Daed
Before her.The stone presses cold beneath my knees, hard enough to bite through the fabric of my leathers. My fists grind against my thighs as smoke drifts from me in restless wisps, curling with every inhale, every exhale, wreathing around me as the cobalt circle of symbols etched into the stone pulses faintly.
“Is this the debt to be paid?” I murmur. “Is it time?”
A hand brushes my shoulder, pale, skeletal, dripping with jewels.
“Yes, Daedalus,” Lanneth says, her voice coiling like a pit of serpents. “Our master hungers, and our people weaken. When he feasts, so shall all Mordorin. Your house will rise again, reborn, stronger than ever.”
I roll my shoulders, the weight in my chest refusing to lift. “Must I do it?”
She laughs lightly, but even a sound supposed to carry joy curdles when it comes from her. “Of course not, sweet boy. Leave that to me. I will not sully your hands. All you need do is take your wife to bed and provide an heir for House Mordorin. When all is done, you will have a precious child, and the Father Below will have his meal.”
“And she does not know,” I ask, teeth clenched.
Lanneth drifts beyond the circle, her shimmering gown dragging over the stone. “No. Better she remain blind, lost in the euphoria of you, my prince. No need for terror while she is our guest.”
I shake my head, lips tight with anger and shame. “Why play games? Why not take her, rip what we need, then throw her aside until she’s… ripe?”
Silence follows, stretching long enough to echo my own vile words. Words I cannot unsay.
“You could do that?” Lanneth asks, voice curling around me like a whip. “You could destroy her, take her against her will, forget her, slaughter her when the time comes?”
I do not answer. My silence earns a snigger from her.
“No. Not even the cursed prince of Baev’kalath could do that,” she says. “She must be kept safe. Protected, and when the time comes, you must take her gently, with care and affection, even if you must feign it. A child conceived in kindness, a sacrifice given in love, will keep Gygarth’s belly full for centuries.”
Her heels tap against the stone. She comes to my back, hands pressing into my shoulders. “Just as it was with Queen Veloria.”
The words should cut me deeper, yet the blade of Lanneth’s voice shatters against the cold, black wall inside me, the barren place where love and hope come to die.
“What if I can’t…” The words slip out before I can stop them, ragged and desperate.
Lanneth exhales, her breath misting in the cold air. Her fingers dig into my leathers, nails sharp as needles, yet her touch is less felt than her words, less cruel than the truth she delivers.
“You have no choice, Daedalus,” she says. “You are his to command. Whether by your hand or his, the girl’s fate is sealed. All you can do is make it swift… less painful than it could be. Do you understand?”
I say nothing, and that in itself is defiance. Her fingers tighten, harder, sharper, a strength no brittle frame should wield and then I feel the darkness within me, deep and hungry, responding to her call, a malevolent whisper ready to force my hands to commit things… unspeakable, horrid, in his name.
My vision rolls black. I yield. To the darkness. To my master. To Gygarth.
“Yes. I understand.”
***
My vision tunnels as my throat cinches shut, vines grinding into flesh, thorns breaking skin until the taste of blood floods my mouth. My eyes bulge, pressure threatening to burst them from their sockets, my bones creaking as if they’ll snap. Still, I cling to her. Still, I fight. My voice tears from me in a ragged shred, nothing but broken glass dragged across stone.
“She’s… not dead,” I rasp, each word costing me blood. “But she needs your help. Kill me if you want, but save her first!”
Mirael heaves a breath as if she’s the one being strangled, rage pouring from her in waves. Her brown eyes blaze, glossy with fury, daring me to break my stare. I do not. I will not.
“Damn you,” I choke, my voice nothing but gravel. “You are wasting time!”
Her gaze flickers, against her will, to Amara, and in that moment, the stone mask cracks. The rage falters. Her lips part as if the thought itself carves a wound in her.
“She’s… alive?” Mirael whispers, her voice so faint it trembles.
I cannot answer. No air remains. My skin burns violet, stars exploding in my vision, and still I refuse to let her go. Tears leak from my eyes. Not weakness, not surrender, but defiance. Tears no one could ever drag from me but my love.
