by Elina Vale
“Cemara, tell me about the world,” Merrilon said, just loud enough to reach her through the doors.
The moaning ended, and he could hear her moving.
“Cemara, can you hear me?”
“Yes, I can.” Her voice was trembling and weak.
“Please, tell me about the world outside this city. Tell me something beautiful.”
Merrilon could hear her stumbling to her feet. “You’re from the Pit,” she said.
“Yes.”
“I’m from Sungarden.”
“Tell me about your fair city.”
“It’s amazing,” she answered. “It’s filled with tall buildings, with shops on the street level and residents living above. All the houses are painted with white and blue. Its fall now, so the leaves will have turned into reds and oranges, and the salesmen will be selling hot wine and caramel pears on the streets. The air will be crisp and fresh.”
Merrilon closed his eyes, trying to imagine these things he had never seen. “Yet you’ve seen the kingdom.”
“As I said, what I do when I’m not imprisoned... I deliver things. Notes. I’m a courier. I don’t know what’s inside these notes. If I did, these... monsters would dig it out of me. I wouldn't be able to resist.”
“Tell me again about the white-haired girl.”
“There’s not much more I can say.”
“Just repeat what you’ve already said.”
“When I was delivering a certain message, I saw the girl leaving Ironflare. She was alive, but barely. Her hair was white as snow, but half-scorched. Her clothes were bloody, but she was unconscious. She was with friends.”
“Where were they going?”
“To a safe place,” she said. “That’s all I heard.”
Merrilon closed his eyes and smiled. Now that he had reason to hope that Shri was safe, he didn’t really care what happened to himself.
“What if the High Mistress finds out you’re her father?”
“I don’t care what happens to me. The High Mistress can kill me if it means my daughter’s whereabouts remain hidden.”
Cemara let out a frustrated sigh. “Don’t say such things. Your life matters. If the High Mistress finds out who you are, she will use you against Shri.”
“I’ve been thinking about that,” Merrilon said. “Shri is stubborn and strong, and she’s the bravest person I’ve ever met.”
Cemara moved, stifling a groan. How badly was she hurt? Merrilon was frustrated that there was nothing he could do to help her.
Cemara spoke again, “If you’re girl finds out you’re being kept here, what will she do?”
“Probably something stupid and brave and reckless. But if she believed I was dead...”
“No.”
“I don’t have any other option. She won’t attempt to rescue me if she thinks I’m gone. I must...”
Voices from the corridor cut off Merrilon’s words.
“Someone’s coming,” Cemara whispered. “Don’t do anything stupid. Please.”
The footsteps stopped outside Merrilon’s cell.
Cemara’s door opened.
“You, woman,” a voice growled. “Get out.”
Merrilon’s door opened too, and he took a step backward. After days in the dark cell, the light from the guard’s torch blinded him. Squinting, he made out four pikes standing in the corridor, two of them holding Cemara while the other two came for him.
“Move,” one of the pikes said, ushering Merrilon forward.
Cemara struggled to stay on her feet. There was old blood on her clothes, and she was clearly in pain, but he couldn’t see her face.
“Where are you taking us?” he asked.
“No talking!”
One of the pikes smacked Merrilon’s face. Pain blossomed in his cheek.
As the pikes pushed them forward. Merrilon had no idea where he was being led. The corridors looked the same, and the turns and twists confused him. He had secretly hoped he could scout his surroundings to make an escape plan, but it was pointless.
Finally, the pikes opened a door and pushed them in.
The room was clean, and bigger than the cells. There were no windows or other doors. Two magical orbs hovered by the ceiling, creating the only light. Beside gray tile wall sat a small table with Merrilon’s blade on it. Clearly, the young man who had visited them in the dungeons had delivered Merrilon’s message to the High Mistress.
She was in the room, waiting for him.
She stood tall, her full breasts nearly spilling out from her red dress. Golden curls coiled down her shoulders. Red lips, rosy cheeks, and dark brows and eyelashes framed her nose and eyes. And those eyes... They were feverish and evil. She was beautiful.
“Leave us,” she ordered to the pikes. “Wait outside for orders.”
“My Lady, this prisoner has proven to be—"
“I said LEAVE!” she screamed. Merrilon stared in horror as her eyes turned pure black with red dots flickering within like sparks in a hearth. But as soon as the change had occurred, it vanished.
The pikes bowed and left the room, closing the door behind them.
Merrilon glanced at Cemara, who collapsed to her knees on the floor. She, too, was beautiful. Her auburn hair reached her shoulders. Her face, though marred by an ugly bruise, was delicate. She had a small, pointy nose, and such beautiful eyes.
“I’ve been told you two enjoy talking,” the Mistress said, placing her hands on her hips. “A courier from the road and a man who led a rebellion against the old High Master.”
Merrilon glared at her but didn’t say a word.
“We’ll start with you,” she said, wandering closer to Merrilon. She was nearly as tall as he was. Tilting her head, she squinted at him. “Javid was right. You do seem powerful.” She touched Merrilon’s cheek with her sharp-nailed finger. “I like that.” She slid the finger down his jaw, where his scruffy, white beard covered his chin, and up again along the other cheek. “Such a strong jaw. How did you get so handsome in the Pit? What’s your name?”
Merrilon remained silent.
“You know, I can get you out of here.” Her eyes lit up, and she licked her lower lip. “You could serve me in so many wonderful ways.”
Again, Merrilon said nothing, but stared boldly at her.
She smirked. “What an intense pair of eyes. Don’t feel like talking? Do you need motivation?”
She swiftly turned around, the lapels of her dress fluttering, and took several steps away. When she spun around to face Merrilon again, her eyes had changed into black voids. Frightened, he took a step back.
“And what about you?” she said, fixing her eyes on Cemara. As she nudged her finger towards the woman, Cemara rose up off the floor and hovered in the air. Her eyes blazed with anger. “Oh, are you concerned, woman? Why? I’ve been told you know nothing. You are only a courier.”
“I know your type,” Cemara said. “Right now, it doesn’t matter if I know anything.”
“That’s true,” Shea said. “You’re here to be the motivation.”
The High Mistress squeezed her fist, drawing a scream from her victim. Cemara twitched in the air, crying in pain. Merrilon bit his teeth together. He couldn’t let her suffer. She wouldn’t want him to interfere, but he was weak to her plight.
“Stop it!” Merrilon shouted. “I’ll tell you what you want to know.”
“Really?” Shea laughed like a mad woman. “Go ahead! Hurry up before she dies!”
“No! Don’t tell her anything!” Blood burst from Cemara’s mouth, and her head slumped forward as she lost consciousness.
Merrilon rushed to the table and grabbed the sword. The feeling of the steel in his hands was comforting, familiar, like meeting an old friend. It answered his touch exactly as it had before. The stones in the hilt flashed with a bright blue light, and the entire blade vibrated in his hand. He took a sharp breath as he felt his strength returning—the sword gave him power. He looked into the High Mistress’s black eyes, r
eady to strike.
“My name is Merrilon Moongale,” he declared, “and I command you to release her.”
Cemara fell to the ground like a rag doll, landing unconscious.
“You command me?” Shea’s lips curved into a smile. “You’re easier to manipulate than I hoped. My boy Javid told me the blade belonged to you, but I had no idea it was magical! And... Well, well.... Moongale. That’s a familiar name.”
“I have done nothing,” Merrilon said. “Neither has she. Let us go.”
Shea burst into a laugh. “Are you mad? Now that I know how special you are, how can I ever let you go?”
Merrilon roared and lifted the blade, but he found his feet sinking into the stone tiles of the floor, and a harsh chuckle echoed behind him.
“Shea, my love, you do know how to get results.”
“Thank you, Doria.”
Merrilon’s eyes widened as he saw another woman emerge from inside the stone wall. Raven black hair, dramatically lined eyes, and a wicked smile defined her breathtaking visage. How long had she been in the room? The blade was struck from his hand, and the High Mistress of Spike stood in front of him like a warrior, holding a sword of her own.
“Curious.” Doria knelt to picked up Merrilon’s weapon. “What sort of magic is in this blade? Why do you have it?”
“I know little about the sword,” he replied, eying his friend Cemara. She was still on the floor, unmoving.
“No matter,” Doria said. “I’m going to find out why it answers to you.”
“Or I could force the information out of him,” Shea said, sliding her free hand down Merrilon’s chest.
“I don’t think he knows,” Doria said. “Likely, it answers to his bloodline, but how or why it does so is probably beyond the experience of a man who knows only the Pit.”
“True,” Shea said. Rubbing Merrilon’s chest again, she added, “and I don’t want to ruin you too soon. You are much too delicious, and I have other things in mind for you. Doria, tell the pikes to collect these prisoners and return them to their cells. The next time we’ll meet, Merrilon Moongale,” she said, sliding her hands along Merrilon’s shoulders and arms, “we’ll discover just who you are. And I want to hear your answer to my proposition.”
He fought the urge to push her hands away. “What proposition?”
Her eyes twinkled, and her mouth curved into a soft smile. Pouting her lips, she stared seductively at Merrilon’s arms. “Oh, I’m offering you a chance to join me. You see, I’m not all that bad. I didn’t hurt you, did I? I haven’t forced anything on you.”
Nodding at Cemara, he said, “What about her?”
“Your little friend will be fine,” Shea replied. “I just had to know you were listening. Besides, if you cooperate, I just might spare your daughter.”
Merrilon’s body stiffened with anxiety.
“Even if she is a criminal and a killer,” Shea said. “Think about it. If you surrender to my will, I will make it worth your while. And your daughter’s.”
Four pikes entered the room. Two of them lifted Cemara from the floor. Hearing her groan, Merrilon sighed; she was still alive. As the guards dragged him off, he heard the two senatai talking behind him.
“A magical sword, Doria! Can you imagine how powerful I will be with such a weapon at my command?”
“Be careful,” Doria said. “A sword like this answers only to the most noble of blood. It will likely harm you if try to subdue it, or simply destroy itself.”
“But Moongale can wield it, and I can command him!” She giggled. “Isn’t he gorgeous? Did you see those arms? Oh, such a beautiful man. I want him. All of him, bowing to me, kissing me, obeying me...”
A terrible fear welled up inside Merrilon. He had revealed his identity to her, and now she was determined to possess him. If there was a choice between Shri’s life and his pride, Shri would always take precedence. If bowing to the Mistress would save Shri, he would bend to Shea’s will. He would keep Shri safe.
Always.
CHAPTER 9
THIS WAS SHRI’S FIRST time in a free city. Teron stood beside her, his eyebrows scrunched, gazing at the colorful people bustling through the square. Shri had grown up in the city, but all she had known was the rundown squalor of the Pit. Standing in the middle of Glasswater, watching the free folk go about their business, was incredible. She had been here before, months ago, when she was fleeing with Boa and Eavan, but they had dragged her directly to the port, and she’d been too sick and injured to absorb more than flashes of her surroundings. Now, she saw it with clear eyes.
And heard it.
And smelled it.
Glasswater rumbled and sparkled to fill her ears and eyes. Everything was intense. Salesmen occupied the edges of the square with stalls and carriages filled with food, spices, clothing, and fabrics. A group of Northerners passed Shri and Teron, wearing braids in their hair and loose brown clothes. Other people had fine silky dresses and beautifully embroidered capes. Teron said they were from inland, probably from the capitol of Sungarden. Also, among the mix of cultures, were people from the south, with baggy pants and scarves covering their heads. Others were even more exotic, hailing from faraway lands of which Shri had never heard.
Teron nudged her shoulder. “Let’s find an inn to sleep at tonight. Tomorrow, we’ll look for someone who can take us to Ironflare.”
“It won’t be easy, you know. Visitors are locked out of Ironflare.”
“All we need is to find some merchant who still does business with the Spike and pay him to give us a ride.” He smirked. “I know, you don’t have any silver. But I never travel without money.”
He pushed through the crowd, Shri in tow.
“Teron,” Shri mumbled. “You shouldn’t have to use your marks... I mean, your coins.... to pay for my... my...”
He stopped and turned around, ignoring the surrounding bustle. “The food, the inn, the travel.” He counted with his fingers. “How did you figure you’d make it to Ironflare without any coins?”
Shri bit her lip. “I thought I’d make it up as I go.”
“Not smart, Shri,” Teron said. “You’re lucky you have me.”
Grabbing her sleeve, he dragged her through the crowd. Shri gazed at the buildings, the people, the houses... Everything was amazing. The city was so full of life. Women walked with their arms entwined, whispering and laughing, without a care in the world. Young men leaned their backs against the fence between two stone buildings, and one of them winked when he noticed Shri. This was what a normal city looked like; not like the Pit, where she’d been a slave, or the Island, with its oppressive rules.
This is freedom.
She could stay here, if she wanted. Or, she could go inland to see the capitol. She could travel north and see the wild, endless forests she had heard so much about. She could even climb into a brellyboat and travel the famous waterways all the way to Bothgardens.
No. She was still a prisoner.
There was no way she could abandon her father, mother, and Susu. She had left them once already. During these past months, she had been blaming herself, dwelling in self-pity, and all this time Papa had been imprisoned. He must be alive. Shri was sure of it, even though the logical part of her brain told her there was no way she could know. He could already be... dead. But she held onto hope. It kept her going.
“Here we go!” Teron said.
Shri looked up to find that they had stopped in front of a building. The cheerful chatter of the market had been left behind, and a sudden chill traveled down Shri’s back. The inn before them looked like it could crumble any minute. In fact, all of the surrounding buildings were crooked and patched. A rotten stench from the alley brought flashes of childhood surging into Shri’s mind. Even in Glasswater, it was the same. There were other places as bad as the Pit. Shri glimpsed the eyes of an old woman who was sitting in the alley, her back against the wall. Her face was bony and wrinkled. Exactly like Sarina from downstairs.
Wo
nder if Sarina’s still alive.
“This one? Are you sure?” Shri said, studying the inn.
“I know it’s not much, but I thought we could somehow blend in if we stayed here. Maybe someone here knows something. Father always says that people who spend their time in places like this are willing to talk for a dime. And we need to find out who in this city still travels to Ironflare.”
Shri turned her face to the shadows, away from the broken structure.
“Is everything alright?” Teron asked, a slight worry in his voice.
“I’m fine,” Shri said. “This part of town just reminds me of home.”
He regarded Shri with concern.
“No need to pity me. Let’s pity my Papa, who is a prisoner inside the Spike.”
He glanced around. “Let’s go in and figure out if this place is safe.”
Inside, it was even worse. Shri scrunched her nose as the vile smells attacked her. There were spider webs on the wooden chandeliers. The windows were small, with cracked stained glass letting in only a few dusty sunbeams. The tables were covered in bits of old food, and several of the chairs were broken. Two men sat in the dining room, tin pints in front of them. A third one was sleeping at the corner table.
As Shri followed Teron toward the counter, her boot stuck to the floor. She didn’t even want to imagine what was causing it. Food? Ale? Blood? She clutched Teron by the sleeve. “I don’t think we belong here.”
He glanced around. “You may be right...”
“So, what you’re doin’ ‘ere?”
The voice startled Shri. Never before had she seen a woman this fat. The contrast between the wrinkled starving woman and this massive barmaid was stark. The woman breathed gruffly. Her hair was filthy, and Shri was sure she saw it teeming with lice. Her clothes stank, and her hands, clutching a piece of raw meat, were blackened from the filth.
“You ‘ungry? Wanna get somethin’ to eat? I’ve got some stew ready.” She squinted her small eyes and glared at her guests’ pouches. “Gonna cost two copper coins, young master.”
