“Pleasure, High Councilor,” Maksym responded, ruffling his matte-green feathers. “Before you leave, please accept this token of my gratitude.” He turned to the Deathstalker on his right, who handed him a black velvet sack emanating hints of rainbow light. “Should make your journey back to Brachos a bit shorter.”
He handed the sack to Arran, who pried it open with two fingers, his copper beard bathed in a multi-colored glow as he smiled at the contents. “I haven’t seen these in centuries. Where did you get them?”
“Same old friends who gave me this,” Maksym said, shooting a crackling bolt of green lightning through the jagged hole in the ceiling. It careened off a broken piece of wood, exploding shards that dropped to the table in a smoldering pile.
Arran strode over to Cael, a disapproving frown showing through his beard. “Let’s go.”
He reached for Cael’s arm, but Cael twisted away. He’d be damned if he let his father put his hands on him ever again.
He followed Arran out of the hall, his mind calculating a new type of plan.
A rescue mission.
* * *
“Cael?”Xenia whispered, pushing up off her straw mattress as the thin fog of shallow sleep released her. She cocked her head, listening for sounds in the next cell.
All night before she’d fallen asleep, she’d heard him moving around in there. A muffled grunt, the crack of a flexed wingbone, the creaking of his leather pants.
The silence squeezed her lungs, seizing her breath.
“Cael,” she said, a bit louder.
Still no response.
Had he already used his newly restored wind magic to escape his cell? Was he upstairs, raining justice down upon Maksym and his slimy band of Deathstalker idiots?
Xenia chuckled at the vision, annoyed that he hadn’t woken her to witness it.
She sat up and smoothed her glittering silk dress, untied and retied the straps which had loosened while she slept. If this was to be her escape uniform, so be it. Barefoot and begowned—what a way to travel through the desert.
She didn’t fucking care, and was giddy at the thought of imminent escape.
Rising from the mattress, she padded to the front of her cell, curling her fingers around the bars and glancing down the hallway towards the scarred wooden door. Holding her breath, she strained to hear the expected sounds of struggle from the fortress above.
No shouting or scuffling drifted through the dungeon door.
Perhaps Cael had already dispatched their enemies? What time was it? How long had she been asleep?
A flutter of nerves erupted in her stomach.
Would Cael really not have woken her? Even if only to tell her to prepare herself before he wreaked his havoc upstairs?
Icy fear lodged in her heart.
Had Maksym defeated him?
Before speculation consumed her, the dungeon door groaned open and relief arrived, swift and soothing.
“Cael! Oh, thank the High Gods, I thought—”
Adrenaline burned a fiery, itching path through her veins at the sight of viper’s eyes and that familiar silver scar.
Alexei shoved Xenia’s breakfast tray underneath the bars, then turned to leave.
“Where is Cael?” she yelled after the Deathstalker. “What have you done to him?”
Alexei turned back, a serpentine smile pulling at his marred lips. “Your Windrider is gone. He’s abandoned you. Practically leapt at the chance to save himself.”
