Chapter 3 False Dawn #2
"Does anyone ever leave?" I asked.
"Once marked, you cannot depart. You could attempt it, but if caught..." He shrugged. "Better not to think of it."
"So, we're prisoners." Pelbie's voice shook.
"Prisoners?" Brond repeated. "No. You are free to do what you like. You have your own bedchambers with soft beds, and clean sheets. There's a bathing chamber for you, and the finest food to eat. Here, no one will harm you, and no one will starve you. All your needs will be met. "
How could he say that with a straight face? "Is that how you rationalize being enslaved to the fae?"
He smiled again. "It is not a terrible fate, and it is better than what you had before.
I've seen the villages in the north. I know about poverty, sickness, hunger.
I was born in a place like that. But the fae found me and took me away from that.
And they have fed me, clothed me, and taught me how to fight.
If not for them, I'd have died long ago.
Or worse, I'd have become a thief, or a murderer. "
I couldn't believe my ears. I'd spent a lifetime hating the fae, and hearing one praise them left my mind reeling. But I held my tongue, knowing no words could change his mind. He was trapped here, and this was his way of coping.
A bell sounded shortly, echoing down the hall and into the vast chamber, ringing like thunder.
The food was swept away at once. It was almost as though it had never been there.
Pelbie let out a moan of horror and I giggled.
Apparently, the partially chewed bread in her mouth had decided to abandon her as well.
"The breakfast is over." Karys spoke from where she stood, her arms folded and a triumphant smile playing on her face. "Now it's time for you all to meet your masters."
One by one, she led the Vessels out of the hall, as though we were sheep being led to a slaughterhouse. We followed her silently, obediently, the way a flock follows its shepherd.
We filed out in neat rows of two, following her through corridors lined with tapestries depicting great battles. She led us to a circular courtyard surrounded by towering columns and marble statues of armored warriors. Ancient runes carved into the stone floor pulsed with faint blue light.
In the center stood Gryven, arms behind his back, flanked by five older Vessels in matching dark blue robes. One of them was Brond—the same Vessel who had sat beside us in the breakfast hall earlier, calm and polished, talking like this life was a privilege instead of a sentence.
I didn’t recognize the others, but I couldn’t stop wondering if Tomos had ended up the same.
They took him five years ago, and I never heard from him again.
We used to sneak off behind the baker’s cottage, trading stolen bread and dares.
Once, he said he’d rather cut off his hand than serve the fae.
Maybe he did. Or maybe he was here now, standing somewhere in this court, unrecognizable behind a polite smile and a pair of clean robes.
“As of today, these five serve as your appointed mentors,” Gryven announced. “They will guide you through your first weeks in the Thunder Court. You will address them as Master or Mistress. Disrespect them, and you answer to me.”
He gestured to the first of the robed Vessels, a dark-haired boy with sharp features and a cruel smile.
“Master Calen,” Gryven called. “Terys. Iri. Velna. Daryn. Keely.”
It was odd. We were to be trained by the other Vessels. But they didn’t look like us anymore. They stood too straight, their gazes too calm, too obedient. It unsettled me.
They must have been brainwashed. That was the only explanation. Tools. Weapons.
The thought of becoming one of them—of speaking like them, moving like them, wearing that same obedient mask—turned my stomach.
Next, Brond stepped forward.
“Master Brond. Vara. Pelbie. Marn. Halmar. Edes.”
I cursed under my breath. I didn't get to have the same mentor as Pelbie. At least Brond didn’t seem cruel by nature. Pelbie though—I wasn't sure she could keep up. She nodded back with a determined look on her face, as if reassuring me that she would survive.
One by one, names were called, groups assembled. The robed Vessels barely looked at us as we were sorted like tools into hands that may or may not know how to wield us.
Five groups. Five mentors. Five students each.
It was only me who remained by the end.
The other Vessels turned to stare. I swallowed hard and continued to try not to squirm, even though I could hear the whispers, see the smirks, and smell the stench of speculation.
"And you, Miralyte." Gryven stepped closer to me. I involuntarily stepped backwards and immediately cursed myself for showing weakness. "Master Zydar is training you personally."
Pure hate surged through my veins, igniting something deep inside me. I wanted to scream, to run, to attack. But I could not. Not yet.
I doubted it was out of kindness. More likely, it had something to do with the mark that never took. I’d seen the way he looked at me after it failed.
"Where is he?" I demanded, looking around the courtyard, expecting to see the Warlord.
"Right here," a low, husky voice answered.
I whirled around.
And there he was, as if he had stepped from the shadows themselves, watching me like he'd been there all along.
Tall, broad and terrifying, his chin lifted arrogantly, his red eyes narrowed. His dark hair was pulled back, exposing sharp, smooth features, a strong jaw, and full lips that were currently twisted up into a smirk.
"Dismissed." I heard him tell the others, his voice commanding and clear.
At once, they dispersed. Pelbie gave me a worried glance before heading back inside. Soon, there was nothing but silence and the two of us.
His cruel smile stayed in place as his gaze fell on me. "You seem displeased."
I knew better than to answer.
He stepped closer, invading the space between us.
He was close enough to touch, his very presence warming the air around me.
Every nerve in my body screamed at me to move, but I willed myself to remain still.
I saw the tiny smile that twitched on his lips and I glared back at him in defiance.
His gaze traced the line of my face, lingering just a bit too long on my mouth.
Something sharp and predatory passed over his gaze, like that of a lion measuring a wayward gazelle.
"You're hardly the mentoring sort," I said finally.
His teeth were blindingly white and sharp as they flashed in a wicked grin. "I possess many talents that you know nothing of, mortal."
"How fortunate for me." I simpered sarcastically, giving him a threatening smile of my own.
"Indeed. You should be weeping with gratitude, wishing to kiss my feet."
I hate him.
"I'd rather kiss a scorpion."
"Perhaps in time you shall." His voice dropped to a whisper. "Little dove."
I ground my teeth. He enjoyed taunting me, I realized. I doubted there were many opportunities for him to indulge in such childish behavior, given that he commanded armies and held such status and importance.
"Don't call me that," I told him firmly.
His lips twitched. "No, I think it's quite fitting. Small, soft, and remarkably foolish."
Small? I scoffed inwardly. I stood at eye-level with most men, but as my gaze trailed upwards, I had to acknowledge our height difference.
I narrowed my eyes. "If you plan to spend our time together trading insults, why did you choose to train me yourself?"
He circled around me, as though studying me from a new angle. "You shall discover that tonight."
Fine. I'll play his little game.
But he'll regret every moment of it.