A HENRY STORY 2: Trials Of The Fallen Prince

XLVI. Freedom

They had no right to take him. Henry squinted and strained to discern the indistinct figures surrounding him, but all he could see was an infinite sea of faceless eyes, all staring at him with unbearable intensity. I want you to take me back. The words remained unvoiced; he would never speak them, not for as long as he had a choice, yet they smoldered in his mind like burning embers, penetrating his ears until he could perceive nothing else.

Unhand me, he meant to scream. You have no power over me. I refuse to cower before you. Though his lips parted, no words escaped. The multitude of eyes bore into him like deprecating arrows, accompanied by pointed fingers and whispered condemnations.

He recognized this scene; he had witnessed it before. However, he had not been the one at the center. It was not his role to be in that position. He was supposed to be on the side—the advocate, not the defendant. His gaze swept around in search of someone to speak for him, yet the space where he had stood with Howard, Luxa, and Stellovet remained vacant.

Henry's mouth gaped open in a silent scream of protest, yet no sound escaped him. Though not physically restrained, he felt immobilized, unable to move or even divert his eye. The overwhelming force of the nameless mass of gazes sapped his strength, rendering him more defenseless than he had felt in ages. He battled the tears valiantly, refusing to succumb to weakness. He was not weak. He was not . . . not . . . meant to be here . . . He did not belong here. Not here, not . . .

His ears filled with the collective uproar emitted by the mass of faceless people encircling him. Had they drawn closer? He wished to raise his hands and cup his ears, but he could not move. The wail grew louder and louder; soon it permeated every fiber of his, and as a last resort, Henry opened his mouth to scream himself, to overpower the piercing, deafening, silent accusation. Just when he thought his eardrums would burst, he suddenly jolted awake.

His eye flew open, and he sat upright, surveying his surroundings . . . and there was Thanatos, who must have been the one to shake him awake. "You seemed to be having a nightmare," his bond mumbled, and Henry slumped back with a sigh.

His eye fell shut, and as he focused, he heard the waves break below. The glow extended all the way to the cave, bathing it in a soft, comforting light. For how long had he slept? It was impossible to tell, but perhaps a day or so had elapsed since they had departed from the Fount. They had found refuge in this cave by the waterway, a few hours' flight from the city.

Something about being in such an environment felt so familiar yet Henry was too tired to bother digging in his memory. "It was . . ." He frowned, feeling a shiver slither down his spine and settle in his core at the memory of the nightmarish images. "It . . ."

"It was?"

"Not like before."

At first, he had fallen, plummeted into a black abyss. Then, he had waded through an endless sea of blood. Then flailed in the dark—blind, deaf, and alone. He forced the image of Thanatos watching him drown from beyond the ice back into his head. But this . . . he wrapped his arms around himself. This was . . . something new.

Though Thanatos remained silent, Henry sensed him by his side and comprehended the implicit offer. Without opening his eye, he began to recount the dream, making an effort to convey it as precisely as possible while not succumbing to his own growing trembling. Thanatos remained silent throughout, yet inched closer with every sentence.

"Why . . . where did this stem from? What is its significance?" Henry groaned and buried his face in his hands.

"You know where it stems from."

"No."

"Something has been wrong ever since we departed from the Fount," continued Thanatos undauntedly. "Something relating to—"