The hairs on the back of her head stood up as fury and hatred seeped into her soul, her heart, her mind. The edge of the cliff called out with shadowy whispers, compelling her forward to the brink of the dark abyss. She peered down into the void, balancing on the precipice of total abandon. Just a single step, and she could forsake the shred of light she clung to.
But a gentle voice broke her trance, drawing her back from the cliff. A voice that she had accepted as finite and had stored safely in the depths of her mind. A voice she had not heard in days.
She followed the voice, treading in the waters, pulling her fingers through the murkiness as she searched. A glowing orb of light bounced along the waves, washing over to her. Handoutstretched, she grabbed it and held it tightly, letting it send a small sliver of warmth into her body.
“You are Starlight, Astraia. You will not fall.” Elion’s bright face flashed before her eyes, his voice a melody to her ears.
Steeling herself, she refocused on the false king. She straightened her spine and slowly, cautiously, planted one foot in front of her, pushing herself from the ground, and stood upright.
The king's eyes bulged, watching her rise from the jet-black polished floors and stand to face him. There was no hint of fear in her eyes as she stared at him, daring him to do his worst.
Without a word, she turned her fierceness onto the real villain. The one who made promises of trust, offering her an elixir of healing only to poison her instead. She might not have access to her bonds, but she still pierced Draven with her eyes, praying her glare blinded him.
She could have sworn she saw his jaw clench, but she did not care if he harbored regret. She prayed to the Stars that his regret bred demons in his mind, consuming him with nightmares that left him screaming in the night with no one to offer him solace.
“Will that be all?” She ground out each syllable, her tone dismissive. She spoke directly to the hunter, not bothering to shift her attention to the king.
“Levi, get her out of my sight!” the king spat, his shout bouncing off the marble walls as he surged from his seat. “And this time, do not kill any more of my Guards, or you’ll be in a cell next to her.”
The Guard nodded and replaced his helmet, his amber eyes disappearing behind a shroud of betrayal. He marched over to her, grabbing her manacles by the chain, and drove her forward, away from the king.
Chapter 40
The Courtesans, they whisper as if I cannot hear, always plotting my demise. But was it not I who slaughtered my enemies at the gate? Was it not I who crushed those who dared to bring turmoil and chaos to my realm? Was it not I who brought the Starborne into my fold? Let them whisper. For soon, their lives with be nothing but a whisper carried to Solrend.
Personal Journal of Queen Virtus, Ruler of the Celestial Court, Queen of Astradeon in the fortieth-year post Shattering
FOR THE FIRST TIME SINCE the alleyway in Tenebris, Astraia did not question the hunter as he pushed her through damp, dark hallways on the far side of the castle. Minimal torches dotted the walls along their path, making it hard to guess which route they were taking.
Growing up in the castle, this was one place she was never permitted to enter and was patrolled night and day by Celestial Guards. Elion had tried to drug the Guards on one occasion so he could see what kind of evil lurked behind the walls, but the captain had caught him and made him run five miles everymorning for a week as punishment. He had only been twelve years old.
The halls felt more ominous now that she was the one deemed evil.
Perhaps shewasevil. Maybe her murderous sins had finally tainted her soul with no hope of cleansing the blemish.
You killed them. You.
She shook her head, driving the darkness back, focusing on her breaths and the image of Elion she had left open inside her thoughts.
Her footsteps faltered as she reached a black iron door. It was tall and thick with no handle and reeked of death. Guards stood on either side, a sword sheathed at their hip. Behind her, she felt a hand wrap around her uninjured arm, a familiar warm, calloused palm grazing her skin.
But no heat licked her spine. Desire curdled in her stomach, turning into vile malice as he pulled her toward the door.
“Prisoner for level one,” Levi snarled.
The Guards saluted, nodding at him. Then they both took a key from around their neck and placed each into two separate holes in the middle of the door. Simultaneously, they turned the keys in opposite directions, and a loud, grating noise responded. With a loud clank, the door opened just wide enough for one of the guards to pull on the jam with both of his hands. With a grunt, he slid the door open wider, the hinges groaning in protest.
Pitch black stared back from the doorway.
Astraia’s breath hitched, her heart thundering in her chest as she stared into oblivion. The hunter grabbed a torch from the wall near one of the Guards and pulled her through the threshold—into the bowels of Dominion.
As they crossed, the door behind them creaked and slammed closed, a ratcheting sound blaring in the silence as the lockengaged, entombing them in the massive tower. The firelight from the torch illuminated the stone floor beneath them, and she could just make out a set of stone steps on their left, curling downward into the depths of the tower. To her right, she could see another set of stairs spiraling upward.
The hunter let go of her, walking to another torch on the wall next to them, lighting it. This torch was larger, perhaps endued with magic, because the flames flared to life, casting a more revealing glow across the tower.
They stood on a stone landing, and a wrought-iron fence was all that separated them from falling down at least an entire story. She looked to her right and saw a wall of prison cells, iron bars covering the openings. Craning her neck, she could make out more prison cells stacked on top of another landing as well as more below her. The cells curved, angling in line with the shape of the tower. A single stained-glass window was cut into the stone just above the main door, without any way of reaching it as a means of escape.
It was eerily quiet. Not a cough or a cry permeated the air. Either there were few prisoners left alive in the tower, or their will had been tortured out of them—probably the latter.
