Page 21 of Prince of the Phantom Sky

Erick had been stuffed into his golden waistcoat and green jacket from the ball, Blake’s sodden jerkin peeking out from beneath. His jaw constantly worked as he peered at the guards blocking the exits, his ever-observant gaze gauging their surroundings. Agatha remained in her dirtied grey dress, matching her hair.

Kora tracked Agatha’s movements; the way she glanced around the space, without being able to see, and how her neck swivelled, catching minute sounds from oppressive guards. Not one resembled the tall, lanky frame belonging to Ivar. Agatha had revealed a new prophecy, entwined with Barron’s. Of a Dark One’s arrival, resulting in the destruction of this realm and the next.

Until darkness was all that remained.

Agatha refused to reveal where she’d found this prophecy, or who had told her. Only that it was real, and imminently so. Whoever this Dark One was, they would be worse than Barron. Destroying all life, and not just selective races. Throwing the islands—and Azaria—into eternal darkness.

None of it made any sense to Kora, and she hoped it was just empty stories. Who could be worse than Barron? He’d surpassed the Staghart family in record time for levels of tyranny. She brushed it off as tales told to keep people in line, to scare them and play into their enemy’s fantasies. But Barron had pinned his entire war on a fantasy, believing he was the next god of the world. Either way, it incensed her ire to stop him.

One life altering prophecy at a time, please.

Agatha rapidly blinked, her white eyes flaring as she sniffed the air. Her shackled knobbly hands tentatively reached out, probing the plates and crystal glasses placed before her. Golden candelabras cast a subtle glow from the stone walls. An unlit fireplace loomed behind Kora, and she shivered as damp moss invaded her senses.

A door in the far corner swung open, and Barron strode in, his sharp smile curved so wide it nearly reached his ears. His hair was tied up, the oily lengths cascading around his shoulders. Kora’s gut knotted as his gaze hungrily explored her body swathed in the gown. It sickened her. The sweeping neckline no longer clung to her, but sagged as her bones protruded. The skirts didn’t billow, but now drowned her withered frame.

Barron clicked his fingers, and tendrils of black detached from his body, weaving with a mind of their own, wrapping around Kora’s stomach and fastening her to the chair. Agatha gasped as she, too, was tied back, and Erick simply growled at the lingering band of magic across his torso.

A second click followed, and servants filed into the room, carrying golden platters of steaming spiced chicken, roasted vegetables, fluffy rice and buttered rolls, followed by pitchers of water and wine. Steam wafting from the platters placed on the table made Kora’s mouth water, and her stomach twisted, begging for food, begging for anything to fill the hole gnawing away inside.

Silk masks covered servants’ faces, reminding her of The Abandoned Barnacle. Kora jolted as she realised they mimicked the helmets the guards wore. Sweeping around their throats and mouths, a locked golden chain securing it over their heads.

An ember lit within Kora. They couldn’t speak. Barron had imprisoned their voices and hidden their identities. Many of them trembled where they stood, their gazes downcast and haunted. Bruises peppered their necks and arms, and some of the guards snickered at them.

They were scared. All of them were.

She paused as a servant’s steady hands filled her crystal glass with water. Kora’s gaze trailed up a slender pale arm before meeting pitch-dark eyes. Ivar’s hair was tousled, strands hanging around the silken muzzle he donned. He blinked twice at her, his jaw working, indicating the mask was loose around his throat.

How did he get here? The sharpness of his gaze suggested he hadn’t been successful in finding Theron as he slammed the crystal glass down a little too forcefully. The faintest stench of the sewers wafted off him as he retreated with his head bowed to blend into the shadows by the fireplace. His presence granted her comfort, knowing he had her back. Thankfully, Blake’s attention was drawn elsewhere so that he didn’t recognise Ivar.

Unfortunately, it was entirely focused on Kora.

With a signal from Barron, the quivering servants rapidly sped through the wooden doorway, away from the oddest dinner party Kora was sure she was about to experience. Only Ivar and a couple others remained to top up the feast.

Barron took his seat at the head of the table, casually lounging back in the chair as he swirled a goblet of wine. Shadows writhed around his head, mimicking a distasteful eight-pointed crown. He dragged a slow sip as they all watched him in silence. Kora’s stomach threatened to growl, to break the growing tension.

“Please, eat,” Barron ordered, gesturing to the table.

Kora shared a look with Erick. Was it poisoned? Was this a trap? None of them moved, and her grip bit into the armrests of the chair as her body cried out for food.

“Kora,” Barron purred, and she swallowed before meeting his darkened stare. “Please do have something, you’re wasting away.”

She tentatively reached for the glass of water and took a small sip before smiling at Barron. “There, see?”

Barron saccharinely smiled in return. “I’m not in the mood for games, pet.” Erick choked at the nickname, his clenched fists disappearing under the table.

“I’m not in the mood for being held prisoner, but we all can’t get what we want.” Something about Barron caused this side of her to surface, silver-tongued and sharp. Unlike the cresting wave of fear inside.

Those thunderstorms swirled in his eyes, flashing in delight. “Eat now, or they die.” He pointed to Erick and Agatha. Two guards approached behind them and drew their swords, placing them over their throats. Erick hissed as the blade nicked his skin, whilst Agatha released a tiny squeal, her blind eyes flittering around the room. A familiar ringing enveloped Kora’s ears, the air thickening, making it suddenly hard to breathe.

“No!” Kora lunged forward and her lungs compressed against the tightening band of Barron’s power. She clutched at her chest, glaring at him with such hatred she hoped he’d melt right there and then.

“You need to regain your strength,” Barron continued. “I need you at full power to either join me, or re-power the velesma. The choice is still yours.”

Blake appeared at Kora’s side and piled her plate up with various foods from the platters. Her stomach audibly growled, the sides gnawing at her so much she could vomit, and Barron’s smile returned.

“What about them?” Kora nodded to the others. “Can they eat?”

“No, this is all for you. You’re very important to me.” At Kora’s persistent pleading, Barron sighed. “They may have water.”