Chapter 6
The holy emissary arrived at the fortress with a herald from the High City. Amelia was outside training with Ruven when she heard their arrival. The fortress’s tall, railed gates remained tightly closed and guarded as the party arrived, and the guards seemed in no hurry to open them.
“Wait here,” Ruven said, leading her around a corner. He hurried across the yard, disappearing into the fortress, soon reappearing with Casyl and Tharos.
She peered around the wall, remaining hidden.
Casyl strode across the courtyard. She’d been surprised by his patience when they’d sparred. The memory of his hand closing around hers as he helped her from the floor crept into her mind.
Her eyes snapped back to the two robed figures who were escorted by five guards and another man dressed similarly, although he wore a tabard. Were they the priests?
The gates remained closed as the party slowly approached. Casyl was unfazed by their appearance.
They spoke in their own language, but their sharpening voices made the discussion’s hostility clear.
They must have come looking for her. She could walk out into their sight right now, but something stopped her. Whether it was fear or indecision, she couldn’t say, but she remained where she was.
The opportunity passed. The man in the tabard handed something through the gate, and Ruven took it from him, passing it to Casyl. The party left as abruptly as it had arrived.
Ruven ran back over to Amelia. “The lesson’s over for today,” he said. “There’s trouble.”
They both followed Casyl and Tharos into the fortress. She expected to be sent back to her room.
Casyl glanced at her once, then carried on walking. They entered the main hall of the fortress and headed towards the dais where King Tiryn sat.
“What is it?” the king asked, straightening on his throne.
She wasn’t sure why she was being included. What did they want her to know?
“That was an emissary from the Holy Court. They brought a herald from the High City, who kindly informed us that unless we return the prisoner—and therefore King Elthar’s property—we will incite war between our peoples.”
Why did they want her so badly?
The king raised an eyebrow, taking a drink from his goblet.
“Why do they want her?” Tharos asked, mirroring her thoughts.
Casyl looked directly at her, and her cheeks warmed. “Because we have her.”
Ruven gave a short, humourless laugh. “The High City writes its own laws, and the Holy Court prefers not to disagree.”
Her fingers curled at her sides. Property again. Something for these men to barter with. She had no say here; she was just a prisoner caught between two sides.
“Will they try to take her by force?” Tharos asked.
“They can try,” Casyl said. “If Elthar considers that she is his property, and he knows that we have her, he’ll do everything to get her back. Even if the Holy Court believed Eleandor, they’d never trust us.”
Had she heard that correctly? War would erupt if they refused to return her. All this over one human.
“They have offered an alternative,” Casyl continued, reading from a scroll. “That we kill her ourselves.”
The words rang in her ears. They’d sentenced her to death.
*
Casyl disappeared from the fortress for long periods, returning only briefly before leaving again. He looked exhausted when she did see him.
Time lost its shape. The days blurred together.
Training consumed the mornings, but she found herself bored and alone for most of the day.
It gave her time to think and overthink.
She went over how she’d escaped the mountain and ended up here.
There was nothing on the other side of the mountain range, unless everything that she knew was wrong.
Ruven put her through daily training, and she could now block most of his attacks, even if she still couldn’t land a clean strike.
Tharos’s mind fog began to have less effect, which pleased Ruven and enraged Tharos.
On one of those mornings, Casyl stood across the courtyard talking to a woman. She was tall, though not as tall as the men, with fiery red hair that fell in long braids past her pointed ears. Her arms were bare, revealing sculpted muscles and tattoos that encircled them.
The woman walked over to them alone.
“Danae,” Ruven greeted her with a grin. “To what do we owe this pleasure?”
She ignored him. “It’s my turn. If you’re going to have any chance of surviving, you need to learn how to block the elements. If you want to get home, you’re going to have to fight your way there.”
She opened her hand, and flames rose from her palm.
*
The security of the fortress had increased.
Guards were now stationed around the walls to prevent anyone from getting in and anyone from getting out.
Amelia had been given more freedom to move around the fortress and its grounds now that she was less of a flight risk.
She’d been told that the holy fae wanted her dead.
That made her more inclined to stay behind the walls.
She wandered through the stone corridors, peering into open rooms but not daring to open the closed doors. She knew to avoid the centre of the third floor, which housed part of the king’s private residence. She also avoided the turrets, where Casyl and his commanders resided.
The gentle breeze caressed her face as she climbed to the top of the fortress, to the ramparts, and stood looking out at the sea and its turbulent waters. The guards shifted uncomfortably when they noticed her and continued watching her, but they didn’t approach.
As the sea grew rougher, the wind whipped loose strands of untied hair around her face as she walked the length of the ramparts, scanning her surroundings.
It was the first time she’d been up there.
The light was fading, but she could see how remote the fortress was.
The grey sea thrashed against the rocks behind the fortress, and the gloomy forest stood to the side, but the fortress overlooked miles of desolate land.
The guards would be able to see anything approaching unless it came directly through the forest.
The land looked dull and sick, a barren wasteland dotted with ruins she longed to explore. Was the land’s barren state related to the chrysonium?
Ruven saw her from a distance and joined her on the ramparts. “Bored?” he asked.
She nodded. Ruven had become something like a friend—or the closest thing she could expect under the circumstances.
“Come on, I’ve got a game to show you.”
“A game? I didn’t realise you had anything even slightly entertaining here.”
He took her to a room, if she could call it that, on the fifth floor at the back of the fortress. It was more like a sheltered balcony, with vast open windows overlooking the sea and a round fire pit near the edge, its flames dancing high in the wind.
“What is this place?” she asked. She never expected to find something like this here in this cold and dismal fortress.
“We call it the Viewpoint, mostly because it’s a good view.” He grinned. “It’s just somewhere to relax.”
There was a stone table surrounded by benches. Ruven gestured for her to sit. He walked over to one end of the room where shelves were lined with glass bottles.
“Drink?” he asked.
Amelia nodded. She didn’t know what fae liquor would taste like, but she was getting pretty tired of water.
He poured a golden liquid into two goblets and brought them to the table. He returned to the shelves, retrieved a stone board and placed it on the table, arranging the small carved pieces into positions around the board.
“It’s a memory game. We each have our own pieces. We mix them up into random positions, and their pattern has to be replicated by the other person.” He took a sip from his goblet. “We use it during Battle Plan. It’s good for the mind.”
She coughed at the strength of the liquor. It tasted of spices that made her tongue tingle.
“Take your time with that.” Ruven laughed. “I doubt you’re used to liquor so strong.”
“Shouldn’t you be doing warrior things?” she teased.
“I’m off duty. We do have our own time, you know.”
They played several rounds of the memory game. Amelia took his advice and slowly sipped the liquor. At first, it had burned like lava sliding down her throat, but the more she drank, the more she enjoyed the warmth spreading through her stomach and the pleasant buzz in her body.
“Did you drink much at home?” he asked.
She paused for a moment. This was one of the first times she hadn’t been thinking of home.
“No,” she answered. “I never really had anyone to drink with.”
“What about your family?”
“I don’t have any.”
“Oh?”
“They died when I was younger.”
“I’m sorry.” He squeezed her arm.
“It’s okay. I have my work and my books. Had, I mean.”
“You like to read?” he asked.
She nodded. “Mostly history.” She paused. “I used to love reading mythology and fairy tales.” She shook her head, the irony not lost on her.
“We have a library,” Ruven said.
She sat up.
“I’ll show you. I’m not sure if you’ll be able to read any of them. I’m not sure how many are written in the old tongue.”
Just the thought of holding a book, something familiar, excited her. She would love to see their language written. It might help her understand it.
They left the Viewpoint, and he led her along the corridor to another room.
The library was laid out with shelves upon shelves of books that lined the walls around the room, with books stacked from the floor to the ceiling.
There was a single table in the centre of the room with chairs surrounding it.
The collection was magnificent, but its organisation was offensive.
It looked as though the books had been organised by size and colour as opposed to genre, although she could not be sure of that.
If she could understand their titles, she would have arranged them herself.
Ruven began walking through the rows of shelves, his head dipped sideways, reading the spines.
Their letters were similar to those she knew, but more flowing and graceful. She’d secretly hoped that they’d look like the runes she’d found on the mountain. She hadn’t forgotten. The need to understand what they were burned within her.
They reached the shelves at the very back of the library. The dust on them made her sneeze.
“Ah,” Ruven said. “This is in the old tongue.” He pulled out a heavy brown tome. He quickly opened it to check its contents and passed it to her. Unprepared for its weight, she almost dropped it.
“I’d like one in your language too,” she said, wondering if they would allow it. She hoped to study the letters. Who knew how long she would be there? She was mentally recording everything she saw in this world in case she ever returned home.
He selected a book at random and piled it on top of the tome she was holding.
Warmth rose to her face, and she caught herself smiling.
He escorted her to her room. She swayed slightly down the corridor whilst holding the books close to her body.
The guard outside her room straightened as they approached.
“Sir.” He nodded at Ruven, who acknowledged him in return.
The man glanced sideways at her.
Ruven turned to her. “Don’t stay up too late reading,” he said. “Training in the morning, remember!” And he left.
Amelia closed the door behind her with one foot, struggling as she placed the books down carefully.
She lay on the bed, picked up the fae book and scanned its pages by the light of the sconce.
The letters blurred together, moving on the page.
She squinted; the words meant nothing to her, but they were beautiful to look at.
She then perused the book that was written in the old tongue, the language that she understood.
It was written a little differently from the language she knew, almost as though it were archaic. She handled the fragile pages with care, as they threatened to crumble under her touch.
She must have dozed. The book lay open in front of her. Someone entered her room.
She looked up, expecting it to be Casyl, but it was a guard.
He rushed towards her with a knife. She scrambled up from her bed, dodging him, but her limbs were heavy. She was cornered. He blocked the door, which was the only exit in this windowless room.
Everything Ruven had taught her vanished from her mind. She froze before the guard. She had grown too comfortable within the deceptive safety of the stone walls that kept the creatures and other fae out. She laughed bitterly at how conditioned she’d become.
He stood ready to lunge with his knife.
The door flew open, almost falling off its hinges, and Casyl burst into the room.
The guard looked back at him and then lunged desperately at Amelia.
Casyl was a blur. Amelia dived aside as he seized the guard’s head between both his hands.
There was a sickening crunch. The guard fell to the floor, lifeless.
Casyl stood over the guard, breathing hard, fury carved into his expression. He helped her up. “Are you hurt?” he asked, inspecting her.
He stood close, his gaze fixed intently on her.
“No.” She hid her hands behind her back. “Why do you keep saving my life?”
“I keep wondering about that myself,” he said.
For the first time, she wondered who Casyl was when he wasn’t a commander.
She leaned closer, holding his gaze. The liquor gave her a confidence she rarely had. Her lips parted, a warmth spreading down her body.
His abrupt retreat jolted her back to reality.
What was she doing? She was his prisoner, yet in that moment, she hadn’t felt like she was.
“Try to sleep,” he said, and swept out of the room, leaving Amelia standing alone, feeling like an idiot.