Corvus hesitated briefly at the heavy cell door, steeling himself. A mixture of guilt and determination churned within him, but duty had always been heavier than his own comfort.
“This is your cell. I’m sorry that I can’t make it more comfortable, but in a show of clemency, you have a proper pillow and blankets, at least. I am to be your primary guard.” Sevens addressed the young woman standing before him. The anger that lit up her eyes and drew color to her cheeks was fading.
She slumped where she waited, expression dead, shock setting in.
This bothered him. But why? She was just another prisoner.
When she did not move, he pressed one hand to her back, between her shoulder blades. He pushed gently enough that she did not shuffle forward, but with enough force that she turned and glared at him.
She needed the fire that had burned in her eyes moments before, but not so much that she would wear herself out.
Again, why do I care? He asked himself, then dismissed the thought entirely.
Emrhys sighed, the weariest and most frustrated sound Corvus had ever heard. She stepped into her cell, not turning around when Corvus secured the barred door that locked her in. He pressed his hand to the lock mechanism and whispered a spell-word under his breath. Something buzzed and fizzed and a prickling shock jabbed his hand. A tiny flash of sickly green leaped from the lock, then a wave of chill darkness washed through the air.
“What the hells?” The prisoner’s shrill voice echoed from inside the cell.
Corvus pressed his hands to his ears, but it didn’t help. The dark power pulsed over him in waves, blurring the air around the cell like a heat mirage, but deadly cold.
“I… do not… know.” The words fell haltingly, sludgy and slurred, from his tongue.
He stood there for what felt like an hour, stomach twisting in nausea, sweat trickling down his back. After Source knew how long, the agony faded to a dull sickness that beat along with his heart.
“Wards. They are anti-magic wards,” Emrhys spoke again into the abrupt quiet, voice trembling.
“I was merely locking the door. I didn’t know that would happen. That was…” He paused, unsure of himself. Nothing shook him. Nothing ever affected him like that.
“Terrible? And it is likely our life now, because they completely covered the bars in warding spells.” She stood by her cot, staring dully at the cell’s back wall.
“I’m sorry,” Corvus said. No other words came to mind. Only a dull ache in his chest, new and horrible.
“As am I,” Emrhys murmured, not looking at him. She slid her feet out of her shoes in slow, measured movements, then curled up, facing pointedly away from him, on the cot beneath the threadbare bedding. “Sorrier than I could say.”
—
Emrhys, against all expectations and odds, slept. Though it was a shivering and restless sleep filled with nightmares of oily black waves, pitching and churning. A storm-surge of evil magic loomed on the horizon, threatening to engulf the tiny boat she sheltered in, and she screamed. Hoarse, keening, desperate, the scream tore from her throat only to be lost in the nothingness.
“Emrhys. Emrhys, wake up.”
Storms did not speak. This was not from the void.
“You were crying out,” the voice sounded again.
Emrhys sat upright, blinking in the semi-darkness. Highguard Sevens stood outside of her cell, his golden cat’s eyes trained on her in an unreadable gaze.
“Nightmares,” she muttered through chattering teeth.
“I would imagine so,” Sevens replied softly. “This magic seems to beg them, and I’m not even sleeping.”
Emrhys shivered. Something about those words seemed both familiar and forever far away. Anti-magic wards like these only affected people who possessed dangerous aethermagic, or those affected by transformative spells. That’s what she’d been taught, anyway.
Was Highguard Sevens feeling the effects, too?
“I don’t want to sleep right now. I can’t.” She tucked the blanket under her chin and sighed. Why was she talking to this man standing like a death-reaper outside her cell?
Because he is there. And if I don’t talk, I’ll hear those horrible waves again…
“Do they let guards like you celebrate Meltmoon?” she asked, turning to face him, her back resting against the chilly stone wall.
He tilted his head, reminding Emrhys of a greyhawk stalking its prey. “The general gives some soldiers leave so that they may join their families to celebrate.”
“And not you?” Her curiosity surprised her.
“My duties do not allow leaves of absence. Not that I have family to visit.”
“Oh.” Emrhys bit her lip in sudden embarrassment. “I’m sorry,” she added, looking away.
“Do not be sorry. I’m at least grateful to have this assignment here with you,” he said.
Emrhys glanced back up, her curiosity again getting the better of her. Was that a hint of a smile ghosting over his face?
“Such flattery. I’ve never been told that my company has a pleasant effect.” She let her accustomed wry humor take over, softening the utter horror of the night, of everything.
“Then you have been lied to,” Corvus replied after a brief pause. This time, his lips twitched up at the corners before fading back to his impassive mask.
“You truly flatter me. Please continue. And if you’d like, I can tell you all about a time when flattery backfired horribly. It’s a good story, I promise.” She offered a conspiratorial grin, cheeks heating at her audacity.
“I think I might enjoy stories. At least, I would like to try, since I’ve never been told any I can remember,” he replied, strangely solemn. Emrhys didn’t hear his footfalls, but suddenly he was closer, only inches from the bars. How did he move so silently? And was he being serious about never hearing stories?
Who was this man?
“Then settle in, because it’s a long one. It all started the night of the Dominion Day cotillion hosted by Sir and Lady Gray, and a zalith that had gotten into a trough of fermented apples…”
The words spilled from her and before she realized it, the noise of nightmare oceans and the void seemed far, far away.
Lizzie Sinclaire 