Chapter 18
18
SAOIRSE
T he dark hood was finally ripped from Saoirse’s head.
Disoriented, she was shoved forward. She fell on her hands and knees, the stone floor biting into her palms. The shackles on her wrists clanked together as she caught herself.
Her eyes slowly adjusted to the dim light. She was in a tiny cell that butted up against a craggy stone wall, surrounded by iron bars that protruded from the rocky floor like stalagmites. The only wavering light came from a lone sconce that hung further down the hallway. The damp chamber smelled of earth and mold. She had no idea where the prison block was located. They could be miles below the Under Kingdom for all she knew.
To Saoirse’s right, Tezrus huddled in the corner of his cell, appearing frailer than ever. He was overtaken by a state of shock, his luminous eyes unfocused. On the adjacent wall of the prison block, Hasana was similarly herded into her iron-barred cell.
Neia was the last to be locked up. When the dark hood was torn from her face, Neia ripped the wadded gag from her mouth. “ Bastards !” she spat. Her bottom lip was split, garish bright blood smeared across her pale cheek.
King Grivur’s underguards slammed the cell door closed without a second glance at their former commander. Neia grabbed the bars, pressing her face against the iron.
“If you’re going to arrest me, you must also arrest Captain Rymir Barrow,” she screamed hoarsely at the guards’ retreating backs. “He has sold hundreds of Grivur’s secrets to the rebellion. He was involved in the Meysam uprising, did you know that?” Her voice grew frantic as their footsteps disappeared down the hallway and she pressed closer to the bars, her nails clawing at the rusted metal. “He may have turned us over, but that won’t absolve his contributions to our cause. Please . He’ll betray you just as he betrayed us!” Her words were futile.
Neia slumped back against the stone floor, her shoulders stooping with despair. A curtain of white hair fell over her shoulder and hid her face.
“I can’t believe this.” Her voice came out in a broken whisper. “Rymir has always been faithful to me. I’ve treated him like a brother all these years. I didn’t think him capable of duplicity.” A sob hitched in Neia’s voice and Saoirse’s heart broke for her.
She crept over to the wall of iron bars that they shared. “It’s not your fault. You couldn’t have known this was going to happen.”
Neia looked at her from behind the veil of white hair, watery eyes despondent in the faint torchlight. “We stole the Crown of Revelore against all odds. You survived the Soundless Oasis. We battled an ancient sea monster during a maelstrom. All of it for nothing. I knew something wasn’t right. Our luck was bound to run out eventually. I just didn’t think it would end this way.”
“It’s not over yet,” Saoirse countered, though she wasn’t sure if she even believed her own words. Their situation was bleak. They were imprisoned somewhere deep within the earth, at the mercy of a mad king who would likely torture them to death. “Adresin and Noora are still with the ship. When we don’t come back, they’ll sense something went wrong. Perhaps they’ll come for us.” Even to Saoirse’s ears, the odds of Adresin and Noora coming to their rescue were abysmal. Neia’s silence confirmed they would not be foolish enough to attempt a rescue.
Hasana’s hoarse voice floated across the cell block. “If Grivur truly has succumbed to madness, death by the sea monster’s jaws might’ve been preferable to whatever horrors he has planned for us. Or he may just ship us off to Aurandel. Queen Raven would offer him a trove of wealth for our capture. She’ll want a public execution, at the very least. Make an example of us.”
Neia shook her head sadly. “If Grivur has locked himself in the Under Kingdom and cut himself off from the rest of Revelore, something tells me he won’t be trading our lives for coin. He’ll have some dark purpose for us here.”
She was right. If Grivur’s paranoia was so great he would ignore Raven’s call to arms and execute his closest advisors for conspiracy, Saoirse didn’t want to imagine what he might do to rebel leaders caught infiltrating his kingdom.
Weighty silence fell over the prison block. A distant drip of water echoed through the damp chamber, mirroring Saoirse’s pounding heartbeat. Tension settled in her stomach like a stone. This couldn’t be the end, could it?
Saoirse turned to Tezrus’s cell, adjoined to hers by a wall of shared iron slats. The old man huddled in the corner of his cell in a trance-like state, his moon-pale eyes glassy and unseeing. He’d had quite the traumatic homecoming.
“Tezrus,” she called gently. “Tezrus, are you all right?” She tapped on the metal bars.
He blinked in her direction and some of the fogginess of his gaze dissipated. He shook his head as if dispelling the shock. “Yes,” he rasped. “Yes, I’m all right.”
“Are you able to use your stone-singing abilities to open the wall? Could we escape?”
Tezrus placed his knobby fingers on the cave wall and shook his head sadly. “This stone has been warded against such magic. My abilities are of no use here.”
“No, they are not,” confirmed a voice from the shadows. “Any magical abilities are obsolete here. That goes for healing magic as well.”
Larken, the female stone-singer who’d betrayed them, strode leisurely into the prison block. The torchlight glinted off her silver hair as she moved down the row of cells. She crouched in front of Neia, a knife-like smile on her pale lips.
“ Traitor ,” Neia spat. “How could you deceive us? We’ve planned this for months. How long were you and Rymir plotting to turn us in?”
“My allegiance shifted when my brothers were murdered in Meysam,” Larken snapped, her voice quivering with rage. “My family comes from a long line of well-established stone-singers. We’ve prided ourselves on supplying the trade city with the highest-quality minerals and precious stones for a century. My brothers ran several of my family’s market stalls. I warned them the rebellion was going to launch an uprising during the Tournament, but I promised they’d be safe. I was assured the uprising would be controlled, that the rebellion would only target Auran outposts and spare the native Terradrin merchants who built their livelihood in the city. I was promised the uprising would be mere smoke and mirrors, designed to drive out the Auran occupation so we would be free. No real damage would be done. But you weren’t there, were you Commander?”
An almost imperceptible flash of regret passed over Neia’s face. Her mouth hardened as she replied, “You know I couldn’t be there. You know why I needed to compete in the Tournament.”
“But you didn’t see how the uprising succumbed to chaos. You weren’t there to quell the fires that started tearing through the market streets, eating away years’ worth of hard work and craftsmanship. You didn’t hear the screams when the Auran soldiers turned on innocent merchants, killing anyone they thought might be in on it. You weren’t there when our ‘peaceful uprising’ turned violent. You forced Rymir, Xander, Ezra, and everyone else to carry out your dirty work while you feasted in Coarinth and lauded about as a champion. We were sickened by the careless bloodshed in Meysam and decided that enough was enough.”
Neia paled at Larken’s account of the uprising. “I’m so sorry. It was not supposed to be that way. It was supposed to be controlled?”
“My brothers were killed by Auran soldiers,” Larken cut in. Her eyes blazed with pain and fury. “After I promised they would be safe, my brothers were slaughtered in the street. As they lay dying, no one from our rebellion came to their aid or showed any remorse for their death. They were never involved in the resistance, nor did they ever want any part of it. And yet they still paid with their lives.”
She turned to Hasana, her face darkening with hatred. “And you . You’re just like all the other self-absorbed aristocrats who have used the plight of common folk as a tool for your cause, a means to gain sympathy so you can crown yourself the ruler of Revelore. You never get your hands dirty, do you? You simply order an uprising and never think twice about the cost. For you, it’s like moving playing pieces across a board. You move them around and play the game of courts just like every other bloody monarch on this titans-damned continent. People like my brothers compete in a living Tournament every day, a Tournament they never asked to play a part in. But there is no crown to be won, no prize at the end. You and your royal rivals make a mockery of our hardships, taking advantage of our desperation so you can build expendable manpower and wage petty wars. You need us to fight your battles for you. And the only uprisings led by common folk like Ballar Grimstone are never truly given the chance to mature, are they? Ballar wanted to see true change, to see the world toppled right side up. But he and his followers were snuffed out as quickly as a candle flame. Why was Ballar’s rebellion punished for their actions, but your group rewarded? Haven’t you resorted to violence as well?”
Saoirse felt the weight of Larken’s words like a spear through her heart. She was not excluded from the woman’s accusations. Hadn’t she been just as careless when she’d made the bargain with Selussa? At the time, she had thought that by winning the Tournament, she could save her people from a life of oppression. But she’d given little thought to what the bargain would cost her?what it would cost her kingdom. Now, innocent Merfolk were being driven from the Maeral Sea as a direct consequence of her misguided, reckless decisions. Was she no better than the insatiable aristocrats Larken railed against?
Tears glistened in Hasana’s gold-brown eyes when Larken finished, her chest heaving. “Larken, I’m so sorry your brothers died.” Her voice was thick with raw emotion that seemed to take Larken by surprise. “You’re right that every move we make has a cost. It doesn’t seem fair that I am spared from the violence of our uprisings, does it? But I do not take the loss of life for granted, nor am I unaffected by it. I am fighting for a free world, a world that is not enslaved to the Tournament nor to a tyrannical nation. My people have suffered greatly at the hands of petty political games just as yours have. I do not wish to see this turmoil continue for another hundred years.”
Larken’s frown deepened, but the fury burning in her eyes seemed to waver. Tears flowed freely down Hasana’s cheeks now, burning trails of silver across her warm brown skin. “You’re right that any one of us could easily become what we fear the most. With the right amount of power, I could become the next cruel queen of Revelore, falling victim to ambition and avarice. But I swear to you that I do not want to sit on the throne. I do not want Tellusun to become the next Aurandel. I believe we can create a new world together. If we succeed in overthrowing Aurandel and dismantling the Tournament, this world is possible.”
Larken tore her eyes from Hasana’s earnest face and wrung her hands together. “But the careless bloodshed will not cease,” she finally said. “This free world you speak of comes with a steep price. Until you yourself become a playing piece in the game of courts, you cannot know the cost. But you’ll learn soon enough. We’ll see how you fair being caught in the crossfire of paranoid rulers.”
Saoirse felt a tide of conflicting emotions wash over her. She could sympathize with Larken’s pain. She knew what it felt like to be drawn into a conflict she never wanted to be a part of and to have those she loved taken away as a result. She had unknowingly become a pawn in Selussa’s game, her loyalty for her kingdom manipulated into a weapon the Sea Witch used against her. But Hasana and the rebellion took no pleasure in violence or death. They were trying to break the never-ending cycle of bloodshed.
Larken stalked down the prison block, stopping just short of the exit. She looked over her shoulder at them one last time, eyes tracing back over to Neia. Hatred flared in her gaze. “Did you know that you’re not Revelore’s only resistance? There is another who has risen from the ashes. Ballar’s heir is following in his father’s footsteps, working to complete the task his forebearers started. You accuse us of having secrets and curse us for our duplicity. But you are no saint, are you Commander? You should tell them who Rymir Barrow really is, Neia. Or should I say, Rymir Grimstone ?” With those ominous words, Larken disappeared into the darkness.
Saoirse’s skin pebbled as Larken’s words washed through the prison block like a wave of glacial water. A sickening feeling bloomed in her stomach as Larken’s accusation sank in. Her eyes sliced over to Neia, who intentionally averted her gaze. In a whisper, she asked, “What does she mean, Rymir…Grimstone?”
Larken had to be lying. She was merely trying to turn them against each other, planting seeds of doubt so their fragile alliances would crumble. Wasn’t she?
“Neia, what is the meaning of this?” Hasana hedged when the commander remained silent. “Have you been keeping secrets or is Larken playing us?”
“She isn’t lying,” Neia finally answered in a strangled voice, as if she choked on the confession. “Rymir is Ballar Grimstone’s child.”
“Does Rymir know this?” Hasana demanded. “Has he known his true heritage this whole time?”
Neia nodded, wiping tears from her face. “I was a young captain when Ballar’s followers carried out the assassinations, still proving my worth and climbing the ranks. After the murders, the world erupted into chaos. A sheen of anxiety blanketed Terradrin in the wake of their deaths, both because we didn’t know the full extent of Ballar’s plans and because we were terrified that Aurandel might punish our entire kingdom. Once the incident was made public, Grivur and his advisors launched an investigation into their deaths. Facing understandable pressure from Aurandel and Elorshin, the investigation turned into a full-blown witch hunt.
“I was appalled by what Ballar’s rebellion had done, and like many in Terradrin, I was anxious to see his group disbanded and punished. I was assigned to Grivur’s inquisition party, tasked with locating the primary leaders involved with the assassinations and arresting them. It was awful, loathsome work, but I was only twenty years old and had little choice in the matter. In the beginning, none of us could’ve imagined the bloodshed Grivur’s inquisition would devolve into. What began as a few arrests collapsed into a witch hunt in which we were executing entire families, punishing even those with the barest, most dubious connections to Ballar’s rebellion. I began having nightmares, tormented by the innocent lives I’d taken.
“One day, I hit my breaking point. After Ballar had been captured and executed for his crimes, his family went into hiding. It took us months to locate his wife and children, who were hiding in the northern caverns of Natassa. I couldn’t make sense of our new orders. The minute we started hunting down the children, I felt wretched. It was so, so wrong . I tried to protect the two other children, but my fellow soldiers got to them first.” Neia’s voice quivered with emotion, true horror plain across her face.
“The last little boy, no more than ten years old, hid himself deep within the caverns. Avgi spiders make their nests in the caves of Natassa. The tunnels are thick with webs and decay. Very few could survive within the caverns for long, let alone a child. None of my soldiers dared to search within the spider-infested caves for long, so after a week, they eventually gave up. But I stayed. I discovered that the child, Rymir, had somehow survived within the caves. He was a survivor. I knew then that I couldn’t bring myself to end his life. Rymir reminded me so much of my own brother, a loss that was still so recent and fresh. He healed me.”
“So you lied to everyone about where he came from?” Hasana breathed. “You told Grivur you had saved him from a Wyrm attack on the edge of the city so his life could be spared?”
“If I told anyone his true identity, he would’ve been killed,” Neia confirmed. “So I renamed him Rymir Barrow. From that point on, he became an orphan from one of the slums on the edge of the Under Kingdom, his entire family killed by Wyrms during a particularly brutal infestation period. I never told anyone of his true heritage. He was just a child. He shouldn’t have paid for his father’s sins. Grivur would never have let him live.
“The horrors of Grivur’s inquisition pushed me to join King Ohan’s cause. Ohan promised a world in which all of Revelore was equal, a world free of the Tournament. I wanted that world for Rymir, whose entire family had been killed at the behest of a mad king. I wanted that world so no more siblings would lose their brothers and sisters in the Tournament. And by joining Ohan?and later Hasana’s?resistance, I thought I could atone for the atrocities I committed during that time. I thought I could redeem myself.”
Time warped and buckled around Saoirse, that sickening feeling gaining potency in her chest. The child of the man who orchestrated her mother’s murder had been working alongside them this whole time. Every conversation she’d shared with Rymir flashed in her mind like bursts of lightning. Their conversation that night in the ship’s hallway surfaced: My father dreamed of an unbroken Revelore, too. One where we are all equals. That’s why I’m here. His dreams have become my dreams. I think that is the greatest honor I could ever give him .
He had known the entire time. She felt sick, remembering how she’d shared those intimate memories of her mother with him. He’d spoken with her as though his father hadn’t killed her mother in cold blood.
“How could you have kept this from me?” Saoirse pleaded in a rasp. “You knew his father killed my mother and Rook’s parents this whole time.” She wanted to keep her voice strong and unwavering, but she failed miserably to keep the pain from her voice. She knew better than most that a child was not responsible for the crimes of their ancestors, but it felt profoundly wrong for Neia to keep Rymir’s true identity from her, from Rook.
“I’m so sorry, Saoirse,” Neia said, finally turning to face her. Her eyes were bloodshot with grief. “I thought that if anyone knew the truth, they wouldn’t be able to separate him from Ballar’s rebellion. He wouldn’t have been given a fair chance to prove his worth.”
“He certainly proved his worth, all right,” Hasana scoffed. “I guess sheltering him didn’t mean much in the end. He betrayed us even after you gave him a life and raised him like your own brother. And it seems he’s been leading his own resistance and carrying on his father’s legacy right under your nose.”
Neia had a physical reaction to Hasana’s scathing words, flinching as if struck. “I should’ve told you all from the start. I should’ve told Ohan eight years ago when he first recruited me. But I didn’t think the truth would ever come to light.”
“You may not have been honest with me in the past, but I’ll give you one more chance to tell the truth,” Saoirse said coldly. “Swear to me that you had no idea Rymir was plotting against us. Promise me that his plan to carry on Ballar’s bloody vision was a secret from you too.”
Neia wrapped her hands around the iron bars separating them, fingers digging into the metal. “I swear to the Titans, Saoirse. I had no idea that Rymir was working against us. I had no inkling he had taken the helm of his father’s rebellion. His betrayal pains me more than anything I’ve ever felt.”
Although Saoirse was reeling from Neia’s secret, she believed her. The hurt in her pale eyes was enough to convince her that she was suffering from Rymir’s treachery just as they all were, if not more.
Silence filled the prison block as the truth Neia had hidden for eight years coated every cell like falling snow. Saoirse’s skin felt prickly and cold, burning like the sting of winter rain.
“What will become of us?” Tezrus whispered from his cell.
Tezrus’s question was soon answered when a swarm of Grivur’s underguards returned to the prison block several hours later. They brandished onyx spears they wouldn’t hesitate to use if one of them so much as looked the wrong way. They wore identical uniforms the color of stone, perfect for blending into cavern walls and melting into shadows.
One of the guards unlocked Saoirse’s cell door and hauled her up from the floor by her shackles. She jerked forward and nearly collided with the opposite cell before he yanked her back like an animal on a chain. She fought against his grip, but the metal bit into her skin with every movement.
“Where are you taking us?” she managed to ask between her clenched jaw. The guard said nothing, merely flashing a glimpse of teeth as white as his waxen skin.
Behind her, Neia and Hasana were dragged from their cells. The underguards left Tezrus locked behind bars. He crawled over to the cell door and curled his gnarled fingers around the iron, his eyes terror-bright as the soldiers escorted them from the prison block.
“Where are you taking us?” Saoirse asked again, her breaths going shallow with fear. She could feel the tip of a sharp spear level with her spine, ready to impale her at a moment’s notice.
“King Grivur has invited you to dine with him in his hall,” one of the guards sniggered. “Seems you’re his honored guests.” Saoirse’s stomach churned, but not from hunger.
“Guests who wear chains?” Hasana hissed.
The flock of underguards chortled and shared knowing glances with each other. Their eerie laughter sent a bolt of fear shuddering down Saoirse’s spine.
As she crossed the threshold of the prison’s exit, a black hood was once again slipped over her head to prevent her from learning the way out. Blinded by the opaque fabric, her other senses came alive. The fall of the guards’ boots against stone, the sharp jangling of their chains, and the screech of rusted hinges opening all screamed in her ears. Hot breath brushed against the back of her neck as the soldier behind her leaned in. His breath smelled of sour milk as he whispered, “When you learn what’s in store for you, you’ll wish that you died in the Tournament, little siren .”
Her heart plummeted. It seemed Larken’s prophecy was about to come true. They would soon learn what it meant to be pawns in the game of courts.