She had never ridden a horse before—they were in scant supply on Istroya—and endless hours in the saddle hadn’t been kind to her.
Aizel had waited for an opportunity to escape, but she hadn’t had a chance. Her jaw hurt from the rope gag and her muscles were aching from the unfamiliar gait of the horse.
It appeared they had arrived at their destination. Not that it was a comforting thought. From what she could tell, they were in the courtyard of a central palace in a large city. Having kept to what seemed like small side roads during the entirety of their nightly journey, this place was easily the most densely populated she had seen on all of the continent. Even at this dark hour of the early morn, the city teemed with light and life.
An old man with a long, thin, white beard approached the captain of the men who had escorted her here.
“Is His Majesty ready for us now?” the captain asked. He and his four companions had not spoken a single word to Aizel during their travels.
“His Majesty is always ready. Come quickly.” The old man disappeared as quickly as he had come.
The captain used his head to gesture toward Aizel. Two of the soldiers—whom she referred to as Sweaty and Stench in her head—approached her.
She released her tight grip on the horse’s mane, glad that her legs seemed somewhat stable, and stepped toward the captain before they could lay a hand on her. The only freedom she had left was her dignity and she took advantage of it as often as possible.
As they climbed the steps of the palace, Aizel was awed by the monolithic structure. She had never seen anything as tall as this building, even though they appeared to be entering it from a back entrance. She could not imagine how much more magnificent the front would be.
The entire palace looked to have been carved out of a single slab of white marble. She could not fathom how that would have been possible, unless it had once been a cliff or mountain composed entirely of the snowy white rock.
Even in the dark of night, the marble easily reflected light from both the night sky above and the torches and firelight of the city below. It literally glowed. If she hadn’t been so skeptical of what she would find inside, the sight would have been pure beauty. Nothing she had ever seen in her life could compare to the cold magnificence of the building looming above her.
She had no time to stare, unless she wanted the aid of Sweaty and Stench, so she hurried after the captain. A short web of unnecessarily tall hallways brought them to a closed door.
The bearded man stood outside the door, tapping his finger against his arm. As soon as they stepped into view, he leaped into action and opened the door.
Just before they passed through it, he held out his pointer finger. “Remove that. His Majesty does not like to see it.” He pointed at the rope gag in Aizel’s mouth.
“Are you sure that is wise?” The captain’s face seemed a touch flushed. It was the first time Aizel had seen him lose his unflappable exterior.
“We have several mages in the room who can counteract her if she attempts anything.” The old man smiled behind his beard as he made eye contact with Aizel. His smile seemed like a challenge, as if daring her to make a move against them.
Sweaty and Stench stepped forward to untie the rope behind her head. As they swung the annoying thing from her mouth, she loosened her sore jaw, exhaling in a light hiss.
To her satisfaction, Sweaty and Stench started in alarm, and even the captain blanched for a moment.
The bearded man did not so much as blink. “Your voice remains silent,” he stated, not even bothering to tack a threat onto the end of his words.
It felt odd to be such an anomaly here. None of the taskers on Istroya worried about whether a Majis was muted or not because they could all wield magic as well. Painful magic.
However, that did not seem to be the case here. She folded that thought into her mind to mull over later.
For now, she needed to pay attention. She was about to meet her greatest enemy.
She followed the captain through the doorway.
The room was small but still held half a dozen people. Its ceiling was so high overhead that Aizel wondered if it were the same height as the castle’s exterior. The room felt like the inverse of a tall column. The only chair it contained was a similarly tall throne, carved out of the same white marble, and positioned atop a raised stone dais.
Next to the throne stood a middle-aged man, his arms crossed and his feet in a wide stance. The bearded man who had greeted them hopped up the dais steps with surprising alacrity and stood on the other side of the throne.
As the men around her stopped to make obeisance to their king, Aizel stepped forward unattended to stand in the center of the room. She stood tall and confident, staring straight at the only seated person in the room.
Every rule, decree, and retribution on Istroya was carried out under this man’s name. She had hated and feared him her whole life. When she had escaped the island, her goal was to free herself from his influence, not land herself directly under it.
She had spent hours dreaming of obscenities to yell at him if she ever met him face to face, but her mouth was dry. She swallowed uncomfortably. The least she could do was show him she wasn’t cowed by him, so she kept her back as straight as possible and stared up at his focused eyes.
His face held none of the glee or cruelty that she had always imagined. In fact, he was far younger than Aizel expected him to be. He appeared to be only a few years older than herself. Despite the bulky layers of clothing he wore and the tall height of his throne, she thought he looked rather small. He was probably shorter than everyone else in the room, except for her.
“Anotherprisoner, Turio?” the young king asked, his head resting lazily against his fist.
