"Every person has the power to change their fate if they are brave enough to fight for what they desire more than anything."
-Stephanie Garber, author of Caraval
The urge to eat the stew is a battle all its own. The temptation to take swig after hearty swig from the bowl of meaty broth, swimming with rich morsels of venison, mutton, beef, mushrooms, and fresh winter greens, is great enough to not heed the warning of the Scythe.
But what if her warning is true?
A voice, one of hope, a kind yet cruel hope echoes deep within my mind. Whispering past my walls of calm silence, ones I had built to resemble a small space of peace. To get through these last days of being confined in this cold cell, a silent witness to the wasting husks of prisoners held here for more than six turnings of the moon.
I do not trust either voice, not the hopeful one nor the ghost of the Scythe's. It was with great reluctance I had wooed and bedded the wolf princess. Though I knew her of noble reputation, and though her skin was soft and scent of summer rain pleasant, I longed for the arms of another. The gentle yet rough palms of Nyx, the friend I have stood by since we were young bumbling children hunting for sour sweet wild berries in the forest. She who I protected from the soldiers without a thought for myself, the remnants of her magic slowly ebbing from my body these past days, the only succor I've been given besides the grainy cups of water, and the feast stew.
The wooden bowl laid upon the floor shakes as the prisoner door above closes with a sharp slam. The shuffling of prisoners commences as several pairs of steps ushering down the stone stairwell.
All expect the trampling of soilders boots, the jangle of irons, the cruel hands of wolves made to bring pain and anguish.
The torches billow and gutter faintly, the shadows of four figures ushering down the hall. But to my ears, a strange sound happens. More than a dozen steps follow along with the turning of keys, the screeching of cell doors, the whispers of calm words, gruff orders and groans. My cell is last, this occurrence of the prison emptying can only mean on thing.
Nyx's plan to bring the Cunning Lord has worked.
The smile the sprouts falls as I see my first rescuer. A long dark haired man in midnight robes accompanied by the king's sister. A snarl twists anew on my lips, before dashing away as Amira appears with Ersa at her side, the silvery glint of keys catching my eye as my young cousin unblocks my cell.
"Orlan my friend!" Ersa cries, pushing past Amira and throwing herself at me, arms twining harshly about my neck. "You won't believe what's happened. The she wolves are going to overthrow the king and the Cunning Lord is whisking us out of the miserably place!"
Amira rushes in, hugging me as well while the other two look on from beyond the doorway. Two cunning gazes, one wolfish and one like a pleased cat lounging in the bright sun. My friend and cousin pull back, Amira helping me up as Ersa throws my robe and cloak round my shoulders.
"Time to leave little humans," the strange male starts, one coppery hand falling onto Helena's shoulder in an almost possessive way. "Best we get to my personal wagon bequeathed to me by my lord. The sooner we leave the city, the sooner to freedom for you lot and your friends."
Without a word he heads back toward the stairs, leaving us to follow him and Helena, along with the fleeing forms of several humans and wolf maids assisting the frailest of the prisoners. Up the curving stairs and through the castle halls, an air of urgency fills every fiber of my being and others.
YOU ARE READING
Forest of Lies
FantasyA thousand years past, the world was run by humankind. But it changed, when countries became embroiled in a war that gave the werewolves the opportunity, to recreate the earth in their own image. Now humans are the lowest on the food chain, little m...
