by Raye Wagner
“What do you mean she wasn’t your mother?” Ty asked.
I rested my head back, closing my eyes. “I don’t know. Y-you don’t think my mother was Drae, do you?”
“She hid that she was Drae all those years? Seems . . . impossible.”
I shifted on the floor now covered in moss in this corner.
“Well then, I have no freakin’ idea about anything,” I gritted out in frustration. Ty remained quiet, and I pushed down my temper after a second, adding, “Irdelron mentioned the oath, that he could compel Irrik with it. Do you know anything about that?”
“Irrik was not always as black hearted as he is now. My family was once quite friendly with the Drae race before Irdelron had them slaughtered. Before my parents were killed, my father told me the story of the Drae boy who’d tried to save his people.”
I nodded. “I know this story.”
“You do?” he asked in his scratchy voice.
It amazed me that after weeks of talking with Ty, I could tell, just by his inflection, what he meant. “About the Drae boy who didn’t want to help the king. The one who hid and watched as the king gathered the Drae, killed the alpha and the males, and then threatened to slaughter them all unless a Drae would bind himself to the king.”
Mother had told me the story. But I’d never put stock in the story about how Irrik came to be with the king. Because how could a powerful Drae not escape if he wished?
“The king swore the Drae boy could always be loyal to the Drae first and the king second. The boy believed him, what else could he do?” Ty coughed.
“I dunno,” I answered. “Sounds like a crock to me.”
“A Drae cannot break an oath, Ryn.”
“Really?”
“As real as Jotun’s dead heart.” He coughed again.
I turned my head to the bars. “Are you sick?”
“No, I’m fine. I’m just worried about you.” His voice grew hoarser still. “You don’t deserve this, Phaetyn or not. I wish I could get word to my friends. But I’m powerless in here. I can’t contact anyone.”
I stilled. “What friends?”
“I’ve never told you why I was captured, have I?” Ty asked. “Since we’re sharing, I may as well tell you. I was part of the rebellion. High up. Have you heard of Cal?”
My mouth went bone dry, and I worked to moisten it and reply, “Everyone has heard of Cal.”
Ty was part of the rebellion?
“There is a man here in Harvest Zone Seven. One who holds a similar position to me, or the position I used to hold. If I could get a message to him, I know Cal would send a team to save us.”
“Against the king’s guard and a Drae?” I asked doubtfully.
“For a Phaetyn? Yes. I am categorically sure.”
“I worked for Dyter,” I admitted.
“You know him?”
“I do.” What’s more, if Dyter was still alive, I knew someone who might be able to get a message to him. But was he alive? For sure, he’d been captured if Irrik had followed us home from The Crane’s Nest. “I might have a way to get a message to Dyter.” Maybe Tyr could go.
All I could hear was Ty’s raspy breathing on the other side. “Tell your messenger to get Dyter to pass this information to Cal: If the rebellion can kill King Irdelron, they’ll free Lord Irrik from his oath. The oath is the only thing binding Irrik to Irdelron’s will. Without it, Irrik won’t stand in their way. He may even join them.”
That would shift the balance of power. “How do you know that?”
“My ancestors lived by the Drakonia desert. We knew a lot about the Drae, even their blood oaths. I’ve been a prisoner in this castle long enough to pick up certain things. Irrik hates Irdelron. He doesn’t want to be bound to him. Trust me.”
Before any of this happened, I wouldn’t have believed Ty. Now, I’d seen enough to wonder if he was right.
19
Despite my fatigue, sleep refused to wrap my weary mind in its repose. Ty and I said our goodbyes with plans for me to make contact with Dyter. Silence fell between us after that. I ached to escape into the repose of slumber. I was bone tired, but my mind wouldn’t rest.
I was on the edge of the precipice of why. I yearned to understand why Mum had been killed. Why I’d been brought here. And how the puzzle pieces fit together. Yet I was unfailingly sure there was no way to achieve this understanding without losing a piece of myself, or learning something I’d later wish to unlearn. Namely, that my mother was not who I thought. That she’d lied to me my whole life about who and what I was. That she’d made me feel inadequate under the guise of keeping me safe.
For hours, I stared at the crumbling ceiling, listening to the drip down the hallway and wondering when the hurt would stop, or if it would eventually kill me. My cup was full, and one more drop would see it overflow—losing Tyr, having my hope dashed, calling to Ty to find him no longer there.
Where would the last drop come from?
The clank of a key in the lock announced the arrival of a visitor. I was safe, if only because the king had bound the Drae to make it so. I yearned for familiar arms and a familiar smile. Even if it was wrong, I wanted Tyr.
As if he’d heard my call, Tyr glided through the darkness and into my cell.
I rolled to sitting, my heart pounding with emotion I had yet to name.
He knelt next to me, and for a moment I stared at the familiar slope of his shoulders, the curve of his jaw, and my gaze flitted to the bow of his lips. I reached for him.
He didn’t ask questions but simply pulled me into his arms and held me close, pressing his warm cheek to mine. Any touching between us in the past occurred after my torture sessions, when I was physically and mentally exhausted, not before. Tyr’s kindness had always been a comfort or boon of compassion.
This . . . was different. Like the hug of a friend. But when I thought of hugging Arnik, it was nothing like this.
I heard what happened, his voice echoed in my mind, rough with emotion. I’m sorry.
His words carried a weight of meaning. Until then, I hadn’t even thought about his involvement. He had to have known to have been so meticulous about cleaning up my blood.
“You knew?” I asked in a whisper. Confusion plagued me as I tried to understand. And then the answer occurred to me. “Irrik was sending you.”
The Drae was the only person who’d known before.
He pulled back, and not for the first time I longed to see his eyes. To see into those depths, I was certain, would mean I’d get a glimpse of his soul.
At first, it was by Irrik’s order. Then, I saw your strength.
Tyr touched my face, and my skin warmed under his fingertips, his hands were ungloved for once. My eyes fell to his lips, and I shook off the direction of my thoughts, though my heart still thumped against my ribs, eager to escape.
“And now?” I asked, glancing into the darkness shrouding the area above his mouth.
He rested his hands on my shoulders. I come because I need to.
The air between us tightened, and I inhaled his scent, a combination of sandalwood and something more. He drew closer, and there was no trace of a smile on his face.
Did he watch me from the depths of his hood? Did he look at me with the same wonder I now felt?
“Tyr,” I said after a beat. “What’s happening?”
The loaded question was not just referring to my bad situation. Something in our dynamic was shifting, and I was uncertain if this was me or him or us. Did I want it to be us?
He looked at me, head tilted in silent question. His hands slid down my arms, and he entwined his fingers with mine.
“Do you . . .?” My insides quailed, the questions battering at me from within. What if he didn’t feel the same? I chickened out, choosing the easier option. “I might have found a way to get out.”
He released my hands. What do you mean?
“There’s a man in Harvest Zone Seven,” I related. I wrung my hands, unable to let them re
main empty. “His name is Dyter. He has connections to Cal. I never thought to contact him,” I admitted. “I didn’t think the rebellion would care about my capture. I thought Dyter might have, but he isn’t the leader, so . . . anyway, my dungeon buddy, Ty, said they’ll come if they know I’m Phaetyn.”
Tyr nodded slowly, but the rest of him was oddly still, and he kept his hands by his sides.
I took a deep breath and pressed on. “Would you be able to get word to Dyter, the owner of The Crane’s Nest, if he’s still there? If not Dyter, there is a boy my age named Arnik who might be able to help.”
Tyr rested his long fingers on the back of my clenched hands. They’ll be able to contact Cal?
“I don’t know, but it’s all I’ve got.”
He grimaced, the corners of his mouth turning down. Which is more than I have at the moment. Surely, this rebel leader has ample resources at his disposal and will be able to help you.
I frowned. But the warmth and excitement I’d felt moments ago, churned with confusion. “Help us, you mean.”
Tyr withdrew his hand, but nodded.
“Tyr?” His very name was weighted with my question. Was he saying he wasn’t going to come with me?
He sighed but did not move as I stepped closer. I reached for him again, this time filled with prophetic dread at what I would hear.
There are things which tie me to this place, and . . . I cannot be sure I’ll be able to get away.
I opened my mouth to protest but then closed it. I barely knew Tyr, yet, I did. He’d cared for me, brought me food and water and clean clothes, but none of these things accounted for the twinge inside at the thought of leaving him behind. Twinge didn’t even describe the feeling. No, the idea of leaving him behind gnawed at me, leaving a hollow ached in my chest. Escaping without Tyr would be a mistake and something I’d regret. If not immediately, certainly later. “Please?”
I want to leave, his voice spoke in my mind, and I both felt and heard his earnestness. But I cannot be sure, and I will not give you false hope.
“Please, promise me you’ll try. I don’t . . . I don’t wish to leave you here.” No one deserved to live in this way, let alone someone as gentle as Tyr.
He brought his hand up to my face, his movement slow, as if giving me time to pull away if I wanted. But I didn’t. I stared into the darkness beneath the hood, the air around us charged with emotion.
He brushed his fingertips over my cheek, and I heard him promise.
I give you my word.
“Lovely day for it,” I remarked, tipping my face to the sky.
My new clothes made me brave. That was the only reason for saying such a thing to the Drae in front of me. My new clothes: breeches, a tunic cinched at the waist, and shoes.
In addition, the glorious, joyous rays of the sun touched my face for the first time in five weeks. If I wasn’t sarcastic about it, I might burst into tears.
“It is a lovely day, considering it’s not night,” the Drae agreed, in a voice like the embers of a fire.
My insides chilled. I hadn’t expected him to reply, let alone agree. Did it mean something?
We trudged down through the dry castle ground. Well, I trudged. He was so graceful it looked like he floated. My insides twisted with anticipation as the call to raise the gate was shouted. The gate rose. Just like that, I was out. I couldn’t believe it.
“It’s not real, you know,” Irrik said. He raised his eyebrows as if questioning my sanity.
“The sunshine is real. The fresh air is real.” I gave him a derisive look up and down. “I’m here. Seems pretty real to me.”
He rolled his eyes and continued his predatory glide on the path. “You know what I mean.”
I did. He meant it wouldn’t last, and I was painfully aware of that fact. Yet, with only one person guarding me out here, and the castle gates growing farther away with each step, pretending was easy. Overall, this was a step up in my eyes. If I had to be a prisoner, at least I’d be one who had clean clothes and got to go outside.
The thought pulled me up short. There was something utterly wrong with that. To accept the scraps Irdelron sprinkled out while I did his bidding was sick and pathetic. I might be setting out to heal the land, but while I wanted to do this for the people of Verald, Irdelron wanted to do it for himself; For the same reason he did everything—power. More food meant happier people which meant less rebels. The king’s goal and mine might be temporarily aligned, but I shouldn’t, couldn’t, lose sight of what Irdelron truly was.
With a heavy sigh, I glanced at Irrik and said, “You’re right.” To enjoy this day was to be victim to the sickness of what the king was doing to me and to Verald’s people. “None of this is real.”
Something flashed in the Drae’s eyes, and he looked around at the wilted gardens in disgust. “I hate sunlight.”
It hates you right back, nightmare man.
“Where are we going?” I asked, taking a huge lungful of beautiful air as we moved down the mountainside towards the flat Quota Fields below.
He tensed as I let out a grateful and long-winded exhale.
“You’re much less like a cowering rat in clean clothes,” he said.
The barb stung. A lot. Mostly because of the truth therein. I couldn’t imagine anyone would want to experience the cruelty that created cowering rats. I was equally certain that some people would rather die than become a cowering rat. But I wasn’t one of those people. An ugly and sharp shame settled squarely on my shoulders, seeping into my very being. I was alive after a horrible experience, so I knew the answer to the question no one ever truly wanted answered: what kind of person was I at my worst?
Cowering rat.
“You’re much less a cowering rat than others I’ve met in your situation.” He scowled. “I’m not sure how you’re alive.”
He’d meant the words as an insult, I was certain, but nothing else could’ve made me feel better than his begrudging acknowledgement.
“I’m not sure either,” I said gravely. When his scowl deepened, I couldn’t help adding, “I’ll try to lower myself to your expectations in the future. And you never told me where we’re going.”
“To the potato fields.”
Right. The king had said as much yesterday. Always potatoes. I snickered inwardly. “What exactly am I meant to do while I’m there?”
He snorted. “You are asking the wrong person, Phaetyn. Do your plant dance, I guess. I don’t give a szczur.”
I cracked my knuckles. On my own then. He could’ve just said. A-hole.
How hard could it be?
Very hard.
I puffed, running up and down the field. I’d already connected my bodily fluids possessed the magic goodness. The king drank the blood of Phaetyn, so it made sense. Of course, he could’ve used his stores of Phaetyn blood to save the land, but pigs would fly before that happened.
I had no urge to slice my arm open, so I tried fake crying to no avail. I walked around barefoot until I stubbed my toe on a rock. There was no way I was popping a squat with Lord Irrik watching. Spitting seemed to go okay until I used up the moisture in my mouth.
I was hot, tired, and frustrated. I mean, shouldn’t I be able to sense the land’s feelings . . . or something? But it was just me standing on top of the soil. Ryn vs. dirt, round eight million and fifty-six.
So, sweating it was.
Lord Irrik watched me do field laps from the shade of a wilting willow tree.
“Drae jerk,” I wheezed.
“I heard that,” he called.
I was too sweaty to care. Places that shouldn’t be sweating were sweaty. Ew. So much ew.
Giving up for the time being, I zigzagged between the limp potato bushes to the willow tree, hoping the nightmare man would share the shade with me. I rested a hand against the shrunken bark and asked, “What’s the penalty if there isn’t a field of huge potatoes by tomorrow?”
He sat with his back against the tree, legs extended, rolling a pebble
in his hand. His focus remained fixed behind me, but he answered, “I would say you have a week to show the king your skill is worthwhile.”
That seemed reasonable. For a person who might have skills.
“Do you think it’s working?” I asked after a brief moment, jerking a thumb at the field.
He tilted his head and gave me a flat look before returning his attention to the potatoes.
“I’ve been sweating,” I whined. Drak it was hot, and I wasn’t relaxing in the shade like he was.
Irrik replied, “Your clothes soak most of it up.”
“I’ve been making sure to shake my body every three laps to get rid of the droplets.”
“I saw.”
My eyes narrowed at his strangled tone. “Fine. I don’t hear you—”
The Drae moved so quickly the cock and swing of his arm was a blur my mind had to later dissect. A muted thunk, like a rock hitting a tree trunk, came from across the field. I whirled and just managed to catch sight of a king’s guard falling to the ground. Dead. A hole in his forehead.
My heart tripped for several uneven beats as I put together what had happened. I glanced down at Lord Irrik’s hand. Empty. “You—”
His black brow rose. “What?”
I stepped back and glanced to where the dead guard’s brown hair was visible over the gentle slope of a mound. My mouth opened and closed several times before I could string together my words. Finally, I said, “You just threw that pebble in your hand and killed a man.”
“Yes,” Irrik said. “The king instructed me to protect you.”
My brain had a difficult time wrapping itself around Irrik killing the guards. Shock made my response slow, and with raised brows, I asked, “Do you think he meant against his own men?”
The Drae curled his lips, and scales briefly appeared, rippling across his chest. In the daylight, they had a different hue, like a neon-blue flickered deep under the surface. “He should have been more specific.”
“Is that the only one you’ve killed today?” I hushed as he stood and dusted off the back of his aketon.
He scoffed and began walking back across the potato field with a silent tread.
