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Rycon tried to retort, but she held up a hand, dismissing him with disgust, before turning to face us.
“I know of The Flute you speak of. I have both good and bad news for you.” Amon sat forward and I felt as if my heart would beat right out of my chest.
“Come with me,” she stood abruptly and led us out through a different door than the one we had entered from. Outside, high up in the trees, she took us through a myriad of rope bridges made of wood and vine, until we came to another structure.
This one was much smaller than Rhyalla’s home. It was set well back from the hustle and bustle of the settlement. Inside, there was no furniture. The walls were painted with crude depictions of what looked like devils, but I imagined they were meant to be daemons.
In the center of the small room, hovered what looked like a black, wooden brick. It spun idly on an axis in midair. There was something strange about it. I felt like I had in the library. When I focused, I could hear whispers coming from inside the wooden brick, though I could not understand the words that they spoke. I realized it was a box, not a brick. There was something inside that was whispering to me, though there was no seal or clasp to open it.
“The good news is The Flute is here,” Rhyalla said, gesturing to the strange floating object. “The bad news is no one has been able to touch it since it was placed here by a daemon, over three hundred and sixty years ago.”
38
“Nothing can ever just be easy, can it?” Dossidian muttered, moving forward to examine the floating box. I noticed he did not try to touch it.
“Legend has it that only a true Rhoan, who is brutal but fair, will be able to pluck The Flute from its resting place.” Rhyalla continued. Kasha snorted, glaring at Rycon.
“Well I guess we’re fresh out of luck, our Rhoan is a mercenary who would rather drink and smoke than lead his people.” She said, Rhyalla nodded.
“He also will not be Rhoan for much longer. When Rycon abandoned us, his position was left open to be challenged. When I am mated tomorrow to K’yen, he will petition Olkuyrbe to allow him to challenge for the title of Rhoan.” She looked down her nose at her brother. “Neither of us have expected much of a fight from Rycon on this matter.”
“There is no way I am letting that piece of shit call himself Rhoan.” Rycon snapped. Rhyalla raised an eyebrow.
“And why not? You said yourself you have no interest in the position. Why not give it to someone who wants it? At least then our people will have someone who cares about them to lead them.” I could feel Rycon’s rage coursing through the bond.
It was violent and he was having difficulty controlling it. Knowing how little interest he seemed to have in being inhibited by responsibility, I felt the emotion was misplaced. I examined his anger more closely and realized, with a start, that the rage came from a deep-seated place of self-hatred and a sense of failure.
Rycon did care about his people. It was because he cared about them, that he had left them. He did not think himself worthy of the title of Rhoan. He blamed himself for his parent’s death.
Seeing how his sister had risen up in the face of their shared trauma, he felt she would be a better fit to lead. He had watched her rally the community and make quick and smart decisions for the greater good. He had seen her do all that, when he himself had been so engulfed with his feelings of shame, grief, and guilt, that he felt he would drown.
He had thought that by leaving and giving Rhyalla the space she needed to lead the Olkuyrbe leap, he was making a decision that would be best for his people. Now, she was mating with a shifter who he did not like and handing her crown over to him without a second thought.
I wasn’t sure if he was aware of the complex nature of the battle that was raging inside of him. All he could do was interpret these feelings as anger and rage. He turned and put his fist directly through one of the walls.
The wood splintered and lacerated his bare arm. I winced and blocked the pain from coming through the bond as he pulled his arm through the wood, before turning on his heel and leaving us standing there. We watched him go in silence for a moment before Kasha spoke.
“I’m going to go see if I can talk to him.” She said, before following him down the rope bridge. As she left, I sent a tendril of my aura to her, knocking politely on her barriers. She paused on the bridge.
‘What’s up?’ She asked into my mind. I sent her a summary of what I had just learned, and she glanced back at me, frowning.
‘How could he blame himself for his parent’s death? He was just a child.’
I shrugged. ‘Maybe you should ask him?’ I suggested.
She nodded. ‘Thanks,’ she smiled at me before continuing her pursuit.
“It would seem we have reached an impasse,” Amon observed, as he stepped forward to examine the floating box.
“I suppose once we get the box, we'll have to figure out how to open it. I don’t see a latch or anything,” Dossidian commented.
“There’s also something with writing on it inside, it's whispering to me.”
“Interesting,” Amon said, looking back at me, his mouth twitching up. “What’s it saying?”
I shrugged. “I don’t know. It's in a language I don’t understand; it has a bit of a melody to it, almost like a song.”
“Well, we can’t leave here without it.” Dossidian said, drawing one of his sabers from behind his back. “Should we just try to take it by force?”
