Soulwoven: Exile

Epilogue

Epilogue

Six days after the destruction of Eldan City

A vibration ran through Quay's body.

He sat on a slab of unyielding stone, cross-legged and straight-backed, swimming deep in the darkness. Cold collars and chains of iron bit his ankles, his wrists, his neck.

He chose not to care about those things.

As often as he could, he left his body behind. Its scars and hurts existed elsewhere, scratches on the surface of the vessel that contained him, and of no more importance than that.

He felt warmth within the darkness, a tiny egg of light. He found it, swam into it, let it cover him, and knew peace. The world outside did not exist. The world outside did not exist. The world outside did not exi—

The vibration rumbled through him again.

He opened his eyes, the meditation broken. Pain flowed back in, along pathways carved by the awful things that had happened to him on the Folly of Man and in his imprisonment since. He shivered, did his best to fight off the hurt and keep hold of the warmth and light.

He could see, just a little. There was a sound. Voices, footsteps. Bright light flared in a stone corridor beyond iron bars. There were many of these subterranean prisons in the world. Too many, he realized now, and he suspected that those who buried people in them had little idea what they were doing.

He prepared to return to the light within himself. He could close his eyes, drift back into peace.

No, his mind whispered. Not this time.

There was something different in this visit from his jailors. A change in the steps. They were quick-paced, nervous, the breathing of the guard fast and frightened.

"Prince," a man's voice hissed. "Prince!"

Quay let his mind retake his body, felt the weight of his wrists on his knees, the tightness of his muscles. It hurt; he was sore in his hips and his ankles and his shoulders from the chains and the stone.

He shivered, memories gnawing at him like rats.

It was hard, living.

The light in the corridor illuminated his cell, a few feet by a few feet, a bit of straw, a bucket in the corner. Not much of a throne room for someone who'd been Prince of Eldan.

Beyond the bars, a disheveled man with a long, drawn face fidgeted. "Prince!" he hissed again. He darted a look over his shoulder, toward more light that came from down the hallway. "I have a message!"

No one had called Quay by his title in months.

Quay didn't respond except by rattling his chains slightly. He'd been keeping up the appearance of having lost his grip on reality since the Folly of Man. At first, it had been a way to diminish the likelihood of his captors hurting him—he'd wanted them to see him broken and think they'd done all they could. Now the threat had receded, but he still wore vacancy like a cloak. It was easier if his jailors thought his mind was gone.

Still. A message.

The guard darted another look down the hall. He tapped a small, folded piece of paper against the bars. "Quickly! From your cousin!"

Quay lifted his head. He could do that much without breaking the illusion.

"Misha! Of House Galeni!"

Misha. His cousin. His friend.

It could have been a trick. It could easily have been a trick. Aesith Lord Pendilon was more than clever enough to lure Quay out of his shell that way.

Quay eyed the guard. His uniform was old, but it fit well. The stains on the trousers matched the ones in the beard, which was real and greasy. His eyes were nervous and darting. Quay had seen him before.

If he was an actor and this was one of Aesith's schemes, the acting and the scheming were both very good.

Quay shuffled forward, held out his hand. Didn't speak. Didn't need to.

The paper dropped into it. The guard fled down the hallway. A door slammed.

There was still enough light to read by near the bars, if you were used to the darkness farther back in the cell.

Quay unfolded the note.

Quay,

I hope this finds you. This guard is known to me, and I believe he can be trusted. If not, I suspect Lord Aesith will do terrible things to me, and I take comfort in the knowledge that my sisters will find the man and tear his eyes from his skull.

The beginnings of a smile formed at the edges of Quay's mouth. That much would have been for the guard, in case he decided to open the note. An attempt to control the damage he could do if he betrayed her.

But it was also a way to prove her identity. The handwriting was difficult to recognize in the poor light, but the wit and the acid—those were Misha's, hard to fake, and even harder to know to fake for a man like Aesith Pendilon.

She was smart, Misha Galeni. Very smart.

The rest was hidden beneath another fold.

In truth, I suspect this correspondence is being watched, if not read. Aesith is a clever man and will find a way to use it against us, but there are things you need to know. Eldan City is in ruins. Ense Pendilon is missing. Your father is dead. I'm sorry.

The news of his father's death hurt, but not as badly as he'd expected it to. He'd known it was coming since the day he was taken. Had made his peace with it, as much as it was possible to.

Eldan City in ruins, though. That pain was deep. His nightmares made reality.

The dragon came, Quay. We were unprepared. The city needs you back. Your people need you back. When Aesith comes to you, and I believe he will, I want you to take him up on his offer, whatever it is. We can outmaneuver him, you and I. He is not invincible, and the loss of Ense and the appearance of the dragon will have unbalanced him.

A faint flutter of something stirred in Quay's heart. Hope, perhaps, after so long in the darkness without it.

I am here, Quay, with you. I learned things about Aesith and let him see it, until he had to make me disappear. As I hoped, he brought me to you. You were hard to find and it was the only way to get close.

Together, we will find a way out. Have faith. Be strong. I am with you.

Always,

your Willow

Willow. The name his brother had given her in their youth, for the way she moved and her incessant tickling.

Quay took a deep breath. The darkness of Aesith's dungeons was deep and cold. But even here, there was light.

Misha's. And his.

He tore the note into small pieces, put them in his mouth, swallowed. Aesith probably was aware of the correspondence, would be using it to coax Quay into motion again, would have some plan to employ him as a means by which to take or consolidate power.

But that plan could be subverted. All his life, Quay had been underestimated by those at court. He was small, not a great warrior or strategist, not charismatic like his brother had been. Aesith and the rest of the Seven looked at him and saw weakness and opportunity.

He had allies, however. In many places.

And that knowledge broke him free of the darkness,revealed him, and set in motion many things.