Chapter 7
They moved her from her dark little room. It had been safer than the forest, but it still wasn’t freedom. She wouldn’t miss it. The image of the guard lying dead on the floor replayed in her mind.
Everyone wanted her dead.
Carrying her few possessions, she followed Ruven as he led her away.
“Where are you taking me?” she asked him. They were heading towards one of the turrets at the back of the fortress.
“Casyl has given orders that you’re to occupy the room below his,” he said. “I imagine it’s so he can keep you alive more efficiently. You’re becoming a bit of an inconvenience, you know.” He turned to her with a broad grin.
The memory of last night made her cheeks burn. What had she been thinking? She blamed the liquor. Ruven was right. It was strong.
They stopped outside a door, and Ruven opened it, ushering her into a small corridor. She had always stayed clear of this part of the fortress.
Another door stood on one side of the corridor, while steps at the far end curved around the turret and disappeared into darkness.
“Don’t go up there,” he said. “That’s Casyl’s private residence.” He opened the other door, checking that the room was clear before allowing her inside.
At first glance, the room was much nicer than the last two she’d occupied.
“I’ll see you at training,” he said, closing the door behind him.
She scanned the room. This one had a small window that looked out to the sea. She sat on the bed to test its comfort, then placed her things beside her. A tapestry hung on the wall opposite her, depicting a man riding a winged creature. It was the first piece of decor she’d seen.
The building was a cold, hard place to live. The discovery of the Viewpoint and the library had increased her estimation of those who inhabited it. Cold, harsh brutes—that was what she’d thought of them, but the more she got to know them, the more she could relate to them.
The king was the harshest of them all, but luckily, she was rarely in his company. She shuddered, thinking of how he’d gone into her memories, pulling them apart, discarding what he didn’t find useful. How much had he seen? What had he been looking for?
Ruven had been the friendliest, with his mischievous grins and teasing nature. He wasn’t truly her friend. None of them were her friends, but he came the closest.
Tharos hadn’t softened towards her. He’d been ordered to train her, and that was all he would do, but he would do no more than required.
She’d barely seen Casyl since the attempted assassination. She couldn’t read him. He could appear as indifferent to her as Tharos, but then she’d catch him watching her intently in the training yard. He unsettled her like an ancient mystery, one she wasn’t sure she wanted to solve.
When she’d asked Ruven about him, he’d simply told her he’d been busy preparing their troops.
Since the day of the attempted assassination, guards and fortress staff had been taken away in groups.
Some she never saw again. She pretended not to hear the screams echoing from deep beneath the fortress floor.
She’d seen Casyl once, coming into the turret as she was leaving.
Blood covered him, though she found no wounds beneath it. He passed her with no acknowledgement.
Just as she began to grasp the basics of self-defence, her training intensified.
Ruven continued teaching her hand-to-hand combat, while Danae had added elemental defence to her training.
Danae was strong and feisty. Even Tharos treated her with deference. She was the only other woman in the fortress.
Her training with Tharos became less frequent as he, too, began disappearing for long periods. She assumed Danae was his replacement.
Danae could control fire with her mind. She coated her weapons in white-hot flames, which Amelia had to extinguish with her mind whilst defending herself with a sword. It was all she could do to block her incoming attacks.
“Do all of you have abilities?” Amelia asked, breathless, as they stopped to rest.
Ruven and Danae hesitated.
“Not anymore,” Ruven said. “We used to. Those with abilities climb high in the ranks or hide their power if that’s not the life they want. But it’s rare that any abilities manifest.”
“Why don’t I see any women around here?” she asked.
“You’re full of questions today. This is no place for a woman,” he replied seriously.
She frowned at him and gestured to herself and Danae.
He grinned. “That’s different. You are both… different.”
It was odd that there were so few. Back home, women didn’t have the same rights as men, but they still existed. Admittedly, the military was a male-dominated profession, but even the staff at the fortress she’d seen were mostly male.
“Where are they?” she asked.
“They’re in the High City,” Danae said, taking advantage of this distraction to fire a barrage of flames at Amelia. She could not prevent the attack, but she managed to extinguish the flames as Danae fought to keep them alight.
“Nice!” Ruven called.
She blocked Danae’s sword strike, but it was all she could do. Amelia was no match for her.
“You’re getting stronger,” Danae said.
She beamed at the praise, and then the feeling faded. She wasn’t strong enough. She was still relying on everyone else to keep her safe whilst she remained cooped up in this miserable fortress.
Her sword clattered against the stone floor as she threw it down. The smell of burning still lingered in the air. “I don’t understand why I need to learn how to do all of this,” she said, clenching her fists. “No one seems to answer any of my questions around here!”
“We don’t always have the answer,” Ruven said.
They both stood calmly, watching her. Her cheeks burned. “I’m sorry, I just don’t know what my life is anymore. Am I a prisoner? Am I a weapon?” She sighed. “I just wish I knew what was happening. Nothing makes any sense!”
Danae walked towards her and put a hand on her shoulder.
The gesture caused her to flinch.
“I can’t speak for the king or Casyl, but you’re one of us. It may not mean much to you, but it means we need to keep you alive, and that’s what the training will do. Now pick up your sword.”
Defeated in more than one way, she retreated to her chamber.
The corridor narrowed as the walls closed in on her.
She shut the door to the turret and leaned back against the cold stone wall.
She would not fall apart, not now, but she felt like an artefact, broken into pieces, trapped beneath centuries of dirt and mended with glue.
A faint light illuminated the winding staircase leading to Casyl’s chamber. Tentatively, she placed her foot on the first step and listened. No sound echoed down to her. She climbed the staircase, following it as it spiralled upwards until the door came into view. It had been left ajar.
She should go back to her room. She turned to leave, but curiosity drew her back to the door.
What did the room of this dangerous commander look like? She imagined the bare room, cold and harsh, like him, but when she stepped through the doorway, she stopped. This couldn’t be his room.
There were no soft furnishings, as she’d expected, but shelves filled with books and trinkets lined the walls.
She walked over to them, studying the small pieces of chiselled stone and the broken figurines.
Why did he have these? They weren’t decorative. One figure had been carefully repaired, and another looked ancient, worn smooth by time. Her fingers extended cautiously towards the relics, then curled into her palm. She shouldn’t touch them.
The door creaked behind her. She spun. It was just the breeze from the sea.
She glanced back to the shelf once her alarm had passed.
Who was Casyl?
She lifted the broken figure and examined it more closely.
She traced the cracks with her fingers where pieces had been glued back together.
The technique was familiar, one she’d used many times herself.
Someone had cared enough to try to preserve it.
Had he done this? The figurine’s face was still missing, but she could tell it represented a woman.
She put it down and picked up another relic that looked like it had been part of a weapon. It was made of stone, rough against her skin, and the end had been carved into a sharp point. Small runes had been inscribed into it, a faint blue glow pulsing within the lines.
“What do you think it is?”
She jumped, the relic tumbling from her hands.
Casyl snatched it from the air in one swift move. His jaw stiffened.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to snoop. The door was…”
He kept hold of the fragment, adjusting the position of the figure she’d returned to the shelf, and moved around her slowly, placing himself between her and the door.
“Are they yours?” she asked.
“Well, this is my room.”
She glanced at the floor, her cheeks heating.
“What are they?”
She couldn’t stop the question any more than she could have stopped herself from entering his room.
He was silent.
“Memories.” His expression grew distant. “They are all we have left.”
“Memories of what?”
“Our past. Where we’re from.” His attention returned to the broken figure before them.
“You repaired it incorrectly,” Amelia said.
His expression hardened. “I repaired it.”
She pointed at the broken figure. “This fragment is the wrong way round.”
He frowned. “It has remained that way for two centuries.”
“Then it has been wrong for two centuries.”
She could have sworn she saw a twitch at the corner of his mouth.
“Why do you keep them?”
“You ask a great many questions for someone caught trespassing.”
She met his gaze, waiting for his answer.
“Because no one else remembers what they are. I’m not sure anyone else cares.” He picked up the female figure. “My mother gave me this one when I was younger. She kept many treasures from before.”
“From before what?” Amelia asked.
His mouth tightened. He’d been speaking more freely, but she had clearly pushed too far.
“Where is your mother?”
“Not here.”
The faceless figure was a bitter reminder that she couldn’t remember her own mother’s face.