Fractured Crown (Book 1: Terra)

Chapter 2

Mazikeen strode towards the heavy brass doors and swung them open without bothering to knock. The cloaked guards standing on either side didn't try to stop her, either. They knew he was expecting her.

Mazikeen's fingers curled over the hilt of her dagger, which was attached to a secure, black belt strapped tightly around her petite waist.

Her thigh-high boots – made with the highest quality leather, tough and resistant in almost all weather – were soundless on the smooth marble as she silently weaved and blended with the shadows cast by the towering pillars within the capacious throne room.

She heard his voice before she saw him on the throne, his hushed whispers directed towards two of his followers standing beside him but echoing and bouncing off the pillars and walls into a mesh of incoherencies. The seat's gold embroidery gave the impression that it was glowing against the stark red leather material.

Mazikeen barely paid any mind to the dozens of cloaked figures standing silently at attention in a horseshoe shape around the throne. Today was an important day. It was The Choosing, and Mazikeen was to play a huge part in the selection process. It was safe to say that nobody seemed to have forgotten that fact either, for they quickly sidestepped away and allowed her into the middle of the semi-ring they had formed.

The air seemed to grow colder as she slowed her pace, stopping just a few metres away from the throne. The room seemed spellbound, locked in a trance due to some foreboding and tense silence. The only faint trace of sound came from Adiran's treasured fountain, just out of sight from her peripheral vision, hidden behind one of the larger pillars in the throne room. There were no windows, which meant no sunlight, and the hall suddenly reminded her of the peculiar dream she had been having. Darkness. Free-falling. An endless tumble towards death, it felt like.

"My lord," she said after a while had passed and he had yet to acknowledge her.

He nodded slightly, and she straightened, lifting her chin to match his steady expression.

His green eyes were catlike – both suspicious and watchful and nerve-wracking to gaze at for too long. Mazikeen often wondered if he could see right through a person's very soul - if that ability were even possible.

She had never seen the man in any other garments that weren't either black or red, and today was certainly no exception. Although his black clothing alone would no doubt be useful in situations where he'd want to bypass undetected, his magnanimous, dark cape was a clear indicator that he wanted the room's attention to be drawn to him and him alone. Still, his cloak hid the most important aspects of him – fooling the naivest into thinking his small build was an easy target.

Mazikeen knew better though. Beneath those misleading garments was barely a man but a skilled, ferocious beast with unsuspecting muscle and agility. Although his dark, chiselled hair was flecked with grey, he moved as nimbly as a cat. His age was hard to guess – his mocha-coloured skin hiding most wrinkle lines and aged flaws, but Mazikeen always suspected him to be in his forties, perhaps fifties, at most.

Finally, after what seemed an eternity, Adiran broke the silence, still maintaining eye contact, his gaze calm and calculative as he watched Mazikeen's every inhale, every exhale, every twitch.

Despite Adiran being the only man in the world she feared, he was - ironically enough - also the only man she respected, and she'd rather slit her wrists than demonstrate any signs of weakness to him. So, uncomfortable as he made the situation, Mazikeen dared not move or even glance at her surroundings until his dismissal.

His lips parted into a satisfied smirk, and he waved at the two followers by his side with a careless gesture. They immediately returned to their posts in the semi-circle's outer rims, standing just a little away from the rest of the initiates, despite the clear difference in their ranks.