The Shadows of Starlight

The Punishment

Zyair Elway

I'm crying when the guards come for me, caught up in the labyrinth of horrors that is my mind, what if after what if after what if. The tears are wet on my cheeks, and I furiously wipe them away, shame curdling in my gut, the shackles on my wrists strikingly cold against my bruised skin.

The door of the cell swings open, and cold beams of light filter in, freeing me from the darkness, from the sickening anxiety that comes with being trapped, locked in. Relief cuts through me, sharp in its potency.

But short-lived nonetheless.

I've always been good at reading people. And the guards' faces tell me that something has happened. Something terrible, something unexpected.

Dread twists inside me. Along with fear. Acute, mind-numbing fear. It's what's plagued me for days now: fear for myself and fear for my friends and fear for the future.

As soon as the guards are within reach, I curl my chained hands into fists and throw myself at them, silently hoping that this time, they'll take mercy on me, that this time, they'll kill me.

They don't, of course. I'm much more valuable alive than dead. In normal circumstances, I would be touched by such a sentiment, but now I'm just terrified.

The guards seize me with ruthless efficiency. My wrists are twisted; my hands are forced down to my sides. I'm hauled out the door and into the dim, narrow corridors of the dungeon.

My anxiety only increases with every cell we pass, every pair of hands curled desperately around metal bars, every voice begging for water, just a sip. Where are these men taking me?

I close my eyes, squeeze them shut tight, and imagine that Kye is with me, that he's being dragged along beside me. Not because I want him here (never), but because it's easier to pretend that there's someone I need to keep from falling into an abyss of everlasting despair other than myself.

They're taking us for tea, obviously, Kye. I heard that the Dark King just loves such fragrant, floral flavors. Rumor has it he used to be an astounding baker before he resorted to more unsavory hobbies. What do you think we'll be served? I hope we'll be provided with sugar cubes to mix in; what's the point of drinking tea if it's bitter? It defeats all the pleasure of it, don't you think?

I decide to strike up a conversation with the guards currently manhandling me. "I've never been to Nieves before. Is it true that it gets so cold that your own breath can fog the air? Does snow look as beautiful as it does in paintings?"

I'm slapped so hard across the face that I see stars. My eyes water. My head spins. The fear tumbles back, ricocheting in ruthless waves.

I struggle to stay afloat, but in the end, I'm pulled under.

I drown.

~

The first person I see when I'm brought into what must be the throne room is Prince Vance. Like me, he's held by guards. Like me, he's just entering the room, being escorted inside through an ornamental set of doors directly across from the ones I've just stumbled through. His face is a palette of terror, colored with dread, brushed with disbelief, speckled with agony. His cobalt eyes are electric—raw, broken, and unhinged.

He saved my life two days ago.

I have an awful feeling that whatever is about to happen will make him regret it.

A sudden gasping sound has my head turning to the side. To Val.

Everything goes unnaturally still. My breath catches in my throat.