “This presents us with an interesting situation, indeed.”
“I wonder what Dagon would do for his niece and his old enemy’s heir,” Pavn mused.
“A good question.” Flortt nodded.
Pavn glanced at the unsettled Ganin. The poor man looked as if he were preparing for death. Well, given any other circumstance, Ganin’s preparations would have been put to use. But not with the news he’d brought back with him. Pavn raised his own mug to his lips and took a deep gulp, feeling the liquid burn down his throat. “You are relieved, lieutenant, until further notice.”
Ganin nodded once, saluted, and left. Both Pavn and Flortt watched him go. “This little development may change things up a bit,” Flortt commented after a moment, taking another swig of his ale.
“Perhaps.”
“I should have gone with them,” Flortt remarked, more to himself then to his brother.
Pavn raised an eyebrow but then noticed the glazed look in Flortt’s eyes. Flortt was probably on his third or fourth refill. Unlike Ryth, it didn’t take much to make Flortt incoherent. Ryth could chug liquor like it was water. Pavn couldn’t remember a time he’d seen his eldest brother drunk. “There was really no reason for you to have gone,” Pavn replied as his eyes landed on a serving girl of about sixteen or seventeen. She glanced at him shyly. He motioned for her.
She moved beside their table and curtsied. “May I help you, milord?”
His eyes took her in for a moment before he nodded. The girl was one of the prettier ones at the inn. “Bring me some hot bread and more ale.”
Pavn watched her leave and stood, easing himself out of his chair. Flortt looked up in surprise. “What about your ale?”
“I’m tired. I think I’ll return to my room.” He smiled at the corner of his mouth. “Have her bring it up to me.”
13
---------------
Archrin opened his eyes slowly. He was slightly surprised it didn’t hurt him to breathe. Where was he? The past few days were a mass of blurred images ending in unconsciousness. Archrin raised a hand to his eyes, trying to erase the sleep from them. When was the last time he had felt so weak? Archrin grunted. He’d never been this weak.
“Archrin?” Tiara’s voice was soft.
“I’m awake,” Archrin said, forcing himself up onto his elbows.
“You’re alive.”
She was lying at the front of the large four-post bed. A light blanket covered her from the waist down. Archrin guessed she had fallen asleep at an odd hour and someone had placed it over her. She pushed herself up onto one hand while wiping her eyes with the other one. Her eyes were red and her face splotchy, as if she had cried herself to sleep.
Archrin frowned. “Are you surprised?”
“The Healer told me you might not live through the night.”
“You were crying.”
She let out a short laugh with a quick shake of her head. “I never cry.”
He watched her for a moment. “You did once, on the banks of a Drivian river.” He smiled out the side of his mouth. “Remember?”
“I didn’t cry,” she retorted. “The air around you was so polluted it stung my eyes.”
Now she was starting to sound more like herself. He reached out his hand for her. When she took it, he pulled her to him, placing their faces close. “Am I really that repulsive?”
“Yes.”
“Oh really?” Archrin began kissing her neck, his lips brushing over her skin, slow and soft. “Are you sure?”
Tiara grunted, pushing herself up out of his mouth’s reach. “I think you need some more sleep.”
He laughed. “Who made you the doctor?”
“See, that’s where you’re extremely mistaken,” She replied. “There aren’t any doctors here.”
Archrin frowned. “No doctors?”
“No, none.” Tiara grinned.
“Why not?”
“Because in Evedon they only have Healers.”
“Evedon?” Archrin blinked. “We’re in Evedon?”
She nodded. “The Eves helped us.”
“Why?”
“Because their princess expected them to.”
“Do they know I was a Kendren?”
Tiara let out a short laugh. “The emblem was pretty hard to miss, even beneath your torn skin.”
All Kendrens wore the Kendren symbol of the dying lion on the back of their right shoulders. It was an indication of the kings they served. Archrin had had it tattooed onto his back when he became an active soldier.
“But don’t worry,” Tiara assured him, “I explained our circumstance.”
“Did you mention your time hopping?”
Tiara grimaced. “No, of course not.”
“Afraid they’ll make you use it?”
“And what if I am?”
Archrin smiled sadly. “Then it’s a waste of a gift.”
Tiara blinked, surprised by his answer. “Do you think I should use it more often?”
“If I could, I would.”
“Well, if I could change into an animal I would do that more often,” she shot back, annoyed with the direction the conversation was heading.
His face darkened. “I’m not going to phase around you, Tiara.”
“Why not?” Tiara tried to hide her disappointment. “I don’t even know what animal you can become.”
“Because the animal I turn into is dangerous for humans,” he returned. “And I don’t want to hurt you. Ever.”
Tiara pulled her legs up, hugging her knees. “What can you become?”
Archrin let out a soft groan and covered his eyes with one hand. “Why do you want to know so badly?”
“You know my secret.”
“No, you involved me in your secret.”
“Well, you’ve involved me in yours,” she retorted. “So why can’t you just tell me what you turn into?”
“And how did I involve you in mine?”
“By choosing me as your mate.” Even though she had known for a few days now, never had she spoken the words out loud. Doing so now sent shivers down her back. For Craeles, to choose a mate was to choose a lifelong companion. Archrin had chosen Tiara – for some reason she had yet to discover. By him picking her, he had truly attached her to all his secrets.
Archrin watched her for a moment silently.
She frowned. “What?”
“When was the last time you went to the past?”
“When?”
“You answer my question and I’ll answer yours.”
“My last time was with you,” she replied. “I haven’t been back since then.”
“Then go.”
“Now?”
“Now.”
She stared at him. “I’m not going now, I have things to do.”
“Like what?”
“Like telling the Healer you’re awake.”
Tiara’s stomach began to churn in an all too familiar fashion. “I’m not going.” Her head grew dizzy. “I said no!” She gasped, clutching her middle. She felt like it would explode.
It was too late. Her body was already on its way. Tiara reached out, grabbing Archrin’s wrist as the room began to spin. If she had to go, then he was coming with her – it was his idea anyway.
The spinning continued, gaining speed as Tiara grew sicker. Then it stopped. Finally! Tiara gasped in for air, collapsing onto her knees. She had been unconsciously holding her breath. Her stomach heaved. She clamped her mouth and eyes shut, waiting for the nausea to pass. Hurry up with it! Tiara ordered her stomach. She’d never been this ill before from time travel. Tiara gagged.
“Somewhere in my past.” She grunted, still not ready to open her eyes for fear of what her stomach might do.
“There aren’t any castles in Drivian.”
“What?” Her eyes flew open, leaving her momentarily lightheaded. She used the cool stone floor beneath her as a support with her hand. “I can only go to my past.”
“Have you ever been inside a castle under siege?” Archrin frowned. He was sitting beside her, leaning backwards on his hands, still barebacked and barefoot. Tiara realized she was barefoot as well.
“A siege?” Tiara glanced upward. The only light in the stone hallway came from a narrow slit in the wall high above her.
“I know the sounds of battle.”
Tiara’s ears caught the faint clash of steel and muffled screams. She shook her head. Only Archrin would hear the sounds of battle before any other. Her first impression of the castle had been that it was cold. She hadn’t even thought about straining her ears for signs of activity. A sudden thud from down the hallway made her jump. “What was that?”
“Let’s go find out.” Archrin began to push himself up slowly. Tiara noticed him gritting his teeth with the effort.
“You’re still in pain. I need to take you back.”
He shook his head. “I’m not in pain, only weak.”
“I’m taking you back.” Tiara raised her hand, ready to snap them back to the present, but Archrin grabbed her hand midflight with more-than-human speed. Tiara blinked up at him. “You want to stay?”
“Why not?” He straightened, finally ending up on his feet. “I’m fine.”
She stood and Archrin took her hand, leading her toward the thud. They rounded a corner, and Archrin stopped. They were at the bottom of a stairwell, light trickling over the stone from torches mounted on the wall.