Chapter 6 #3
His eyes widen as he leans forward from the soft embrace of the round bed. When he finally recognizes me, it’s as if the weight of his world shifts.
“Prince Daedalus… but how… why... what are you doing in Ballamar City?” His voice cracks with disbelief.
I don’t hesitate. “I think you know that as well, so let’s stop wasting time. Shall we?” My jaw tightens as my voice lowers, rough like gravel. “Where is my wife?”
“Please,” the male stammers, one hand outstretched while the other clutches the sheet at his waist. “I have no ties to my house anymore. I’ve broken from them.”
“That’s not what my brother asked,” Zyphoro cuts in, her fingers idly tracing the intricate gold threads that edge the silk curtains. “Amara Phaedren. Princess of the Sundered Kingdoms. You know of whom we speak?”
The male nods.
“And you know she was stolen?”
Another nod, slower this time, his throat bobbing.
“So you know where she is?”
He shakes his head vehemently. “That, I do not know. I swear it.”
Zyphoro and I exchange a weary glance.
“Glamor him?” I suggest.
She smirks, tilting her head like a predator deciding how much to toy with its prey. “There are far more entertaining ways to make him talk.”
Smoke weaves between my fingers as I consider. “Strangulation? Decapitation? Evisceration?”
She taps her chin, feigning thoughtfulness as the male squirms, sweat beading on his brow.
“Tempting options, but no. Maybe something a little more visceral.” Her eyes flick to Orios, standing like a stoic giant in the corner, towering over Solena at his side.
“Reaper, how long has it been since you crushed a skull with your bare hands?” Zyphoro asks, her tone almost conversational.
A slow grin pulls at the corner of his mouth. “Too long,” Orios rumbles.
“Then, by all means, when you’re ready,” Zyphoro says, nodding her approval.
Orios steps forward, his massive hands flexing, and the male pales as if all the blood has drained from his face.
“Wait!” he shouts, panic cracking his voice. “I’m telling the truth! I don’t know where she is. Not now.”
Orios looms over the bed, his hands closing around the male’s head like he’s holding an overripe melon, ready to crush.
“What do you mean, not now?” I ask, stepping closer.
“Because it moves,” the male whimpers, Orios’ grip tightening, his thumbs pressing against his jaw. “Driftspire moves!”
I raise a hand, and Orios halts. “Driftspire. What is that?”
The male peeks out from between Orios’ fingers, his voice trembling. “When House Ithranor fled the Sundered Kingdoms, we built a new home in the sky. It’s where we’ve lived all these years. But it doesn’t stay in one place. It moves with the wind. Almost impossible to find.”
“Then where was it last?” I demand.
The male hesitates, his eyes darting nervously. I nod at Orios, who resumes his squeezing.
“Here!” the male shrieks. “Not far from Ballamar City. I broke from my house here and chose to stay.”
“How long ago?” Zyphoro presses.
He shrugs helplessly as Orios tightens his grip again. “Weeks! I’ve lost track!”
I glance at Zyphoro and find her already looking at me. Her expression is grim, the truth settling between us like an uninvited guest. “If this city moves, they could be anywhere by now,” she says quietly.
She’s right, and the reality of it ignites something dark and restless in me. My anger surges, curling my fingers into fists. I barely register Orios still poised to crush the male’s skull.
“Enough, Orios,” I command.
He obeys immediately, and the male collapses onto the bed, trembling, his hands roaming over his head as if to reassure himself it’s still intact.
My jaw tightens, and I force the anger clawing at my throat into words. “But she is alive?” The question leaves me in a hoarse voice I hardly recognize.
“Yes,” the male whispers. “She is alive. They keep her well. And not only Anethesis… she is protected too… by the Golden Son.”
The fire in my veins ignites into an inferno, my canines lengthening as the shadows gather thick and hungry around me.
“He is with her?” I snarl, my voice a low growl as rage twists inside me and the shadows coil tighter.
The male’s heartbeat pounds in my ears, frantic and shallow, the scent of his fear thick and intoxicating. I’m one step from the edge, ready to let the darkness devour me, when Zyphoro’s hand clamps down on my shoulder.
“You knew he would be,” she says firmly, her voice cutting through the haze of rage. “Calm yourself, brother.”
“We could take to the air,” Reon suggests.
“But where would we even begin?” I snap, bitterness edging every word. “If the city moves, it could be anywhere. It might’ve passed right over us, and we’d never have known.”
“There might be a way,” the male mutters, barely audible.
All eyes snap to him, and he shrinks back, hands raised defensively. “I’m not the only Fae who found refuge in Ballamar City. There are others, and they have something you might find useful.”
I narrow my eyes, scrutinizing him. “What other Fae? More Ithranor?”
“No.” He gulps, his gaze darting around the room as if afraid of being overheard. “House Taramethos.”
I scoff, disbelief flooding my tone. “House Taramethos? Here?”
He nods quickly, desperation in his movements. “They practically rule this city from the shadows.”
Reon’s gaze drills into me. “If House Taramethos is here… they might have a…”
“Scrying mirror,” the male interrupts. “Yes. I’ve seen it with my own eyes.”
“A scrying mirror could show us exactly where the city is,” Solena says, her voice trembling with barely contained hope. “And Amara.”
I step closer to the male, my face set, my tone leaving no room for compromise. “Where is this mirror?”
“They host a masquerade ball once a month at midnight and show it off like a party favor. The next ball is in a couple of days. The location is secret until the night before. I will tell you as soon as I know. Please just… leave me in peace. I didn’t sever my ties with my house just to die in a brothel. ”
I nod curtly. “Very well. Your life is spared… for now. But I’m not letting you out of my sight, and I swear, if what you’ve told us leads nowhere, there are far worse things in this world than death.”
He bows his head, clasping his hands as though in prayer. “You are a merciful prince.”
Such words offend me.
“Get dressed,” I order coldly. “We’re leaving.”
I nod to the others, and they slip past the curtain.
Reon leans close, his voice low. “So, we’re heading out straight away, then?”
I glare at him. “Move your fucking ass.”
He smirks faintly. “Got it.”
As I follow the others, I pause at the threshold, turning back to the male as he frantically searches for his pants beneath the mound of cushions.
“Tell me,” I say, and he freezes, looking up nervously. “Why did you break from House Ithranor?”
His shoulders sag, and he sweeps his long, golden hair out of his face. “They’re planning to return to Meranor,” he admits, his voice hollow. “But I’m quite content here. I like the humans… more than my own kind, if I’m being honest.”
“That’s impossible,” I mutter bitterly. “There’s no way back to Meranor.”
His silence speaks louder than words, and he avoids my gaze.
“Amara,” I mutter, realization striking like a blow.
He nods slowly. “Anethesis plans for her to open a portal.”
My jaw clenches, fury surging through me. “Hurry up.”
I storm out of the room, where the others are waiting.
“What is it?” Zyphoro asks, immediately noticing the tension radiating off me.
My heart pounds violently in my chest as I glance down at the scar on my palm. “We have less time than I thought.”