The figure in the red cape quickly descends the steps from the throne. I cautiously lower my mental shields just enough to hopefully find a crack in her mind. But I’m met with a frustratingly imposing blockade not unlike Ava’s. Not necessarily Ordinary, but I sense no Wielding either … There is, however, something oddly unstable about her. Unable to get a better read on her, I give up for now.
“Kilkenny!” Rheon’s authoritative voice hauls my wandering mind back to him, but it’s as if I’ve been catapulted into the past. I stomp to attention, but my salute is stopped by the damned shackles.
Rheon’s amusement tickles my nose. I scrunch my face to keep from sneezing. As much as I want to reel my Empath powers in, as much as it exhausts me to keep using them, I need all the information I can get.
“When I sent my men out to find the rumored Shadow Wielder, the last person I expected to show up in my castle was you.”
Hiscastle. I bristle, wanting to put my fist through his face. I’ve spent five years in this castle. Five years of literal blood, sweat, and tears, secrets, pain, and love. The people here were like family to me. Though only ghosts of the past walk this castle now, it will never be his. I would pluck his sorry ass off the throne myself if it was within my power.
“My apologies if the revelation thatIam the Shadow Wielder you sought is a disappointment to you, sir.”
“Excellency,” he corrects, and I damn near scowl at him. “Not a disappointment, but a surprise. I don’t suppose you would willingly join the Zenith? We seek to make Erleya a safe place for everyone to be who they are. Where Mages are not feared but revered.”
Rheon is not a Mage as far as I can tell. Why would he go to such lengths to make things safe for Magekind? “Not feared?” I ask. “Somehow, I highly doubt that,sir.”
His eye twitches and I suffocate a grin.
“Fear is your middle name, if I recall.” Gods, is this what it feels like to be Carys? To not be able to hold my tongue?
Rheon smiles, something deranged flashing in his eyes. The heat of his anger stings my skin, but he speaks with unnerving calm. “Fear is only necessary if reverence is not upheld.”
I clench my teeth to keep from speaking, but then again, this egotistical bastard seems more than willing to give up information. Even if he doesn’t realize it. “What drives your interest in Magekind, if I may ask, sir? Do you possess magic?”
A muscle twitches in his jaw, and I know I’ve struck a nerve. “We shall chat again tomorrow. For now, you’re dismissed.”
I stare down at my shackles. I have a feeling this dismissal is?—
“Take him to the brig,” Rheon tells the Waterweaver.
“Yes, Excellency.” The Waterweaver grips my shoulder, and we go tumbling into the shadows again. I’m still not used to it, and when we land in a dark cell, my stomach clenches and my throat constricts. I close my eyes and fight the nausea. The Waterweaver says nothing to me; he simply steps out of the cell and a guard just outside of it slides the gate shut with aclang.
My eyes roam the small space as the click of the lock reverberates. The cell is about twice my arm span in width and perhaps a little deeper. A chamber pot sits in one corner and there is no mattress in sight. On either side of me are roughly hewn stone walls. Only the front is gated, but it doesn’t allow me to see much aside from darkness and oil lamps. No … not oil lamps, magelights.
Magelights in Paramount. Oh, I could find the humor in this. Icould.
Cries and pleas echo somewhere outside of my stony cell. There are other prisoners here. A surplus of emotions and powers that makes my head spin and crawls through my blood. Voices echo in my head—a steady stream of incoherent words muddling in my mind until bile rises into my throat. I swallow forcefully and reel in my Empath powers, blocking everyone else around me. Only my surroundings fling me into the memory of Rheon towering over me, of the blade that scarred my skin and my dreams.
How long before he figures out that I’m a Mimic and not a Shadow Wielder? How long before they go in search of Durvla? Until she’s here in this horrific place?
No one pays me any attention, but I know how these things work. They’ll let me sit here, let the anxiety take hold of me. Maybe someone will eventually bring me water. Maybe food. Then the real threats will begin.
I sit down on the cold ground and tip my head back against the wall, closing my eyes. I can’t let fear control me. Keeping it together is the only option I have. What did I always tell Durvla? Be brave? Don’t break?
My stomach sinks at the thought of her. Shortly before leaving the Verge, Ava took me aside to explain the extent of her Obstructor power. It was at that moment that I asked her if she could block Durvla’s shadow wielding if ever there was danger of her being exposed.
“Ava, please do this for me,” I begged. “She might never forgive us, but we’ll deal with that later. She has to get to Siad Nahar.”
“I’ll ask you again, Kilkenny. Could you go on living, knowing that you broke her heartandher trust?” Her words were a knife to the heart.
“I could go on knowing she’s alive,” I said. “And let’s face it, Ava, if they take me into custody and discover I’m not who they’re looking for, I won’t have togo on livingfor very long.”
Ava remained silent for a while longer. I thought she would just walk away or say something snide. Instead she twisted the dagger already in my heart. “Maybe so, butshewould have to live withoutyou.”
Boots echo on the stony ground as someone approaches my cell. I allow my shields down, but I still feelnothing.
“Open the gate,” a hoarse, feminine voice says.
I’m met with an impenetrable mental shield again as the masked woman steps into my cell. If she’s Ordinary, she must have magical blood to enable her to keep her defenses up thisway. She chucks something at me, and I reflexively catch it. The shackles dig into the skin around my wrists. The soft bread is surprisingly still warm, but why would they give fresh bread to a prisoner?
