by Serena Chase
The tunnel curved sharply to the right and I paused. Looking forward pained my neck and upper back, strained as they were from being arched up and out from my body’s prone position, but beyond the stretch of light my torch provided, an orange glow danced on the dull black of the tunnel wall ahead. As I rounded the corner, the light was joined by strange, musical sounds coming from somewhere beyond my vision.
I closed my eyes and listened. The sound was pleasant, like Lady Whittier’s favorite stringed instrument, but somewhat deeper. Music was certainly not what I had expected to hear. Taunts, yes. Curses, certainly. And that terrible laughter? Absolutely. But not music. My dreams had been filled with evil Cobeld laughter, not sweet notes of song.
Urgency pressed me forward, but the weight of fear made me cautious. Just as I was about to move on, a sudden muscle spasm in my back and chest made me wince and hold my position.
“Embral e’ Veria.” I dropped my head into my hands and whispered the name so dear to my heart. “Be with me. Make me strong.”
I stayed like that, breathing shallow, careful breaths so as to avoid irritating my already-pinched nerves with the expansion of my lungs. Finally, the spasm passed.
I tried to focus my thoughts on a pleasant memory—the enikkas—but as I wriggled forward, the face of Aspera Scyles flew into my mind instead.
I paused. What could have possibly brought her to mind?
With the exception of the Cobelds, the sour disposition of Lord Whittier’s housekeeper was as far a thought from the sweet enikkas as my mind could reach. Why, then, when I searched for peace and comfort, had the Asp, the antithesis of those very things in my childhood, come to mind?
It made no sense.
Mrs. Scyles was long dead, having been killed by the Cobeld to whom she’d betrayed my location in Veetri. And the way she appeared now in my memory was with an expression she had never sent my way. No, Mrs. Scyles had despised me. But try as I might, I could not conjure any expression but that which she’d always bestowed upon Lord and Lady Whittier. The expression which had deceived them into thinking she did not have such a serpentine nature.
I shook my head as if to send the image on its way. Perhaps it was simply my snake-like crawl through the cave that brought her to mind now. The boys and I called her “the Asp” and I was wriggling through this tunnel on my belly, like a snake, so . . . yes. That must be it.
I squeezed my eyes shut against the emotions the memory invited to rise within my heart. Focus, Rynnaia! I needed to think about the foe I would soon face, not a long-dead enemy from my past.
With renewed vigor, I tucked my head and continued forward. I slithered around a tight corner, scraping every bit of exposed flesh against the rough tunnel walls, and without warning, the tunnel sloped downward and abruptly—
Ended!
Unable to stop my forward motion, I spilled out of the passageway, screaming as I fell headfirst into a deep chasm.
In that instant of knowing death was upon me, I scrambled and twisted, trying to arch my back, or lean somehow so that my knees or belly could grasp on to the tunnel’s rough stone. But even my clothes, which had before fought against my forward motion, gave in to gravity’s greater strength.
This wasn’t in the scrolls!
Had there been another tunnel behind the waterfall? Or, in keeping my head down so much, had I missed a fork in the one I’d taken and gone down the wrong path?
Eventually I would hit bottom, and—
I’m going to die!
The rapid succession of thoughts was halted by the impact of my face smashing into a hard, transparent barrier.
I barely had time to gasp against the pain rendered to my already-bruised face when the rest of my body tumbled painfully onto the invisible floor and . . . it trembled beneath me.
“When I came through the tunnel, I was a little more graceful about it.”
My head snapped up and I quickly gained my feet, scanning the space for the source of the deep voice that had spoken.
“Who’s there?” I reached for the dagger I usually kept at my belt, but clenched at empty air.
No sword or dagger at her side, The First alone will be her guide.
Oh. I’d left it with Erielle.
“You might want to use a bit more care, Ryn Naia.” The friendly voice was accented by a benign chuckle that echoed through the space. “The floor seems to hold weight without issue, but I am not certain whether it was designed to withstand force.”
The voice was unfamiliar, but it lacked menace. Where was it coming from?
A giant boulder protruded up through the center of the chamber. I couldn’t see around it to identify the speaker, but one thing was clear: he knows who I am.
I looked down then and almost lost the scant bit of keola I had consumed. Whatever the transparent material I stood on was made of—glass? An undiscovered ore?—it lidded a chasm so deep, so dark, that it seemed to go on forever. Perhaps to the very center of the world.
Reminding myself that I wasn’t alone, I looked up and tried to regulate my breathing as I scanned the circular chamber.
The space was lit by several torches, hung in ornate sconces carved directly from the reddish-brown stone of the walls. At the far side of the room, a good twenty paces away, was a table, complete with golden candelabra, a crystal decanter that appeared to be filled with wine, and two goblets.
A table? A set table? I gaped at it. What—? How—? I blinked several times, but the table remained. I finally tore my gaze away.
Between the table and me, the boulder—which was really more like a wide rock platform, now that I looked at it more closely—was made of the same sort of reddish stone as the rest of the cavern. It jutted up from somewhere deep below the floor, effectively blocking my view of the rest of the table.
And whoever had spoken to me.
Like a living beast of a thing, the platform grew up from the center of the chasm. I put my hand on the wall behind me and took a deep breath to remind myself that I was standing on a solid surface. But the fact that I could see nothing but empty air beneath my feet was, at the very least, disconcerting.
My heartbeat pounded with the frantic rhythm of one awakening suddenly from a dream of falling. My chest tightened, whether from another spasm or sheer panic I couldn’t be sure, but I forced my eyes to move from the depths under my feet, lest I be taken unawares by an enemy whom I had yet to see. What I did see then, however, almost brought another scream from my throat.
A small body rested, facedown, to the left of where the platform met the glass-like floor. Unmoving.
Peeking out from beneath the body, a dirty gray beard was caked in blood. The body appeared lifeless, but I couldn’t assume it was. The Cobelds were known for their trickery.
I took a cautious step forward, sliding my foot in case it should meet less glass and more air. A small pool of blood seeped out from underneath its head, seeming to float on the transparent floor. Cautiously, using the toe of my boot, I flipped the body over.
Bile rose in my throat at the gory wound that parted the long gray beard and opened its throat. Yes, it was a Cobeld, but it was no longer a danger to me. Apart from the mortal wound, a gauzy, blank stare marked it as dead.
But if my foe was dead, who had spoken to me?
Without ever lifting my feet from the floor I couldn’t see, I slowly skated around the large rock.
The table loomed before me, set as grandly as if the King himself was expected to dine. At the head of the table sat a knight wearing a tunic of light chain mail that looked as if it had been fashioned from pure gold.
Silly, I thought. Gold is too soft to serve as armor.
And then I saw his face.
Beyond his armor, everything about the knight was golden and beautiful. Radiant skin glowed with health. The knight’s blond hair caught the light in such a way that it brought out golden flecks in his amber eyes. I blushed as his eyes met mine, feeling as self-conscious as a girl at her first bal
l. Though I was sure I’d never met him, there was a familiarity about this knight that beckoned my curiosity.
“Welcome,” he said with a gentle, friendly smile that relaxed my shoulders. “At long last, welcome.”
The knight held a stringed instrument in his hand. It was beautiful and it sang a haunting, lovely song as he ran a bow across its strings.
I blinked. Music? A banquet? A knight? These were not mentioned or even hinted at in the scrolls! I struggled to recall anything of the poetry that would show me what to do next. I came up with nothing and contemplated the “wrong turn” idea again.
“Who are you?” I finally asked. I wanted to sound forceful and confident like my father, but the voice that escaped me was little more than a whisper. “What is this place?”
He stopped playing and set the instrument on the table. “I am that which you have sought, Ryn Naia.” He rose and his smile was so warm it heated the tips of my ears. “And this, my dear, is the place of your triumph. Welcome.”
His voice was soft and he moved with a patient grace that eased my mind. Were those tears in his eyes?
He placed a hand over his heart and bowed.
As he rose, my breath caught again at the beauty of him. Even the golden chain mail he wore couldn’t hide the sculpted perfection of his form.
“Who are you?” I repeated.
“I know it is difficult to understand, but I am that which you have so bravely sought.” Stepping forward, he bowed again. “I have waited a long time for you, Ryn Naia. Now that you have finally come to me, we can fulfill the destiny given to us.” He reached for my hand and lifted it to his lips.
I tilted my head. The destiny given— “To us? But I thought— Wait.”
My mouth dropped open. I shut it. Could it possibly be—?
“You are the Remedy?”
His smile widened. “I am not quite what you expected, am I?” He chuckled. “Prophets tend to speak in riddles. It is to keep us humble.” He sighed. “Although I suppose if we were allowed to easily meet our goals, we might very well die of boredom!”
“But what about the Cobeld?” I pointed toward the dead creature, thinking of what the scrolls said about my foe. “I was supposed to fight him and lock him up.”
“Death is an eternal cage for those who don’t rally to the cause of The First King, is it not?” He tilted his head. “But you need not worry about him. I am your champion, Ryn Naia. I have vanquished the foe in your name, as any truly worthy knight would do for his future Queen.”
“But I thought I was supposed to do it.”
“Do the scrolls say that, exactly?” he asked. “They informed you to leave your friends behind, yes? To move onward alone. But do they specify that you will remain alone?”
I thought about it. “Not . . . exactly. Well, no!” The realization hit me like a blacksmith’s hammer. “They don’t.”
“Precisely.” Still holding my hand, he led me to the table and pulled a chair out for me. “Please, join me. You have had a difficult journey and have done well. The prophecy is nearly fulfilled.” He poured wine into both goblets. “You deserve a moment of peace, and I must admit I am curious to know you better. As I am sure you are curious about me. Now that the prophecy has brought us together we must put our inhibitions aside to let it complete its course.”
I wasn’t hungry, and although the food looked delicious, I couldn’t help but wonder how it got here, so I asked.
“The Provider gives us all we need.”
The Provider. A name listed in The Story of The First.
“He gave us the scrolls, did he not?” The knight took a sip from his goblet. “And through them he provided the path by which to heal E’veria. And although it is a bit more ancient history, he did once manage to cheat death and walk away from his own funeral pyre. I should think something as simple as the provision of food and a table, even one such as this, would be but a trifling thing after that.”
“I . . . suppose.”
The golden knight continued to speak of the prophecy and our shared destiny. I only half-listened, still so overwhelmed that the Remedy was, in fact, a person, not a thing, that I could barely move, let alone process all he said. But I was snapped back to the present when he said, “With me at your side as your prince and champion, we shall not only heal E’veria, but expand our borders beyond even the wastelands of Dwons.”
“Expand E’veria’s borders? Why?”
He blinked. “Because truth must prevail.”
He rose from the table and knelt beside my chair with an earnest expression that spoke not only of sincerity, but of a powerfully infectious sense of destiny. He then reached into his pocket and brought forth . . . a ring.
“For you.” His warm golden skin caressed my palm. “For me.” He lifted my hand and placed the large emerald stone upon my finger. “For the renewal of E’veria.” He brought my hand to his lips and kissed the large green stone.
I pulled my hand away. “You are too familiar, sir.”
“Am I?” His eyes mirrored the confusion in his voice. “But the prophecy has declared our bond necessary to save E’veria. According to the prophecy, we are already betrothed.”
I blinked. Already betrothed? How . . . ?
“For years I have known the name of the one to whom I would be bound,” he said, “but nothing else. It is a pleasure to finally meet you. To seal our bond.”
“Our bond?”
“Yes.” He reached for my hand again. “I am to be your prince. To fulfill the prophecy, you must marry me, Ryn Naia.”
“Marry you?” My windpipe constricted. I shook my head. “No. I’m sorry, but . . . no. I can’t. That’s not right. I—” I swallowed hard, completely out of words.
His smile fell and he closed his eyes. When he opened them, he nodded sadly. “I forget that you have not lived with the reality of the prophecy for as long as I have. I will help you understand. Examine the words.”
One at a time, he spoke each line of the prophecy in the Ancient Voice, and then again, translated. The words were beautiful and without rhyme in their original form, but when said with the emphasis on certain words, and translated . . .
“‘Emerald bonds to seal the Ryn. Their toast expels curse taken in,’” he quoted. “Our marriage toast, the final act of the marriage ceremony, expels the curse.” He rubbed a finger over the stone. “You wear my emerald, already. To complete the prophecy, we must marry.”
My heart sank. It was right there, in the words of the prophecy. My fate, my future, my . . . husband?
“This is our shared destiny, Ryn Naia. To rule E’veria and lead her to a golden age!”
He wore an expression of vulnerable adoration as he quoted more lines from the scrolls I had memorized. His impassioned delivery revealed layered meanings to the words that had never occurred to me or to the Andoven. At least not that they had shared with me.
My stomach turned over and I blinked rapidly to quench the fire of tears, pouring into my eyes from my breaking heart. The prophecy was unfolding before me in a way I had not considered, taking my heart and my future down a path that would sever the ties I had hoped to forge with Julien.
I shook my head, unable to reconcile myself to this strange turn of events.
“You and I are bound together by the prophecy.” He pointed to the ring on my finger. It wasn’t a gift. It was a bride-price. “I have waited over a thousand years so that circumstances would align to bring you to me. Our bond, our marriage, will break the curse, Ryn Naia. It was foreseen as that which will remedy the ills plaguing E’veria.”
“If you’ve been alive for a thousand years, how is it that you appear so young?”
His smile was caught somewhere between indulgent and amused. “A good question, but one I cannot answer. All I know is that I was given this task. I know not how my needs have been provided for, nor why my youth remains. I can only believe this was allowed to achieve a purpose beyond our understanding. A purpose that will benefit
E’veria through our union.”
I covered my face with my hands. Truly, this was something beyond my comprehension. Was this what Lady Anya had foreseen?
Why, then, had the prophecy made such strange allusions to food and gifts when the Remedy was, in fact, a knight I was expected to wed? How had Dyfnel and the other Andoven scholars missed something this important in the translation? How had I? Why was there no mention of this knight? Of why he’d been left here—for a thousand years—awaiting my arrival?
I had studied the prophecy, but only the translations. Why had I not asked to see the original copies myself? If I had, maybe I could have caught some subtlety that might have prepared me for this strange turn of events.
I lowered my hands and examined the exquisite jewel the golden knight had placed on my finger and thought about the promise he offered with it. Marriage now. Soon, the destruction of the Cobelds and peace and healing in E’veria.
I flinched. I couldn’t imagine loving anyone but Julien.
What would happen if I did not marry this knight?
The way he’d explained the meaning of the prophecy made the answer too quick in coming: if I didn’t marry him, the curse would not be expelled.
My mother’s face swam before my eyes and then the faces of so many who had shared their stories of loss with me. As the Ryn, the Kingdom’s well-being had to come before everything, even my own heart. Could I put aside my own happiness and sacrifice it in this way?
He was gentle. He seemed kind. And there was no denying he was beautiful.
But he wasn’t Julien.
Could I give up Julien so my mother could live? Would I give him up for my Kingdom?
The responsibility of my birth gave me no other option. Could I do it? Could I really give up Julien? Could I, instead, marry this stranger, and by so doing, expel the Cobeld curse from E’veria?
My eyes closed, streaking my cheeks with tears.
Something about his interpretation of the prophecy bothered me, but I feared it was only my emotions causing my distrust. He had recited the prophecy and explained the meanings of phrases that I had never considered. But still, a niggling doubt remained. Yes, it bore Julien’s face and it whispered of dreams that would be lost should I accept this knight’s words—and his hand in marriage. But could I trust a misgiving when it was so influenced by my aching heart? Or should I believe the word of this unaging golden knight who had known of the prophecy much longer than I?
