He would devour her gladly. He reached for the blade at his side with his jaw extended.
Judgement
Fearfor her life filled Cyane’s veins, throat, and belly—literally. No matter how hard she coughed, the stranglehold of death only grew more painful.
Her surroundings were dark. She was on a boat and out of the sea, but that was the limit of her awareness. Frantic, she pulled in shallow stabs of air through her nose. Desperate, she expelled the salty water from her body.
Something warm gripped her shoulder, but the sensation didn’t last. She barely noticed it. Nothing mattered until she could inhale fully and alleviate the growing, agonizing pressure in her chest. She pulled her legs towards her, curling up onto her side. Despite the pain, she couldn’t stop gasping. Her eyes, one second wide and searching for help, would wrench closed the next moment.
Pressure filled her head. A shudder wracked her. She gasped again, and—finally—her lungs opened up, and she took in an excruciating breath of air. Tears filled her eyes as she exalted in the simple sensation of air flowing through her. Each breath was a knife-stab in and out of her throat, but she didn’t care because she was breathing.
The hand of her savior returned to her shoulder and gripped it hard, forcing her from her fetal position to look up.
It wasn’t Haros who saved her.
Dark eyes and even darker shadows met her, revealing the outline of a man, but her gaze didn’t linger, moving to the glinting short-sword poised between them.
Cyane jerked back, her eyes widening as the point of the sword pressed against her chest.
“You’ve committed a great crime coming here. Who are you?” The shadowy man’s deep, rumbling voice suited his dark mien.
He was her savior no more.
She leaned away as the tip pushed a shallow dent in her skin, but her back was already against the floor of the boat, leaving her trapped. The ache in her throat returned when she opened her mouth to speak. All that emerged was gasping, hacking coughs.
He made an animalistic noise and withdrew his blade.
His strong arms banded around her, drawing her off the floor of the boat and against his chest. He slid his hands over her back and forced her head between her knees, pulling her wet hair away from her face. More tears filled her eyes as his palm hit the center of her back.
Water and saliva dribbled from her chin. She closed her eyes against the sight.
With each ragged inhale, sense returned, and her mind cleared.Where am I?It was too dark to be Athens. She opened her eyes. Dark water, dark cavern walls, and an equally dark castle filled her eyes.
Oh god, where am I?
The man’s hand slammed into her back again, and she gasped.
Cyane gripped the side of the boat with shaking fingers. “Stop,” she croaked. “I can breathe now.” She rested her brow on her hand and shuddered.
She shook and steadied herself, all the while knowing there was a strange man with a sword directly behind her, waiting for an explanation.
Not that she knew how to explain.
The castle loomed directly over her, its foreboding silhouette filling her vision. She’d never seen anything like it. And she knew if a castle such as this existed, with a hundred black, pointed spires stabbing skyward, she’d have learned about it by now.
The spires ended far above.
Her empty stomach dipped with nausea.
There was no sky.
She rose from where she huddled and strained her neck. There was nothing but blackness with jagged edges—it made no sense. It reminded her of the top of a cavern...but it couldn’t be. The sky, if that was the word for it, was so far above her that it should be where the clouds were.
She sat there, gapping, but the man’s voice snapped her out of her shock.
“Face me,” he ordered.
The boat rocked as the man stood. Cyane shivered again and pulled her gaze away from the sky—or cave ceiling, she had no idea. She turned slowly—her eyes flicking again across the strange landscape one last time—before she released her death-like grip on the boat with one hand.
