by Kali Argent
Then it happened.
A tingle started at the base of her skull and travelled down her spine. Tension tightened her shoulders, pressure filled her head, and her ears began to ring. The bright, sunny courtyard vanished as she was sucked into a deep void that squeezed around her like iron bands that stole the breath from her lungs.
In her “visions,” she always saw the world through someone else’s eyes. Like with Rya, she hadn’t seen the Vasera’s face, but she’d been able to see everything Rya saw, and she’d even caught a tremor of the princess’s emotions. This time, however, was different. This time, as the scene unraveled, she wasn’t looking through the eyes of a stranger. Instead, she saw the world as herself, as an uninvited visitor that hovered just beyond the edge of a tiny, dark room—if it could even be called a room.
The space she occupied in her mind was barely bigger than a closet, illuminated by a single lantern, and containing nothing more than a narrow cot and a beleaguered end table that listed to the left on its broken, wobbly legs. In the middle of a cot, sitting cross-legged, a small boy with raven hair and ivory skin sniffled quietly while he stared down at his tiny hands.
Isla’s heart broke.
She could feel his sadness, his fear, his loneliness. When the heavy door of his room creaked open, he jerked around with a gasp and scrambled to the head of the cot, pressing his back against the cracked wall before pulling his knees up under his chin. His eyes—eyes the most unique color of burgundy—widened, and he pulled his bottom lip between his teeth and bit down on it hard as he trembled from head to toe.
“Isla! Isla!”
Jerked out of the vision, Isla knelt on all fours back in the front garden of the citadel, panting for breath. The toy train laid on its side in the grass just a few inches from her fingertips, and a shadow loomed over her from behind.
“Isla, can you hear me? What happened?”
She recognized the voice as Tira’s, but she could get enough air into her lungs to answer. Salty tears trickled down her cheeks, and her bottom lip wobbled as she thought about what she’d seen.
“You’re bleeding.” Tira knelt beside her in the grass and pointed at Isla’s face. “Your nose.”
Isla barely heard her. “We have to go. There’s a boy. A little boy. I don’t know his name, and I don’t know where, but he’s scared. I think he’s in trouble, Tira.”
“Did you see anything?”
Falling back on her butt, Isla wiped at her bleeding nose, cringing when the back of her hand came away smeared in crimson. Nodding when the captain offered her a silvery handkerchief, Isla mumbled her thanks as she mopped up the blood from her face.
“It was just a small room, nothing distinguishing. It was dim, and there weren’t any windows.” She pointed to the discarded toy. “That’s his. Can you use it? Can you find him?”
Tira stared at her for a long time, her expression unreadable, before she finally nodded and reached for the train. “I’ll try, but if there are wards guarding the child, it won’t work. That was why we couldn’t find the Vaseras. The elder had placed wards around the valley where he held them. It was fortuitous that you arrived when you did.”
It was exactly a thank-you, but Isla figured it was the closest she’d get from the captain.
Picking up the train, Tira held it between her hands and closed her eyes, whispering words Isla didn’t have a translation for under her breath. A moment later, the toy began to shimmy and shake as it rose on its own volition from Tira’s hand and floated just a few feet away from them.
“Does that mean it worked?”
Standing, Tira helped Isla to her feet as well and tilted her head to the side. “So far, that seems to be the case. You should stay here.”
“Not a chance.” Isla couldn’t explain it, but she felt a connection to the child, and she had to be there when they found him. “Lead the way.”
They walked for what felt like forever, following the dancing train as it glided on the air through the forest, across a vast field, and finally to the edge of a valley with 2 rows of houses separated by stone pathways, and a circular garden in the center.
Tira frowned, and a crease appeared above the bridge of her nose, right between her eyes. “The Valley of the Elders,” she said, answering Isla’s unspoken question. “This is very troubling.”
“You know something.”
“I have a suspicion,” the captain confirmed. “Come.”
They trekked down into the valley, and the closer they came to the houses, the more pronounced Tira’s frown grew.
“What’s wrong? You look like you swallowed a frog.”
“I have seen pictures of your Earth frogs, and I would not put such a thing in my mouth, let alone swallow it. To answer your question, however, there should be wards here to protect the elders. You shouldn’t have been able to pass through them, but I sense no magic in the Valley.”
“What does that mean?”
Tira shook her head as she placed her right hand on the hilt of the sword sheathed on her belt. “I don’t know. Stay behind me.”
The captain’s “suspicion” led them straight to a massive, two-story house at the very end of the left row. With her hand still on her sword, her posture tense, prepared, she rapped her knuckles against the heavy, stained-wood door.
“Where are we? Whose house is this?”
“You ask many questions, Isla Blevins.” Pulling a shiny metal linguistic translator from the pocket of her tunic, she pushed it into Isla’s hand. “You may need this.”
At first, Isla didn’t understand. She’d already been given a Xenon translator, which she currently had attached to her earlobe. The real reason for the device—so that the child could understand her—dawned on her just as the front door swung open. A harried-looking female with golden blond hair and ancient eyes stared at them with a mixture of anxiety and resignation.
“You’ve come for the boy.”
Without waiting for an invitation, Isla pushed past the woman and marched into the dimly lit foyer. “Where is he?” Taking the train from Tira, she held it up, shaking it at the female. “Have you seen this before?”
The woman nodded. “The elder took it from him yesterday as punishment.”
Isla glared. “Where is he?” she repeated.
“I can show you.”
“No.” Tira moved to block the female when she started forward. “You will remain here. Now, tell us where you are hiding the youngling.”
“Downstairs.” The attendant pointed to a staircase to the right of the foyer that spiral downward to the lower level. “The pantry off the kitchens.”
Before the woman had finished speaking, Isla had already reached the stairs. Descending them two at a time, she lost her balance twice, but quickly righted herself by grabbing onto the railing, holding it tightly until she reached the last step and burst through another door. Several attendants gasped in surprise when she barreled into the kitchens, but no one moved to stop her when she headed straight for a metal door in the far corner. In fact, several of them looked downright relieved.
Squeezing the lever on the door handle, she jerked hard, but the door wouldn’t budge. “Open it,” she demanded. “Now.”
Without hesitation, a short, squat woman with bronzish hair flicked her wrist at the offending door, sending it swinging inward with a loud creak.
“Hello?” Cautiously, Isla shuffled into the dark, dank pantry. She spoke softly, filling her voice with as much kindness as she could so as not to scare the child. “Hello?” she called again. “I’m not going to hurt you. I’m here to help.”
In the glow of the single lantern, the little boy pressed his back against the wall, curling into himself as he watched her through a sheet of dirty, stringy hair. He shook so violently, the metal legs of his cot scratched against the stone floor, and when Isla stepped deeper into the room, he ducked his head and whimpered.
“Shh, it’s okay. I promise I’m not going to hurt you.” With her heart
broken and bleeding, she knelt on the floor beside the cot, but she didn’t try to touch him. “I’m going to put this on your ear okay?” She mimed the action as she spoke. “I won’t hurt you.”
With swift, concise movements, she slipped the translator onto the child’s earlobe, then retreated to a distance she hoped would make him feel more comfortable. “My name is Isla. Can you tell me your name?”
He peeked at her through long, dark lashes, his little lips pursed as if trying to decide whether or not he could trust her. Eventually, his gaze drifted toward her right ear. “Pretty hair.”
“You like my hair?” With slow, careful movements, she leaned forward and shook out the long strands so that they fell over her shoulders. “Would you like to touch it?”
After a long moment where neither of them moved, the child uncurled a small, dirty hand from against his chest and reached out to comb his fingers through the ends of her hair. That seemed to please him, because he unfurled just a little more from his hunched position, and the corners of his lips twitched.
Isla smiled back. “What’s your name, sweetheart?”
“Boy.”
“Yes, you are a boy.” Perhaps he was confused, so she tried a different question. “What do they call you?”
His eyebrows drew together, his button nose crinkled, and in a clear, confident voice, he answered, “Stupid.”
Anger like she’d never felt swelled in Isla’s chest, but she didn’t let her smile slip. For the boy’s sake, she would keep her fury leashed and remain calm. When she found who had done this to him, though, she couldn’t promise the same for them.
“Well, I think that’s a silly name, don’t you? I bet we can think of something better.”
Finally, the child lifted his head and bobbed it enthusiastically.
“Hmm, let’s see. What would be a good name for you?” Staring into his wide, trusting eyes, she felt her heart melt, and she fell just a little bit in love. “How about…Cordovan? It’s the color of your eyes. Did you know that?”
He shook his head, making his dirty hair swish around his face. Then he nodded.
Isla had to laugh. “So, you like that?”
He nodded again.
“Okay, Cordovan it is.” While discussing her pregnancy, Rya had explained that it was customary for Xenon children to be given long, somewhat complicated names, but typically went by a shortened form of it. Isla felt it was important to keep with the tradition, even if his own people had done this to him. “What do you think about Cord, for short? I think it suits you.”
“Yes.” His smile stretched across his face, and he sat up a little straighter. “I like it.”
“Then it’s settled.” Taking his little hand in her own, Isla shook his gently. “It’s very nice to meet you, Cord. I’m Isla.”
Cord giggled. “Hello, Isla.”
“What do you say we get out of here? I’ll show you a real-life castle.”
Without further coaxing, he practically leapt off the bed and into her lap, throwing his arms around her neck as he buried his face into her hair. “What’s a castle?”
Isla had never been prone to violence, but when she found the monster responsible for Cord’s imprisonment, she was going to murder them. “It’s like a house, only really big. Come on, kiddo, I’ll show you.”
She guessed him to be three or four years old judging by his speech, but he felt so small and fragile in her arms. No one tried to stop her as she carried Cord out of the pantry and up the stairs to the foyer where Tira waited—with half a dozen more guards.
“Good,” Isla said, understanding what their presence meant. Then she turned to the female attendant who had opened the door for them. “How could you? How do you even live with yourself?”
“You can’t possible understand how terrifying it was to live with him.”
“He’s just a boy,” Isla shot back through gritted teeth.
“Not the youngling.” The attendant shook her head. “Elder Meadowlark.”
“The elder who kidnapped Ivy and Rya?” Isla looked to Tira for confirmation and scowled when the captain nodded in affirmation. “So…this is…the boy is his?”
The attendant looked pained by the admission, and she shrunk away when Isla moved closer to her. “Keep him away from me. There is evil in him.”
Isla wanted to rage at the woman, make her hurt the way she’d hurt Cord, but instead, she clutched the child tightly and marched toward the still-open door. “We’re leaving. I hope wherever you put you is dark and cramped,” she told the female. “Let’s see how you like it.”
Surprisingly, Tira smirked as she turned to address the guards. “You heard her.”
Even the guards, who had taken little notice of Cord when Isla had first entered the foyer, seemed eager to doll out punishment for such a heinous crime. One of the male sentries even stopped to smile at her before marching across the tiled floor to the staircase that led down into the kitchens.
“I go wif you?” Cord asked, his voice muffled against the side of her neck.
“Yes, sweetheart, you’re coming with me, and you’re never coming back here.”
* * * *
“Get back here, mister!” Isla laughed as she chased Cord through the hallways of the citadel. “It’s bath time!”
“No way.” Giggling, Cord turned to the left, down the corridor that would take him to the grand entrance of the castle. “I don’t like baffs.”
He also didn’t like the dark, being alone, most vegetables, or men.
It had been almost a week since they’d rescued him from the elder’s mansion, and in that time, he’d opened up more than anyone had anticipated or expected. They’d discussed moving Isla to another part of the castle so that she and Cord could have adjoining rooms, but for the time being, he shared her quarters, and every night, he curled up beside her on the massive canopy bed.
The dirty dressing gown he’d been wearing when they’d found him had been replaced by a variety of tunics, loose-fitting pants, and silky pajamas. His dirty locks were now soft and shiny, falling in a pin-straight sheet to the middle of his back. Not surprisingly, his smile could melt even the most frozen of hearts, and the attendants in the citadel had been kind to him, even if they still seemed somewhat wary.
Elder Meadowlark’s staff had been questioned about their former employer, and they’d all told the same, disturbing story. Cord had been born to a young female nearly four years previously. His mother had disappeared shortly after his birth, and they all suspected the elder had done something terrible to her. For his part, Elder Meadowlark had kept Cord for a singular purpose—to siphon his untapped magic.
A colorful elder by the name of Torren Blue had explained that the continued use of black magic took a toll on the body, breaking it down similar to a virus or infection. So, Elder Meadowlark had used his own child to combat the ill effects caused by his misdeeds.
It made Isla sick to even contemplate it, and if the elder hadn’t already died, she’d kill him herself.
“Cord, you get back here right now. It is time for little boys to get clean and go to bed.”
“I’m not sleepy,” he argued, even as he paused in the entrance hall to rub his eyes. “I’m hungry.”
He was manipulating her. He knew it. She knew it, but she couldn’t deny him food when he’d gone without for so long.
“Fine, but make it quick. What do you want?”
“Cookie.”
Isla folded her arms and wrinkled her nose. “Nope.”
“Uh, cupcake?”
Biting down on her bottom lip, she had to look away to hide her smile. Sure her expression was carefully neutral, she turned back and shook her head again. She and Ivy had been teaching the kitchen attendants to make a variety of Earth foods, many of which involved some kind of sugar. Of course, Cord had insisted on helping, though his “help” mostly consisted of appointing himself the official taste-tester.
“Try again.”
“Mokey chee
se?”
Isla couldn’t stop the grin that stretched her lips that time. “It’s mac-a-ro-ni,” she said, sounding out each syllable for him, “and cheese, and no. How about toast?”
“Yuck.” He wrinkled his nose and shook his head.
Isla rolled her eyes. “You like toast.”
“What about a biscuit?” Ivy asked, strolling toward them from the corridor on the opposite side of the entrance hall. With a wink, she passed the bit of bread to Cord and ruffled his hair. “Good, right?”
Cord crammed the entire biscuit into his mouth before trying to utter his thanks. Naturally, with his cheeks stuffed, bits of pastry sprayed from his lips to land on the floor, causing Ivy to laugh.
“Cord!” Isla gasped. “Manners.”
“Oops.” He scuffed his bare toes across the rug and used the sleeve of his tunic to wipe the crumbs from his mouth. “I didn’t do it. The biscuit did it.”
Oh, the logic of children, especially those looking to get out of trouble by any means available. Before she could think of how to counter his argument, the front doors of the citadel swung open, ushering in a gust of wind. Marching into the entrance hall, her expression a mask of unadulterated rage, Tira led three Krytos males the size of small mountains across the threshold.
“Who the hell are they?” Ivy demanded as she scooped Cord into her arms and backed away from the newcomers.
“Bastian Cadell,” the one in the center answered with a genial smile. “These are my brothers, Slade and Knox.” He motioned left, then right, respectively. “We’re here—”
“For the female,” the one named Slade interrupted, his obsidian gaze locked on Isla. “Isla Blevins will return to Earth with us to stand trial for murder.”
