Chapter 9 The Forbidden Court
The Forbidden Court
Caramyn
The rest of the journey was long, and much the same.
But the prince never came to her at night again, and when it was his turn to keep watch through the night, he stood as far as possible from her.
They'd bind her hands whenever she had to piss, or anytime she couldn't be watched closely, and she thanked the Shattered gods that she didn't have her monthly bleeding during this time.
During the long, quiet stretches of riding, she tracked their path, recalling maps from her cottage to better understand her location and plan her eventual route back home.
She collected maps whenever she came across them in the markets, because up until now they were the only way she could explore the world outside the wilderness.
She knew Evylere well, and she pictured it now—a vast kingdom once ruled by the Lightborn court and human courts, split into three regions by great rivers that met in the center like main arteries.
The lower east region beyond Havenswood was a long-shunned place.
Before the Order’s purge, it had been the unofficial Shadowblood domain, where they sealed away their secrets and dark power throughout The Bleak Wilderness and the Woods long before the Veil existed.
The human court lay North in Felhold, and the old Vaerwynd lands made up the West—now affectionately known as the witchlands—where remnants of the ancient gods’ powers were said to have fallen in the Great Shattering and created the Lightborn race.
After passing Havenswood and crossing the great river splitting East from West, her suspicions began to form.
They were long past any chance of going to Felhold, and she knew that on the other side of the river, tucked away near the coast facing the Shattered Sea lay the old Vaerwynd Court—the ruling place of the Lightborn king and queen before the downfall of their magic at the hands of the humans and the Shadowbloods.
Caramyn thought back to the newest map she’d bought from the town cartographer with some Lily’s Claw and a few stolen coins back in Havenswood.
It was the only map that labeled the old Vaerwynd Castle as ‘forbidden ruins,’ and she wondered what King Daemar feared so much that he couldn’t even permit people to visit the lands he claimed to have defeated.
But more than that, she wondered why his son seemed to be taking her there now.
Though she’d memorized the geography, she'd never dreamed of how beautiful Evylere truly was, and each day of travel brought with it something more breathtaking than the next.
Her maps could've never prepared her for the crystal flowing streams, the vibrant hues of the changing trees and wildflowers that peppered the landscapes.
The far-off snow-capped mountains to the north took her breath away, and she wondered how she'd ever get used to the ever grey bleakness of the Shadow Woods again after this.
On the last day traveling, Caramyn was exhausted, her body still yet to fully recover from the ring’s ailment.
She yearned for a break from the confines of the saddle, her backside and spine aching with every stride.
And something deep in her conscious ached as well.
As the distance grew between her and the Shadow Woods, the stronger she felt something was amiss.
She wondered if she’d made a mistake, if she should have tried escaping by now.
It deeply troubled her that whatever she was meant to be guarding there was now left unprotected.
But she reassured herself that the Shadows didn’t need her the way she needed them.
The Woods had stood on its own long before she ever came to them.
And perhaps this was how she was meant to protect it this time—by uncovering this mysterious prince’s plans and destroying him in the silence of his own shadows.
As their mounts passed through the heart of the empty witchlands, she forgot her soreness and worry for a moment as she looked on in awe at the sight ahead.
A forest full of trees far different from the gnarled, claw-like brambles of her Woods.
These were lush and full of color. And in the midst of them, white spires reaching up, gleaming in the last rays of sunlight like diamonds.
Beyond the forest and trees lied a horizon of blue, spanning the dusk skyline in gentle ripples—Mistwake Bay, of the Shattered Sea—if her memory of the maps served her correctly.
Why would the Blackwynd prince bring her here? To the abandoned castle of the Lightborn his father betrayed decades ago—the forbidden ruins of the fallen Vaerwynd Court.
Up until now, Havenswood's stone wall had been the mightiest structure she'd ever laid eyes on.
But this onyx and ivory stone palace before her stalled her breath.
Stretching to the clouds, serrated battlements lined the top edges of each of the four corner towers.
Time had ravaged the castle with a dark covering of moss and vines creeping up along the sides.
The walls still bore the scars of seige, crumbling where flaming boulders had pierced its wards, their magic nullified by distant iron bells.
But even in its battle-worn state, it boasted a beauty no human structure could ever hope to match.
Grand silver gates guarded the entrance, and a small stone wall skirted the outside of the castle, but it seemed more for decoration than protection. As they neared, a soldier or servant of some sort rushed out from the castle entrance to open the gates.
Nocthar had trailed them the entire way. She watched him perch gracefully atop one of the castle towers. With his help, she knew she could find a way out of here—when the time came.
"The Forbidden Ruins," Caramyn muttered under her breath, recalling the mark on the map.
"Ruins not so much anymore." Asterious purred with a razor-edged chuckle. "But I like that first part. The Forbidden Court...hmm. I think I’ll keep that."
Caramyn rolled her eyes beneath her lids.
"I don't understand. Why—how have you revived this place?
Shouldn't you be at Blackwynd Castle in Felhold slaughtering anyone who opposes your father?
" At this point, asking questions was more a tactic to annoy Asterious than to seek answers she knew he would not give.
"Blackwynd has enough monsters without me. And I thought I told you not to ask any more questions until you’re ready to give me real answers to mine.
” He spoke as he dismounted in the middle of the courtyard, and someone led his horse away.
The surface was cobbled of some type of gleaming stone flecked with shimmers of light that brightened with the weight of their footsteps.
Caramyn was almost too distracted by their beauty to respond. Almost.
“That’s not how it seemed when you were tending to my wounds around the fire.
” She puckered her face and raised an eyebrow, expecting the prince to ignore her as they passed through the doors of the castle.
He led her down the halls, Wryan flanking the other side of her, and she took note of Wyran’s disdainful expression at her comment.
“As I said before, you’re no use to me if you’re not physically well.
We must do everything we can to help heal that delicate memory of yours.
” The prince narrowed his eyes at her, tugging gently on the rope Wyran insisted they bound around her wrists again as he guided her through the twisting corridors of the palace.
The inside of the castle was in better shape than the outside, and she understood why King Daemar would’ve wanted to keep people from coming here, because he clearly hadn’t managed to breach the interior for whatever reason.
The inside was untouched, all its records likely still preserved, all its treasures still in place.
The iridescent white floor sparkled beneath fine rugs that blanketed the walkways, and bright glowing torchlight kept the stone halls illuminated and warm.
They spiraled up a long flight of stairs, which seemed to never end.
When they reached the top of the tower, Asterious produced a metal key from his coat and inserted it into the lock.
With a turn of the key, the heavy gold-inlaid door creaked on its hinges and Asterious clicked his tongue.
"You'll stay here, and only here while you let that memory rest."
Caramyn had expected a dungeon or a dirty, damp room with a pile of soiled straw for a bed, but to her surprise, the room was grand and inviting.
She might even dare say it was fit for royalty.
There was a large bed with creamy silk cushions and luxurious fur blankets.
By a bright stained-glass window stood a gold-trimmed vanity with a mirror and a matching armoire.
To the right, in the far corner of the room, a divider separated a charming claw foot tub and a dressing area.
There was even a cozy fireplace, though it obviously hadn't been used in ages.
"I'll have some torches and some supper brought up." Asterious gestured for her to step into the room.
Caramyn scanned the room once more, "What a nice prison cell. Was this the queen’s room?" she asked mockingly.
"Yes." His voice flattened. “It was.”
He turned to go, without looking back, in a way that chilled Caramyn’s blood. "Anyway, I'll make sure you're taken care of, but you may not leave this room until I've spoken further with you."
Caramyn crossed her arms, desperate to get in one more jab. "Are you going to put that lovely Wyran in charge of guarding my door?"
"I wouldn't dream of punishing him like that. I'll find some other poor soul to burden with that task." The prince’s face curled into a look of disdain as he pulled the door shut behind him, and it clicked in place. Caramyn wiggled the doorknob the second he was gone, but the lock was solid.
The tiredness in her bones returned all at once and demanded her attention. All she wanted to do was lie down and figure out the rest later. But instead she remained standing, observing her surroundings as a small voice startled her at the door followed by the lock turning.
The shortest woman Caramyn had ever seen fumbled through the door carrying a bundle of unlit torches tucked beneath her arm. She was a small lady, squirrel-like, perhaps in her forties or fifties, bright-eyed, with a dark bun tied at the nape of her neck.
"Caramyn, was it? The prince asked me to bring you these," she said, hanging more torches along the hooks in the wall. "And this, for your sore muscles."
Azell handed her a vial of something. It smelled light and airy, but Caramyn didn't trust it. She placed it on the dresser as the sprightly woman placed the last torch. "Thank you. What's your name?"
"I'm Azell, the maid of this castle…for the time being."
"You make it sound as though you’re the only maid here." Caramyn said, prodding for information without being too obvious.
"I might as well be.” The lady laughed, but then a sense of seriousness befell her wispy voice. “There are a small few of us who chose loyalty to the prince. But I was tasked with tending to you…" Azell grinned with a laugh that crinkled the corners of her eyes.
"What do you mean 'chose loyalty to the prince?'"
"Oh, never mind all that for now. It's a long story and I've already said too much. And if he hasn’t explained it to you by now, there must be a reason," she said with a mischievous smile, lighting the torches one by one.
"But don't fret about it. Just clean up and get some rest, dear girl. I’m sure it will all make more sense soon.”
Caramyn shook her head. “Are you Lightborn or Spellbound?” she blurted out.
Azell blushed, slapping a hand to her chest. “Me? Magic? Shattered gods, no. Not even a half-breed. Just a human who knew something had to change.” She darted toward the door before Caramyn could ask anything else.
“Anyway, I’ll be back in a bit with some supper. I’m sure you must be starving.” And with that, she disappeared and locked the door behind her but was right back in a few more minutes with a steaming bowl of venison stew and maple-glazed sprouts.
Caramyn thanked her and scarfed down the food once she was gone, savoring the warm broth and crispy vegetables after so many days of dried meat and hard bread.
It was one of the most delicious meals she’d had in a while, but half of the delicacy seemed to have come from the idea that it had been made for her, despite the circumstances.
She hadn’t eaten a meal prepared by someone else in half a decade.
With her belly full, she could focus, though exhaustion still gnawed at her bones.
Nocthar still hadn't returned with her dagger.
Before she could allow herself to rest, she had to have something in her hand…
something to defend herself with in this strange place.
She searched beneath the bed and rummaged through the drawers, finding nothing with potential.
Then as she eyed the vanity, she noticed a hairbrush made of ivory with a bone handle.
She cracked the brush against the wall, splintering the bone into shards.
One was particularly large enough to suffice as a makeshift dagger for now.
She didn't know what came next, and she refused to be vulnerable.
To feel as helpless as she had felt the night around the campfire with the prince, or when he picked her up off the forest floor.
Once she’d crafted the knife, through heavy eyelids threatening to close the entire time she worked, she dragged herself over to the edge of the bed, clutching the weapon and sitting cross-legged facing the door, her feet finally relieved of their aching.
She planned to sit there and watch the door through the night…
just in case. It was still unclear what the prince wanted, and for all she knew this fancy room could be a trap.
And she already disliked the dark, but the dark in an unfamiliar place was an entirely worse kind of unsettling.
But after an hour or of fighting back yawns, staring in the silence at an unmoving door, she was already fading.
She couldn’t help but lie down…just for a few minutes.
The security of the Shadow Woods was all too far away, and the prince she hated was all too near in this castle somewhere, but for now, she didn’t care. She just needed a few moments of sleep.