Chapter 26
26
ROOK
P rincess Yrsa stared at herself in the age-spotted mirror.
She wore a thin, gauzy dress she imagined would flow beautifully in the water. The pale color reminded her of silken lily petals. Her eyes followed the long braid that hung over one of her shoulders, entwined with a ribbon that matched her lily-white gown. She took in the familiar sight of wings sprouting from her shoulders and felt a stab of regret in her heart. It was the last time that she’d see those snowy feathers. Soon, they’d be removed for good.
No Auran had ever traded their wings for the ability to breathe underwater. While the Mer could transition to and from land with the aid of titansblood, no such potion existed for her. When Lorsan had first asked her to marry him, it was naturally assumed that he would forgo the sea and live on land with her. Lorsan readily agreed to abdicate the throne to his brother, Isandros. He was willing to leave his homeland behind and live with her in Coarinth, content to drink titansblood for the rest of his life. Yrsa had been touched by his devotion. It was a tempting offer at first. She could keep her wings and continue living as she always had, married to the love of her life. But Lorsan was a good king. She did not want him to abdicate his birthright.
Besides, she had never quite fit in with the Aura.
She knew even her closest family members secretly whispered of her strangeness. They’d always looked down on her obsession with painting and considered her abhorrence of state affairs to be a flaw. They didn’t have to say it to her face for Yrsa to know they were disappointed in her inaptitude for combat or political strategy, two pillars of the Adonis House. Perhaps, if she’d been born with the ancient ability of Sight, she might’ve held an honorable position in her father’s court. It was said Aurans once held the magical ability to see into the future. If the legends were true, the gift of Sight had once manifested every few generations, producing Oracles who could utter prophecies and forecast the future. Yrsa liked to think she would’ve made a good Oracle. But that ancient, inherited magic had died out long ago, along with the myths describing its origins. With her paintings and soft-spoken voice, Yrsa had nothing to offer her powerful family in the way of politics. She was ready for a new life in Kellam Keep, ready to be free of the stifling Auran court.
The only problem was that an Auran couldn’t become a Mer. The magic of shapeshifting and metamorphosis were the things of myth, ancient abilities lost alongside the gift of Sight. Or so she’d thought. On the night she’d gotten engaged, Yrsa had met a strange witch who promised to make all her dreams come true. The only price? She must give up her wings. Magic was strange like that. Every bargain came with a steep cost. Every desire required something to be given in return. She’d agreed to the witch’s demands, consenting to undergo the amputation of her wings without Lorsan’s knowledge. He’d never approve. But all her life, she’d been told what to do, how to act, and who to be. The decision to cut off her wings and become a Mer was a choice no one could take from her. For the first time in her life, she was in control of her fate.
Yrsa passed a hand over her downy feathers, admiring how soft they felt under her fingertips. She would miss them, of course. She loved flying through the sky at dawn, collecting mental images of the pink-streaked sky and the ribbons of sunlight that spun the clouds into tendrils of gold dust, storing them in her mind to paint later. But there would be new things to paint, new wonders to capture on a canvas. The new life she would live in Kellam Keep with Lorsan was worth any cost.
“Are you ready, Princess?” A smoky voice purred.
A new face appeared in the mirror behind Yrsa. The woman was beautiful in an ethereal, unsettling way. With dagger-sharp cheekbones, cat-like eyes, and a sheet of glossy black hair falling nearly to her knees, the witch was captivating in the way a predator was, both lethal and graceful at once.
“Yes,” Yrsa managed to reply. “I’m ready.” Her heart fluttered with nerves as the woman’s clawed fingernails trailed down the sides of her wings. She could’ve sworn the witch licked her lips.
“Excellent. Make yourself comfortable, then. This shouldn’t take more than a few minutes.”
The woman gestured for Yrsa to lie down on the canopied bed at the center of the bed chamber. A gentle smile touched the witch’s mouth, and she gave Yrsa a reassuring nod. “Oh, I almost forgot. You may take this potion to help with the pain.” The woman pressed a small vial into her palm.
Yrsa obediently drank the dark liquid, wincing as it burned down her throat. She was ready to get this over with.
She found herself lying face down on the mattress, her body sinking into the soft sheets as though she were merely going to sleep. She shut her eyes, suddenly feeling tears well up. She could feel the potion beginning to take effect, a tingling sensation that began in her fingers and crept up her limbs like frost. Her wings went limp as the elixir saturated every nerve of her body with numbness.
“I’ll just need to take a bit of your blood, my dear. To seal our bargain.”
Yrsa nodded, burying her face into the silken pillow to keep herself from crying. The full weight of her bargain hit her then and she was barraged with conflicting emotions. Her mind had begun to fog up like breath against a windowpane. The woman sliced open her arm, though whether she cut her skin with a knife or with her sharpened fingernails, Yrsa couldn’t tell. She felt the lip of a cold vial press against her arm as the woman collected her blood.
“As per our agreement, I will take your wings and in return grant you the ability to breathe underwater. You’ll be so happy with your beloved in the sea, won’t you?”
Yrsa felt herself nodding, though she could hardly think straight anymore. Lorsan’s face surfaced through the fog of her cloudy mind and fresh courage calmed her racing heart. She could do this. It would be worth it. She wanted to clench her fists into the sheets, but her fingers were paralyzed. The witch was saying something now, but her words were warbled and incoherent as the potion dulled her senses and addled her brain. Blissful numbness settled over her like a blanket of snow.
A blade cut into her wings, just above her shoulder blade. But she felt no pain as the witch worked. Darkness fell over Yrsa, the last dregs of consciousness crumbling to ash. Lorsan’s face vanished from her mind like the fragments of a forgotten dream.
When Rook awoke from the dream, he half-expected to find his own wings sliced off. It had been so real he could still feel the phantom cutting of Selussa’s knife through his numbed flesh. He was laying on his stomach, cheek pressed to the cold stone of his cell rather than against a silken pillowcase. Somehow, finding himself in the prison block was less terrifying than being locked in a chamber with Selussa. He’d stopped waking violently into consciousness after so many dreams now, but the visions that haunted his sleeping mind were no less disturbing.
He knew that Selussa had made a deal with Yrsa in the same way that she’d made a bargain with Saoirse, but seeing it play out before his own eyes made it real. His heart broke for his great-aunt Yrsa, a gentle soul who wanted nothing more than to marry her beloved and spend her days painting. It was horrifically tragic that her desire for a new life had been taken advantage of and used against her. Such an innocent bargain had catapulted Revelore into the War of the Age and splintered their kingdoms irrevocably. And in the end, she and Lorsan had lost both their lives.
Rook pushed himself up from the ground, a hiss of pain slipping out from between his teeth as he sat up. Hasana had performed a miracle yesterday in the quarry. Her healing magic had reversed some of the infection’s progress, as though the golden light from her palms had soaked up the rot like a sponge. But though he was much improved, the wound still throbbed against his skin. Already, he could feel the threads of inflammation leaking out across his body once more, stubbornly resistant to Hasana’s magic.
Rook peered out of the barred walls of his cell, eyes settling on Saoirse across the block. A rush of emotions swirled through him at the sight of her curled up against the limestone wall. Relief that she’d survived the first trial. Regret that they even had to endure Grivur’s games in the first place. Frustration that he hadn’t gotten the chance to beg for her forgiveness for the way he’d cut her off in the hanging gardens. Anger that he’d gotten himself captured before he could send word for Aurelia and Sune.
Saoirse opened her eyes. Her pale blue eyes found him and burned right through his heart. Titans, she was so beautiful. Even with her blood-soaked clothing and dust-smeared cheeks, she was still the most breathtaking creature he’d ever seen. It wasn’t just her physical appearance that sent his heart sputtering like a dying candle flame. It was her unyielding determination to beat Grivur at his own game, to find hope where there was none. He’d been such a fool to think he could endure being parted from her, to think he could maintain the self-imposed distance he’d so stupidly put between them. If only he hadn’t been so stubborn, hadn’t rejected her openness? —
Rook’s thoughts scattered when the prison door creaked open. He braced himself for a flood of armed underguards to come and take them to their next trial. It couldn’t be that time already, could it? They’d only just survived the Wyrms in the quarry mere hours ago. His stomach clenched with a strange sense of fear and acceptance. Like the dreams that plagued him, the trials were inescapable.
But instead of a throng of soldiers, only a lone hooded figure slipped into the prison block. The woman slipped the hood from her head, revealing a shock of bone-white hair. Sloane . Rook had only met the Terradrin princess a handful of times in his life. In fact, at one point, there were rumors the two of them might even become betrothed one day. But that was before his parents’ untimely deaths. After the tragic murder of his parents, any possible marital alliance between Aurandel and the kingdom responsible for their deaths bordered on treasonous.
After the Terradrin rebel group had been destroyed and the initial hostilities between their kingdoms had cooled, Rook had only seen Sloane in passing. It was well known that Grivur rarely permitted his daughter to leave the Under Kingdom. Though Grivur claimed it was for her protection, Rook was inclined to believe that it was not love that kept her locked away, but rather toxic possession and the need for control. He felt sympathy for Sloane. Even if she wasn’t currently caged behind bars, she was just as much a pawn in Grivur’s games as they were.
Sloane came to stand before Saoirse, her dark cloak pooling on the stained limestone floor like a puddle of shadow. A satchel was slung over one of her shoulders. She worried about the leather strap anxiously. “You read my note?” she whispered.
Saoirse gave a curt nod, her eyes guarded. She was right to be wary. Sloane could very well have been sent to trick them.
“Did you tell the others?” Sloane asked, turning to face Rook and Hasana across the cell block.
“Tell us what?” Hasana asked. Her eyes darted between Sloane and Saoirse, a dark eyebrow lifting curiously.
“I’ll take that as a no. That was very wise. The underguards are stationed right outside of the prison block and they’re always listening. They would’ve reported anything suspicious to my father.” She looked toward the prison’s entrance, hatred flaring in her pale eyes. “Don’t worry, they aren’t listening now. I made sure we’d have a moment of privacy. But we must make this quick. They’ll be back in a few moments.” She turned her focus on Hasana and said, “I want to help you. I can arrange your escape.”
Rook’s mouth dropped open. Up until now, Sloane had been regretfully obedient to Grivur, like a hound that had been kicked one too many times. Though she seemed earnest, a flicker of distrust sparked in Rook’s chest.
“How do we know you won’t betray us to your father?” he asked. “How can we trust you? This could just be another one of Grivur’s games.”
Sloane looked at Rook and pursed her lips. “You can’t trust me,” she answered candidly. “I won’t lie to you about that. You have every reason to doubt my word. But I swear to you that I genuinely want to free you all. My father is delusional. His madness will only end when he is standing in a puddle of our spilled blood. Even mine.” A shadow of sadness crossed over her face before she straightened with resolve. “I’m going to escape with you. I’ve been locked away for so long, enduring his nonsensical whims and deranged impulses because I had no other choice. I need to leave this place just as much as you do. Before it is too late.”
The emotion in her voice couldn’t be faked. Rook had seen the way Sloane had hurried to obey Grivur’s every demand, the way she flinched when Grivur spoke to her. He didn’t doubt her father’s madness had left its mark on her behind closed doors. The anger that burned in Sloane’s eyes told him Grivur had been tormenting his daughter long before his recent paranoia. She was terrified for her life. Her father had already executed his advisors and most of the members of the court. She would be next.
They were all going to die in the games at any rate. Grivur would make sure of that. They had nothing to lose in accepting her offer of aid. Either they would be betrayed by Sloane, and they’d die, or they would refuse her help and still be killed at the end of Grivur’s Tournament. Rook had to hope Sloane was sincere because if she wasn’t, they had no other means of escape.
“All right, what would you have us do?” Hasana asked, coming to the same conclusion as Rook. “We’re out of options. If you say you can help us escape, then we must take you at your word.”
Sloane stole an anxious glance at the prison door and began unclasping her satchel. “You need to survive the remaining two trials. I cannot get you out before then.”
“And if we’re killed during these next two games?” Neia asked skeptically, crossing her arms. “Why can’t you help us before we need to face the next challenge?”
“The final trial will offer you a way out,” Sloane answered cryptically. “We’ll use the third challenge’s location to our advantage. Just trust me.” She rummaged through the bag, eyes darting back to the prison door. “They’re coming back already. I need to leave.”
She hastily ran to each of their cells and shoved something small in between the bars. She stopped before Rook’s cage and pressed a corked vial into his palm. The tubular glass was no bigger than his index finger. A putrid green liquid the color of pond scum sloshed inside, perhaps only one swallow’s worth.
“The next game will require you to hold your breaths underwater for an extensive period,” Sloane explained. “This elixir is given to miners as a precaution in case of emergency flooding in the tunnels. It will allow you to hold your breaths much longer than is natural but use it sparingly. Once it is gone, you won’t be able to take another dose.” She skipped over Saoirse, given that she could breathe underwater.
Rook’s stomach hollowed out at the thought of navigating dark, flooded tunnels. Confined spaces were his worst nightmare. The pairing of already-claustrophobic caves with a rising surge of water made him want to vomit. “What else can we expect?” he rasped out. “Where will the next trial take place?”
“I’m sorry, I can’t tell you anymore,” Sloane apologized, delivering the last vial of the potion into Neia’s waiting hand. The underguards were returning now, their footsteps on the stone and snatches of conversation rumbling out from behind the door.
“I’ll try to return before the second trial. But if I don’t…” she trailed off and raced across the prison block, pulling her hood over her head once more. She turned to look over her shoulder one last time at them, eyes glinting under her hood. “My glory be given.” She slipped out of the prison block, dark cloak whispering against the stones as she disappeared through the doorway. The door shut soundly behind her.
Rook stared at the tiny vial in his palm. He was terrified of what Grivur had in store for them, but for the first time since he’d been captured, he felt a seed of hope beginning to take root in his heart. They had a way out. With Sloane’s help, they might escape the Under Kingdom within a matter of days. They just had to survive until then.