A Court of Desires and Darkness

Chapter 4

Slowly, I peel my eyes open, noting their lead weight. I lay on a cot made of wood and hay, the darkness here unfamiliar and cold. A musty stench fills the air, causing me to wrinkle my nose. I curse under my breath when I attempt to sit up, the pain forcing everything to slowly come back to me. 

The soldiers. The Seer. That High fae male with incredible speed. The arrows, likely laced with some poison. The cuff. 

I look at my left wrist, the bulky item still wrapped securely around it. My wounds are bandaged. Without my magic, they are healing a lot slower than I am used to. Already, my muscles are sore from putting up that fight, as disgraceful as it was. I haven't needed to fight with weapons in so long. I let myself forget.

I think back to the soldiers I saw, their uniforms, the insignia on the shoulder. I don't recognize any of them from Prythian. I've spent the last five centuries in that country. I would know any of the court sigils if I saw them. That leaves...

Hybern. 

My eyes widen. The King of Hybern. I am almost as old as you are, his words echo in my head. That would explain for his strength and speed. Indeed, I have not used my fighting skills in quite sometime, too accepting that the world had forgotten me. I remember when he came into power following the untimely death of his father. Almost all the other fae rulers cringed that day.

A faint whisper dances in the stagnant air around me. Not the Cauldron, no. That has remained quiet once this damned cuff was put on my wrist. I cannot see--nor feel--my shadows as they whirl around me, but I can hear them. They sound far off, like there are worlds between us. 

The sound of an iron door opening jars me to my surroundings and I force myself to a sitting position, despite the pain that still slices through me. 

"You're awake," he mutters, pleased. I don't respond. "Have you at least figured out wh--"

"Hybern," I interrupt coldly, bored. 

He stops at the cell door, a wrought iron holding, a faelight aglow in his hands. It casts ghostly shadows dancing across his face. He smiles wickedly, "Tell me, Canna, are you not pleased to be back?"

Before his father's death, before the world wanted me for my power, I was revered and respected. His father hosted a banquet in my honor and, despite my friend, Lara's, warnings, I went. His father wanted me to be married to this horrible male in front of me. I declined, which ultimately led to me being on the run. Rumors--lies--were spread far and wide about how I destroyed the castle and neighboring villages out of spite. 

"Hardly," I quip. "My answer still remains." He knows of what I speak. The marriage. 

He sneers, "I don't want you for that. I want what you can do. I want your power." He leans his face closer so that it almost rests against the bars. If I had more strength, I could kick them. Instead, I force myself to a standing position, wincing as I clutch my side. 

"Screw off," I say giving him a vulgar gesture. The cell is tiny, maybe six feet long and three wide. Standing just before the door, the back of my legs touch the cot. Comfortable...

"I can take it, even if you don't give it freely," he threatens, holding a black gem in his palm. "This is a syphon. Illyrians use them to help control their magic. I'll use it to control your magic." I scoff, turning my head away in disinterest. 

It isn't until he opens the door to the cell that my body tenses, ready to defend despite the wounds and lack of magic. "Shall we give it a try?" He grabs my injured wrist and pulls me out of the cell. Two guards enter the room when I cry out in pain. I swing the good arm at the King, only to be blocked by one of them. 

My hands are tied in a rope and I am led through hall after hall, each duller than the last. He left my head uncovered, probably assuming I will be staying here for a long time. I note all the turns, counting steps since there is no decor of any sort for markings. After ascending several staircases, we arrive at a silver, intricately carved grand doorway in an even grander foyer. A crystal chandelier hangs from the unnecessarily high ceiling, faelight lit up like candles. My shadows stay quiet, hidden, with all these eyes to see them. 

The doors are opened to reveal a mass of high fae gathered before the castle, split down the middle is a cobblestone walkway, perhaps twenty feet wide. In the center of the walkway are three silhouettes, all bound with a cloth over their heads, kneeling on the hard stone. All conversations cease the moment the King steps out into the sunlight. The two guards hold on to my arms tightly.

"Today is a grand day," the King bellows from the steps, his voice carrying far away. "It is the start of my long lived dream. To bring back the freedom that was taken from us five centuries ago." Many in the crowd cheer to that, lifting fists or nodding. 

"Weeks ago, after an even longer time, I finally caught scent of the one who could have ended the War before it began. Instead, she hid like a coward." He makes a gesture and the guards push me forward. "Yesterday, I captured her." The sunlight is blinding as I step outside the doorway. "The Cauldron Incarnate!" Bile rises in my throat as the booming crowd cheers. 

"I would not have fought for you," I whisper. The King and two other High fae to his left, one male and one female, turn to glare at me. High ranks, probably his commanders, guessing from their posture and standing position. The male stands almost at six feet with dark hair and a square face. The woman, slender but muscular, stands almost the same height with red hair, a sneer on her lips. 

"Bring the prisoners forward," he roars, still glaring at me. The three hooded silhouettes are dragged forward, pushed back to the ground just before the bottom marble stair. He turns to me, the black gem in his open palm. Nerves begin prickling underneath my spine. I thought he was trying to frighten me with a lie, but now I am beginning to think it was true. Can he really control my magic? Especially when I can't even feel it?

He grabs the cuffed wrist, turning it over. I fight with the little strength I have, but am greatly outmatched by his own. An empty slot for a jewel sits on the underside of the cuff and he slides the black one inside. Immediately, I feel my magic respond. I can feel it, but cannot call to it. The King pulls out the twin to this gem from his pocket and places it on the cuff wrapped around his right wrist. My heart is thundering inside my chest as my shadows begin curling around me, spreading out from behind. The guards curse and the two commanders stiffen. I hear gasps come from the crowd. Down below, the cloth coverings are removed from the prisoner's heads, two of which are human and the other a lesser fae. Their faces contort with pure terror at what is before them. I hear a few in the crowd closest whisper "Shadowsinger" amongst themselves. 

"Please, don't," I beg, pulling at my wrist. The King just holds firm.

"Begging will not work, Canna. I told you, I can take your power." With that, he twists my wrist so that the two black gems are touching. A surge of power--my power--explodes from within me. I try to fight it, pushing back on it. It tears at my insides, a vicious storm ripping me apart. I am rendered voiceless from the pain; not a sound comes out of my mouth. The roar of my shadows bending to the King's will is the only sound I hear When I open my eyes, I watch as my shadows recede from where the three prisoners knelt. The light of the sun bleeds through the retreating darkness, shining on the three lifeless husks below, their mouths agape from screaming--in pain or terror, I do not know. 

The King begins speaking again, rambling on about being able to take out anyone who opposes him. I don't hear much of his words as my shadows fully retreat inside me, their daunting excitement horrifying. 

Not theirs, his, I assure myself. 

It isn't until I am brought back to my cell and left alone that I let the tears flow. I cry for the lives my magic just took. Even if I was not in control of them, it was still me. My body begins shaking violently as I curl up on the uncomfortable cot with nothing but the deafening silence to comfort me. 

I must stay strong. Must find a way out of here. 

For my sake. For Prythian's sake. For the sake of the world.