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“That sounds like quite a mission, My King,” I state in my most respectful tone. “It would be an honor to execute it on your behalf.”
The king claps his extra hands together, and it echoes throughout the chambers. He is far more animated than I remember as a young demon, which, for whatever reason, makes him more irritating. But I do my best to hide my disappointment, munching at the snacks, although I feel I have completely lost my appetite.
“Utterly wonderful,” he proclaims, holding the goblet in the air. “Here is to you, your services as my head Constable, for years of loyal service, and the approaching return of Aloysius's successor."
I smile, my face beginning to ache, and clink my goblet against the king’s. He blasts the rest of his beverage down and snaps with his fingers at the servant to refill them.
“Out of curiosity,” I begin, feeling a little bold. “My King, may I inquire as to why you selected me for such an honorary errand?”
I hope he doesn’t detect the sarcasm in my voice, and alas, he is too oblivious to notice any and every affront. He continues to smile, sugaring and selecting his words in the way only royalty knows how.
“Your position here on Galmoleth is of vital importance,” the king begins, animated and confident. “I required someone to partake in this task who wouldn’t, shall we say, cross any lines not afforded to them upon birth.”
The river of lava rises again in my bones, and I bristle at the implication of my low-born status. But I don’t show it, can’t show it, and smile like a good little ur’gin pup, holding my goblet once more in the air to be clinked.
“Here is to the mission of finding Aloysius's successor,” I remark, my arms feeling numb, holding the goblet in the air.
“That is a good lad!” he rejoices and cackles once more.
I spend a few more minutes with the king until another messenger arrives to whisper in his ear. It is clear that the king is half in the bag, but none of that matters. He waves the messenger away and thanks me again for my unwavering loyalty.
“The successor is located within the isle of the minotaur,” the king informs me before I depart. “I trust you will have no issue with that.”
Despite my disappointment at the absorption of growing inflammatory insults, the sound of bucking heads with a minotaur gets my heart going. I promise the king he will not be disappointed.
THREE
LANA
I somehow managed to scrape through the darkness like a bug crawling up from the depths of a mountain. As I blink my eyes open, the first thing I see is the dim sunset shade of the tent flapping overhead. My body slowly becomes aware I am laying on a cot.
I groan as I try to rise instinctively, but Sheryl is there to soothe me.
“Shh, Lana, take it easy,” she mutters. “Don’t get up yet. Relax and center yourself.”
In a flood of wretched realization, the memory of how I had ended up in this strange and somber place comes at me all at once.
“Sheryl, what the fuck ….” I whisper, wide-eyed, my eyes glaring down into the palm of my right hand.
It hadn’t been a terrible nightmare. It had all been real. As real as the pain scorching through my skin, which had initially been unrelenting but has dulled to the point of a numb stump. However, looking at it, the way the edges of the coin had imprinted deep into me, flecks of dry skin curling inward, made me want to retch.
Acid rises in my gut, and I gag. Sheryl, the loyal companion that she often is to a lonely soul such as me, pulls a bucket from under the cot. She rubs my back and whispers reassurances, like a mother taking care of their sick child.
“It’s okay, Lana. It’s okay,” she murmured. “We’re going to figure all this out.”
I retched a few times, but only a few long strings of saliva came out. I tried to calm down with deep breathing, the shock of the unseemly sight of the coin embedded deep into my skin slowly receding.
“Where are we?” I mutter, gripping the bucket still. “What is happening to me, Sheryl?”
Sheryl continues to rub my back and gives me straightforward answers, which she knows I prefer.
“My aunt knows a mage,” she replies quickly. “He is a dark elf who says he knows about the coin and can help us get rid of it.”
My stomach stirred again, but this time with the apprehension of who exactly we were laying our trust in.
“A dark elf?” I scoff, still feeling a little sickly. “Sheryl, you know that isn’t the greatest idea ….”
Before she can respond, the mage enters the hut. He is hooded, and unlike the person, or thing, or whatever the fuck it was that gave me the coin initially, he is clearly a dark elf and does nothing to conceal it.
