Chapter 6
MYRA
Myra tried to melt into the wall of the dark, cold room beneath the Ardentolian castle. In the damp cells, the shadows loomed large. Melancholy coated the walls and oozed from the stone, making the air thick with agony and misery.
Since Myra was a child, she had struggled to contain her ability. Many thought their powers were gifts from the gods, but Myra's could only be described as a curse. Bearing one's own emotions was already a burden enough for many, but to experience the emotions of every person you touched? It was a torment Myra would never wish on anyone.
Humans were not the only ones whose emotions she could sense, either. Buildings also thrust their emotions at her. If Myra was lucky, some structures had a warm and inviting aura. When she visited homes filled with laughter and love, it was reminiscent of the sun shining down on a field of freshly bloomed daisies in late spring.
But Myra was rarely lucky. These days, those kinds of places were few and far between.
Instead, the buildings Myra had to frequent often reeked of death and dread. And this humid dungeon beneath the Ardentolian castle was the worst of them all.
The air beneath the castle was sticky with agony, torment, and rage. The stone walls were soaked with the cries of the victims who had been tortured in the cells. The ground had been watered with the tears and blood of the dying, so much so that Myra could barely remain standing.
The call for death was too strong here, and it tugged on her very limbs.
Unlike the emotions of humans or animals, Myra could not manipulate the emotions of the walls or floors. Those emotions were etched in the very stone. Permanent and unbendable. The very infrastructure of a building would have to crumble for the stories melted into the concrete or the memories buried inside the walls to disappear. Even if the building was demolished, there was always the chance that the earth remembered.
An emotion's effect was always worse when Myra's memories were personally tied to the place. And here, in the dungeons, grief wrapped around Myra's lungs, agony twisted around her limbs, and rage coated her throat.
However, Myra wasn't the one bound to the wall this time. Now,, she stood behind the king, her hands trembling, while an unfamiliar woman sat chained to the cement floor.
Myra wondered what the stranger had done to be imprisoned beneath the castle. Although, perhaps the better question was why Myra was bearing witness to it. This was the first time in years she had been dragged down to the cells, and the last time . . .
Myra swallowed the memory, forcing it back down. Not now.
Domitius crouched before the woman. Her black hair hung in thick, grease-coated strands down her face. Her skin was nearly transparent, as if she hadn't seen the sun in years. She wore a ragged dress, stained and worn thin with holes throughout the fabric.
Domitius snatched her chin with his hand, jerking her face upward and squeezing her sunken cheeks together. "You said the fates were aligned," he hissed.
Though frail, the woman wrenched her chin free from his grip. As lifeless as she may appear, there was still some fight left in her.
"How many times must I tell you?" The woman pulled at the manacles keeping her bound. "The fates can change."
"What is the point of having a seer if you cannot tell me the truth? You said it would work, that my plans would come to fruition if I had the girl!" the king thundered.
Myra's eyes widened in fear. A seer? But if she's a seer, how did she end up here?
The prisoner rolled her eyes, and something about the woman's features felt familiar, but Myra couldn't quite place them. This room--the memories and feelings that dripped from the walls--clouded her judgment.
Here, she always saw the ghosts of her past. Phantoms that would not so easily let her go.
"Time is an illusion. The world shifts," the woman sneered. She sank against the wall, exasperated, as if her current circumstance of being chained to a cell was not her primary concern but rather a simple annoyance. "My visions can only be so accurate, as I have told you many times."
Domitius pulled on one side of the chain, the links tightening around the women's limbs. "Then make them more accurate."
Myra forced herself to remain still despite the screaming desire to run away. But there was no running from the bull-king. She had learned that a long time ago.
The woman tipped her chin up, snarling. "It doesn't work like that. My visions are not meant to be forced out as you so often seem to forget, Kage ."
Domitius pulled at the chain once more, and the woman reeled.
"My King ," she spat in defiance.
He tossed the chain onto the ground, and the metal links clattered against the stone floor as he pushed himself up into a standing position. Turning around, he began pacing in the small cell.
His feet wore a line in the dust-covered ground; Myra on one side, the woman on the other.
Myra couldn't help but find the similarities despite the line between them. They were both the king's prisoners. Only the woman wore chains, while Myra did not.
However, Myra wondered if it would be easier to rot inside of a cell instead of being given a false sense of freedom. Freedom that was frail, fickle, and false. A privilege she knew could be taken from her at any minute. A privilege that had resulted in Myra betraying her best friend.
The choice, however, had never been hers to make. Once Domitius discovered what Myra could do, her path was set. There was no going back now.
As Domitius paced back and forth, the woman lifted her head, and her eyes locked onto Myra. She cocked her head to the side. Her eyelids fluttered, and her head swayed. Then, she abruptly straightened, and an eerie chill crept over Myra's skin as the corner of the woman's lip twitched.
When she turned her gaze to Domitius, her eyes narrowed. "You still don't get it, do you?" she challenged.
He rolled his eyes. "Get what , woman?"
The woman grinned, her teeth yellowed and rotten. A rancorous sound that made Myra wonder how long the woman had been in Domitius's captivity poured out of her mouth. "You'll never win. The fates may appear to be in your favor one minute, but they have one thing that you lack."
Domitius lunged forward, brandishing a blade to her throat. "What could they possibly have that I do not?" he demanded.
There was that laugh again. Then, a deafening silence filled the room as the woman quirked a brow.
The prisoner raised her chin as if to dare Domitius to kill her.
"Love," she whispered, and he scoffed.
Domitius laughed bitterly. " Love ?"
"Mhm."
"How does that have to do with anything? Love is nothing. Love is--"
" Everything ," the woman spat, interrupting the king. "Why do you think the fates have changed?" When Domitius didn't respond, she continued, "It is because, despite everything that has happened, the Pontians still have love in their hearts for that girl. You have manipulated your false daughter's mind and her emotions countless times, but the one thing you cannot manipulate--the one thing you cannot falsify--is love.
"You thought making Kalisandre fear love was the answer, but that is far from the truth. It is because Kalisandre craves to love and be loved in return that you will never win. Despite everything you have done, she still has love in her heart for them, for her ."
Myra pressed her back against the wall, wishing she could disappear as the woman stared at her. But she was stuck in here. The door was locked, and Domitius was the only one with the key.
The king looked over his shoulder at Myra, then back at the woman. "What are you talking about?"
"The future is not a straight line, but rather it is like the knotted roots of a tree, and we seers stand at the base of it. There is always more than one path to choose from, and while we can sometimes predict which route a soul will take based on past decisions, the future is never certain. It branches and splits out in different directions.
"As relationships change, so too do our paths. The fates are ever-changing for this reason. A tangle of choices waiting to be unraveled. You never know what you'll get until you pull, until you tug. Until you choose ."
"Enough of the riddles. Speak sense, seer," Domitius hissed.
She shook her head, licking her chapped lips. "The handmaiden cares for your false daughter. Up until now, her love for her family has been leading her decisions, but something has changed."
The woman paused, her nearly white eyes staring at Myra thoughtfully.
Her lip twitched. "Multiple forces now guide her," the prisoner surmised.
Myra's body went rigid, and before she knew it, Domitius was pressing the heel of his palm against her throat.
"So, this is your fault!" he shouted, his voice ringing in the cell so loud it pained her ears.
Myra never wanted Kallie to get hurt. Despite betraying her trust since she entered the princess's employment, Myra had grown to care for her.
Kallie was troubled, her emotions twisted and torn. But Myra saw what lay beneath the battered mess. She knew Kallie's heart. Even so, she did not know what the seer meant. As much as Myra hated that Domitius forced her to manipulate Kallie's emotions, she had no choice but to obey.
"I--I don't know--" Myra choked on her words as he squeezed her throat.
Her eyes watered as her lungs begged for air. She tried to focus on the king and bite back the fear bubbling to the surface, but her vision was clouding. Black splotches pulsed in her blurry gaze as he tightened his calloused grip.
Anger painted the king's face when he glared down at her. He had lost. He had lost, and the Pontians had won. They had taken Kallie and escaped.
And now Myra was forced to reap the consequences of his failure.
She couldn't defend herself. She couldn't explain, for Domitius wasn't here for answers.
He wasn't here for an explanation.
He was here for an outlet for his anger, for a release.
The spots in her vision grew, and before she knew what she was doing, she pulled from the pit of her stomach. She instinctively followed the iridescent string that floated in the air, invisible to all but her. She tugged on it, grabbed it, tried to bend it to her will.
She tried to coax it, soothe it. Snuff out the fire that coated its strands.
But as she sent the emotion down the string that ran from the fingers wrapped around her throat to the nerves in his mind, Domitius's nose twitched.
His fingers dropped from her throat, and Myra wheezed, gasping for air.
The oxygen struck her lungs in an icy and painful burst. Sharp and bitter. Before Myra could catch her breath, she was thrown across the room, and the wind was knocked out of her as she hit the wall.
Domitius's mouth was moving, but Myra couldn't make out the words as the room spun around her. The back of her head throbbed. Pain shot down her spine, and her vision pulsed.
She couldn't breathe. Her body had gone stiff as pain erupted all over her.
The door creaked open behind the king. Two figures entered the cell, but her vision was still too fuzzy to make them out. One of the figures shoved the other forward, and the second, shorter figure fell to their knees.
Myra inhaled, but her body couldn't process the intake of oxygen. It stopped short, lodging itself in the middle of her throat, choking her.
She tried to move.
She tried to crawl, but her limbs were too weak, and they folded beneath her weight. She slipped, her face smacking against the floor.
Still, she tried. Even as the tears blurred her vision and drowned out her voice. Even as a sharp pain seared through her body. Even as a burst of poisonous laughter echoed in the cell, Myra crawled.
She needed to touch him. She needed to make sure he was real. She needed proof that this wasn't an illusion Domitius had somehow concocted.
But the man on the ground didn't look at her, his tired gaze fixed on the floor.
"Mynhos?" Myra whispered, the single word scratching her vocal cords. It was a name she hadn't said aloud in over a decade, a name she called out for in her dreams.
Her brother was alive.
Alive and in front of her.
But why was he here?
Her fingers brushed his shoulder, and he flinched back from the touch.
Domitius stepped forward, blade in hand. "Perhaps you need to be reminded about what you are truly fighting for."
The king snatched Mynhos's wrist, and her brother at last looked at her with anguish swimming in his hazel eyes. Domitius pressed Mynhos's hand flat against the stone floor.
In his ear, Domitius whispered, "Don't bleed on my floor."
He struck.
And all Myra could hear was her brother's screams echoing in the small, stone room as he bled. Mynhos hurried to bury the severed limb in his clothes as he rushed to fulfill Domitius's command
Myra reached for him, but she was being dragged back by her braid. She tried to fight it as pain wracked through her skull. She tried to wiggle out of Domitius's hold, but she couldn't.
She couldn't fight him.
She couldn't grab hold of anything.
The door shut behind them, the locks clicking into place. Mynhos's agonized screams rang in her mind on repeat as she was dragged down the hall with tears streaming down her face.
She couldn't save Mynhos's hand, just like she couldn't save her parents all those years ago. Myra had barely even saved herself.
But saving herself had come with a price, one she was still paying.