by Anna Carven
I lie on my side with my hands still bound behind my back, trying to fall into some sort of sleep. I close my eyes and search for the calm center in my mind, forcing myself to ignore the terrible pain in my body and now my arms, which have been bound like this for days and days.
When I finally get free from all this, I’m going to be as stiff as all of Lok’s cold hells combined.
Plop.
Plop.
In the background, water drips from some unseen source. Its slow, steady rhythm is interrupted only by the occasional scratching of small claws across stone.
There are rats down here.
It’s dank and freezing down here.
My throat is parched and my stomach growls savagely, because even Tyden and his men barely gave me anything to eat, wanting me so weak I didn’t have the energy to fight back.
I school my breathing to become even, ignoring my body’s earthly needs.
I try to search for the cold sensation that I always draw around me when I slow time, but it’s hard to grasp. My body is weak. My heart is beating too fast.
I force myself to be still, but I just can’t fall into sleep, no matter how hard I try.
Worry for my mate gnaws at my insides, making me restless. What is she doing now? What are the Midrians doing to her? Is she well? Safe? Catered for? Probably not. The Midrians rarely treat their prisoners well.
Unbidden, the image of some faceless other—another man—laying his hands on her enters my mind, sending a white-hot flash of irrational rage through me.
This feeling of worry; of despair.
It’s like nothing I’ve ever experienced before, and the worst thing about it all is that right now, I’m helpless to do anything about it.
I just need to close my eyes and fucking dream.
Maybe I will see her again in that cold, silent forest. I can only hope. Her presence somehow makes it feel less bleak; she’s a burst of vibrant color amidst all the black and grey.
In that dead zone, she brings me to life.
Plop.
Plop.
Even the cursed dripping water is driving me crazy. I twist and writhe around on the cold floor, trying to get comfortable. With my aching arms, I pull at the restraints around my wrists, but they’re bound in a classic Ven restraint; even with my fingers intact I would have a hard time undoing those knots.
Can’t sleep, young prince? Suddenly, a voice enters my mind. This one is new. I’ve never heard it before.
Only two beings have ever been able to speak to me directly in my mind. Those are Vyloren and the dark bastard himself; both of them ancient and powerful magical beings.
Now there is a third. He is male, and his voice is deep and resonant, radiating power.
Yet another powerful being is speaking to me from deep within my mind.
Why am I not surprised?
Ah, finally I have someone to talk to. They can’t hear us when we speak like this, because they don’t have any magic. They won’t even know we’re doing it.
I search for the voice, the presence, whatever this newcomer is. Strangely, I sense something on the other side of the thick stone walls; a dark, oppressive energy.
“I am not a prince,” I say aloud, my voice echoing hollowly in the cold cell.
There’s no response. Has he even heard me? Of course he hasn’t. These walls have absorbed every single word I’ve uttered.
I focus on the source of the energy behind the wall. I can feel it. It’s a dark, malevolent kind of pressure, pushing against me.
I am not a prince, I repeat, speaking the words with my mind, projecting them at the other male.
Deranged laughter rings through my mind. It goes on and on, growing louder and more maniacal until I wonder if I’ve actually gone insane, and the voice is just a figment of my imagination.
Is it possible that you don’t even know what you are? You of all creatures? Oh, this is going to be fun.
And who the fuck are you? I snap in irritation. Does every single fucking ancient mystical being on the continent know the secret to my existence? I desperately want to ask this strange disembodied voice for answers, but I don’t want to reveal too much of myself just yet.
I am called Andoku. You might have heard of me. The owner of the voice sounds more than a little arrogant. Mad, arrogant, and smug. Just the kind of asshole I don’t really care to meet at this point in time, or ever, for that matter.
Still, he is a prisoner here, and therefore he’s an enemy of the Ven. He might be useful.
Can’t say I have, I shrug. Why are you behind this wall, Andoku?
Because a long, long time ago, I did something stupid, he sighs. These modern-day Ven are more cunning than I gave them credit for. I do not care to revisit the details now, but yes, they trapped me, and here I am, languishing beneath the mountain, my glorious body turning into a desiccated husk. You will free me once you resolve your identity crisis, won’t you?
An aggravated sigh escapes me. Another cryptic bastard. Once I figure out who I am? Is the entire ancient mystical world having a great joke at my expense?
Well, if you don’t know already, it means your father hasn’t told you, and he probably has a bloody good reason for keeping you in the dark, excuse the pun. I’m not planning on being the one to spill the beans. Even I am not brave or stupid enough to piss him off a second time.
Even if it costs you a chance at freedom?
As I said, I’m not going to risk it. I’m in too much trouble with him as it is.
Tell me the truth. Who is he?
Not going to risk it. Andoku’s tone tells me he won’t budge on the issue.
Then why should I bother freeing you? Who could possibly be so terrifying that even this arrogant fool would give up his chance at freedom just to make sure he didn’t upset him?
A certain name jumps to mind, and I don’t like it.
I don’t like it one bit.
Perhaps everything is connected. My appearance, my powers, the mystery of my parentage, the fact that I was raised in this cursed order of death-cult assassins in the first place…
Everything is connected.
Then what of Amali? The one I hold above all else, who is sacred to me.
Who just happens to bear the Mark of the death god…
Why should you bother to help me? Hm. Let me see. You would have me as an ally for the rest of our eternal lives. How does that sound, prince?
Stop calling me that. I do some quick mental calculations. Ally? Make that groveling subordinate and I might consider it.
The insane one laughs. You are a piece of work, youngling. But what else would one expect from his offspring? Sorry, but I don’t grovel, son, even for the likes of you.
Enough of this useless blathering. Why are you imprisoned here, Andoku?
Ever wondered why the Grand Master is always so much faster and stronger and longer lived than the rest of you? With the exception of your esteemed self, of course.
There are rituals the Ven follow… I start to say, automatically falling into the accepted explanation that has been fed to me ever since I was old enough to be aware of such things.
The stranger laughs. Rituals? Is that what they’re calling them these days?
Blood rituals. I’ve seen them with my own eyes.
I am the ritual, young prince. Have been, ever since they tricked me and caught me and imprisoned me down here. They drain me and never replenish me, and I’ve lost count of how many winters have passed. What is it now, a few thousand?
Thousand? I reach for Andoku’s presence, trying to find shape or form in the darkness. What are you?
A man who made a stupid mistake a very long time ago. I tasted power and I let it corrupt me from the inside, and now here I am, a shriveled corpse chained to the fucking wall. When I was Grand Master, I was known as Tamaku.
Tamaku… The name stirs a memory in my mind. Ah. This was the name of the human in Enak’s story; the one who supposedly tasted a drop of L
ok’s blood.
And now you are called Andoku, which means cheat in Ioni. You’re a sanguisu, aren’t you?
Clever boy. You’re going to go far beyond the veil, young prince.
Hmph. A blood-drinking demon is chained in the cell next to mine. I should be shocked, but nothing can surprise me anymore. Tell me then, sanguisu, since you’ve been here for thousands of winters, what could they possibly want from me?
Isn’t it obvious?
I grit my teeth. If it was so fucking obvious, I wouldn’t be asking you.
Put it this way. Your blood is far more valuable than mine. You’re only the powerful bargaining chip in the history of the world,
I sigh. Of course.
It just had to be something like that, didn’t it?
Seventeen
Amali
At some point in the early hours of the morning, the storm dies.
We’re all huddled on the floor of the small cabin, and several of the sailors have managed to fall asleep, even as the ship sways violently on the rough seas.
Sailors can fall asleep anywhere, it seems.
I’m huddled in the corner on my own, my legs curled up against my body, my arms around my knees as I fight to ward off the creeping cold. My clothes aren’t properly dry, not by a long shot, but I have no choice but to wear them.
Thankfully, none of the sailors have tried to put their dirty hands on me. They’ve actually kept a bit of distance. Apparently, they take this Marked One business very seriously, which suits me just fine.
As long as they keep their fucking hands off me.
Exhausted and hungry, I finally start to nod off to sleep when something small and hard bumps against my knee.
My eyes snap open, and I look up into the face of the sandy-haired youth.
“Here,” he whispers. “Drink. Your lips look as dry as a drunk sailor’s barrel.”
In his hand is a small beaten metal flask.
“W-water?”
He nods.
Sweet Celise’s mercy. Without a second thought, I rip the flask from his hand and drink. The stale water tastes impossibly sweet as it hits the back of my throat. I drink until the flask is completely empty.
“Th-thank you,” I whisper.
The youth glances furtively at the sailors, who are sprawled around the cabin, asleep. Several are snoring loudly.
From the opposite corner, one grizzled old man eyes me suspiciously.
“Not all of us hate you for what you did,” the young sailor whispers, quickly snatching the flask out of my hands. “There are many folks in the empire that quietly think you’re a hero.”
“Horghus treated many his own citizens badly, too.” I stare into the lad’s grey-green eyes, making sure I have his complete attention. “Is your new emperor any different? Would he blink an eyelid before sending you all to your deaths?”
The man snoring closest to me begins to stir, muttering something under his breath in his sleep.
The young sailor’s eyes widen. It’s as if I’ve just told him a terrible forbidden secret. “You can’t utter those words here,” he whispers, turning away. Without another glance, he scurries back to his resting place against the far wall.
He ignores me for the rest of the night, and I can tell that he’s troubled, because when he finally falls asleep, he’s restless and fidgety.
How surprising.
Not all Midrians are content with their empire. I store this little incident away in my mind, wondering how I can use it in future.
As I lean back against the wall, a heavy sigh escapes my lips. I’m stuck on a Midrian ship in the middle of a faraway ocean, in a cabin full of rough sailors who would probably defile me and murder me if it wasn’t for the new emperor’s desire to have me for himself.
Men can be strange creatures.
I shudder. The unpleasantness stays with me, tendrils of it creeping through my body, making me feel sick inside my empty stomach.
I long for the sunlit canopy of the forest.
I long for my cold, magnificent warrior.
Eventually, the rocking of the ship lulls me into a deep, dreamless sleep. This time, I don’t find Kaim in that place of cold light and black and grey and white.
There’s just… nothing.
Nothing at all.
Where are you, my love? I hope you’re all right, wherever you are. I hope you’re safe. Well. Not suffering like I am.
I wish I could do something right now to help you.
But I can’t. I’m just an ordinary village girl, and there are forces out there in the world that are far greater than anything I could have ever imagined.
Eighteen
Kaim
I’ve finally fallen asleep on the cold stone floor of my cell. Viciously, savagely, I seize upon my dreams, forcefully entering the soundless world.
The silent forest beckons to me. It’s a perfect copy of the Komori in the real world, right down to the shape of the leaves and the feeling of the soft earth beneath my feet.
But there’s no life here. It’s as if someone has taken the magnificent forest and sucked all the life and warmth and color out of it, leaving a pale imitation of nature’s glory.
But right now, I don’t care about any of that.
I stride through the trees, deliberately kicking up grey and black leaves, sending them drifting up into the air in slow-motion.
It’s rather frustrating that my feet don’t make any noise.
I clench my hands, and reassuringly, they’re perfectly intact, in all their obsidian strangeness.
How do I bring them into the real world?
“Where are you?” I demand, searching for any trace of the dark figure.
My sire.
The one who strikes fear into the hearts of ancient dragons and immortal sanguisu.
Whose blood gives me the power to slow time itself.
Patience, child. I am coming.
“You are—”
His deep chuckle echoes in my mind. It takes a lot of effort to walk beyond the veil, even for me. Truly, I hate going into the living world, but for you, I will do it. Soon you will understand everything.
“At least tell me who you are.”
But haven’t you already figured it out? You should be able to. You’re clever enough.
He disappears.
Irritating bastard.
What’s even more annoying is that he’s right. I’ve had my suspicions about his identity for a long time. But the truth of it is so impossible, so hard for me to accept, that I’ve never allowed myself to consider it in the past.
I never wanted a part of it.
The man—being—that sired me… I don’t think he’s a demon or a dragon or a blood-drinking sanguisu like Andoku.
No, he’s far more terrifying than any of those things, and apparently, I am half of what he is.
Soon I will need to accept that I will never go back to being human, no matter how badly I want to be.
Why can’t these things ever be simple?
Fatigue sets in as I walk up the slope toward the golden light, trying to reach the crest of the hill.
It’s the same old routine.
The farther I walk, the farther away it seems, like an illusion. I’ve tried so many times, but I’m never quite able to reach it.
What lies beyond the hill? What is that golden light?
Will you still want me when you know what I am, Amali?
Of course she will.
She must.
There’s no other option.
Nineteen
Kaim
Time passes. How long? I don’t know. Days, perhaps weeks. I can’t tell anymore. I’ve lost track of all time.
Why are they even keeping me down here, with no sound, no light, no contact with any other being aside from mad Andoku and the rats?
What is the point of all this?
Torture? Strategy? Are they trying to weaken me as much as possible?
Still deciding
what to do with me?
They’re waiting for Solstice, Andoku keeps telling me. And they probably want you weak and broken so you can’t fuck up their plans. They fear you, you know.
What is so important about Solstice?
The ancient Order of the Ven is the oldest branch of the Ioni temple of Lok. Our power comes from the death-god’s benevolence, the immortal sighs, as if explaining something to a child. Solstice is the most sacred day of the year. Don’t they teach you disciples anything these days?
Apparently not, although I do remember there would always be a special Midwinter feast on Solstice, the only thing close to indulgence we were ever allowed.
Back then, I never questioned why.
Now I question everything, and the answers I need most continue to elude me.
My sire no longer stalks my dreams. There’s no trace of him, not even the faintest whisper of his voice in my mind. He must be trying to walk beyond the veil, whatever the fuck that means.
Sometimes, I converse with Andoku, but the sanguisu’s appearances are erratic. I think he must be weak; he seems to go into a deep sleep or hibernation for long periods of time.
Maybe I will save the poor bastard, just because he’s been locked down here for several millennia, and that means he will want to wreak havoc on my enemies.
The enemy of my enemy is my friend, after all.
When I’m not dreaming or talking to Andoku or trying to parch my thirst by catching the dripping water from the roof, I think of Amali. Every last inch of her is seared into my mind’s eye. Her face, her hair, her skin, her beautiful Mark.
Her smile.
She makes my black heart ache.
She obliterates the darkness all around me. I lie on the floor in agony, stewing in my rage, and the memory of her somehow makes it all better, even when these cursed Ven treat me no better than a wretched beast.
I’m never spoken to. Nobody comes inside. Food is thrown to me through a small hatch in the heavy wooden door of the cell. It’s always something hard and dry; a loaf of stale bread or a half-eaten sausage or a handful of dried, moldy fruit. They don’t give me anything to eat with. No bowls, no cups, no utensils. What could I use, anyway? My hands are gone and my wrists are still bound. I’m forced to maneuver around on the floor in the darkness, twisting this way and that as I search for bits of food.
