Prompted Story Snippets

Secrets in Hidden Passageways

The rumbling of the bass drums echoed throughout the Great Hall. The tiny flames of candles swaying on bejeweled chandeliers cast flickering shadows over the sides of the room. The people milling around below the burning wax didn't look all that pleased to still be there.

This did include one young Duchess, who had little to no patience for the long traditions of her king. Syriaca valued the old ways, like most everyone else, but wasn't really keen on the more archaic aspects.

She sighed, turning around to face the windows set deep in the stone walls. Stepping away from the crowds felt like a breath of fresh air was finally entering her lungs. The pristine gardens below calmed her nerves, but their unnaturally geometric patterns caused a lump to form in her throat.

A hand set itself on Syriaca's shoulder, light as a feather. Syriaca shook it off, focusing her gaze on the rose gardens in the distance. Somewhere in the back of her mind, she heard an amused huff, before getting spun around to face her new companion.

"Good to see you here, Ria."

"Igneous, I told you not to call me that." Syriaca blinked furiously, sweeping her eyes across the room. "And I know that you weren't invited to the banquet. Do you have business here?"

"You know me, Ria. Always working." The figure chuckled, raising one slim hand to place a finger on their lips. "Not today though. Thought I'd drop by for a visit."

"Igneous, not to be rude, but you could have visited me another time. One with, ah, significantly less security." 

Igneous nodded, quirking up one side of their mouth in a wicked smirk. Syriaca inwardly sighed, making sure that she didn't break her latest court mask. She smoothed out a wrinkle in her skirt, letting her fingers tangle in the rough fabric.

"Come on now. You know that no amount of security could stop me." Igneous rolled their eyes before gesturing at a corner not too far off. "Shall we escape the crowd, My Lady?"

"No matter how many times I can convince you to say it, the title still doesn't feel right." Syriaca took her hand, letting herself get pulled away from the window. Igneous put their free hand against one of the decorative markings in the stonework.

The stone started to change color, turning an oddly bright shade not unlike cherry red. The rest of the wall hummed slightly, reforming hollow corners into an open doorway that was still hidden from the rest of the hall.

"After you." Syriaca stepped into the tunnel, casting a careful eye around the old structure.

"Should I be concerned that you know of the secret passageways that run throughout the castle?"

"This is my job, Ria. I'd've been caught a hundred times over if I didn't." Igneous flicked a hand at the entrance to the tunnel, pulling it shut behind the duo. "Could you do the thing again?"

Syriaca let out a groan, raising one hand to an alcove tucked into the wall. "For once, Merica, could you not call it the thing?" She dug her fingers into the dirt of the alcove, feeling the dormant seeds spring to life. 

They unfurled without the need for water or light, vines twining their way across the tunnel walls in an instant. Tiny blooms popped into existence, each one glowing like a tea light. The mixture of blue and purple lights cast dramatic shadows over narrow tunnel.

Mercia had a bright grin on her face, having missed watching Syriaca in action. The girl in question turned back to her less-than-legal friend, narrowing her eyes.

"Alright Mercia, what are you actually doing here?"

"Can't a girl just visit an old friend?" Syriaca rolled her eyes, waving her free hand dismissively.

"Not when the friend is actually a high-ranking member of the king's court. Especially not when the girl is a teenage assassin."

"Actually 20 now, Ria."

"Sorry. When the girl was a teenage assassin. Happy?"

"I'm not and you know it." Mercia folded in on herself, looking pale in the cool-toned lights. Syriaca closed her mouth, looking closer at her friend.

Mercia was usually paler than she was, but right now she could probably pass for one of the night-folk. Her unnaturally light silver eyes were more dull than Syriaca had ever seen them. Her usual getup wasn't fitting her as well as it used to. Some parts looked like they were wet.

And with Mercia's job, wet clothing was never a good thing.

"Mercia."

"Mhm..?"

"Don't lie to me. Are you hurt?"

"It's not as bad as you think it is!" Famous last words. Syriaca pushed the vines further across the tunnel, making it brighten up even more. Mercia winced at the light, shuffling slightly. 

Syriaca pulled a roll of bandages out from somewhere within her skirts, pulling the outer layer of Mercia's outfit off. She almost sheepishly pointed at her ribs, where a layer of white bandages had been turned crimson. 

"Cia. If you're hurt, then you tell me. I can't help you if I don't know I need to."

"I get it, Ria."

"You shouldn't have blocked me off." Syriaca scolded, wrapping Mercia's ribs with practiced ease. "We could've gone straight to somewhere safe if you just let me in sometimes."

"Ria, trust me. You really don't want to feel this."

"Even so. If you aren't telling me what hurts then I'm going to have to find out for myself." 

Mercia let out a shallow sigh, slowly opening the floodgates that had kept everything back. Syriaca braced herself for the wave of pain and emotions.

She'd needed it.

A rush of splintering pain settled over her ribcage, along with more minor spots along her lower legs. A small headache made its way around her skull before settling along the side of her head. The amount of guilt and fear making its way through her system made Syriaca want to cry, but she had to keep focused. 

She tied off the bandages, tucking whatever was left of the role into her skirts. Mercia picked up her jacket, tying it back around her shoulders. 

"They want me to kill the king."

"I know." Syriaca had known the second she'd felt that hand on her shoulder. 

Mercia was one of their deadliest assassins. Her ability to manipulate stone made her a formidable opponent at best and a horrifying weapon at worst. Syriaca was just lucky they hadn't picked her all those years ago.

"Are you going to stop me?" Syriaca enveloped Mercia in an embrace, holding her as tight as she dared. 

"You know I can't."

"Then you have to run."

"I am not going to leave you."

"If you ever cared about me, then you'd run, Ria." Mercia pulled free from the hug and held Syriaca's face in her palms. "If I fail, they'll kill you as punishment. I'm too useful to die."

"Cia, can't we-"

"No."

"Alright then." Syriaca words were no louder than a whisper, but they echoed in the narrow hallway. "I'll run where they can never find me. Where we said we'd go."

Mercia pressed a kiss to Syriaca's forehead, trying not to burst into tears.

The flowers along the walls started to wink out of existence, the vines retreating back to the alcove. Syriaca bit her lip before turning to the dark end of the tunnel.

Behind her, she could hear Mercia adopting her mantle of Igneous again. They set out down the hall, forming a wickedly sharp blade out of one of their pockets.

Just as always, there was work to be done.

And a single tear was all that Syriaca would leave in her wake.