The Realms of Thrice (Lesbian Fiction)

Chapter XV - What I Regret

“What about the demigod?” Kali finally asked after she’d became irked with both the ennui of the fire and of the silence.

“She’s falling into place as well. Soon enough she’ll be vulnerable.”

“And the council members?”

“That plan has been set into motion as well. As soon as the portals are opened, the members of the Council will meet in their respective Spheric Sanctums. Right where we want them.”

“And you’re sure our daughter and her companion no nothing of our plan?”

“It was not alluded to, my Queen. But I do not believe so. Did you discover the identity of our escapee?”

 “An urchin. A boy of no use to us. He was hauled away this morning,” she said as she waved him off in dismissal. “That is all, Supreme Councilor. You may take your leave.”

“My Queen,” he said bowing to her before leaving the room in silence.

●●●

The streets of Gravens were crowded this day as a stumbling fool dressed in filthy garb made his way to an obscure tavern on the outskirts of the city. The directions had been vague yet simple. Dress in the clothing provided, keep hood up, face concealed, and hands and receptors covered. Talk to no one, look at no one, and head toward the last room on the east side: room number thirteen. Knock thrice.

He had an idea who the mysterious letter came from, but the man who delivered the letter, well, he had not been expecting because it was no more than Darcy, Lord Tyron’s own servant.

So here he walked, through sludge, human filth, rot, all while not breaking his identity. The first sight of his hazel eyes or silver receptors would lead him to an instant flogging.

He walked into the tavern, ignoring the hushed whispers and headed for the east rooms. The hall was damp, musty, and dim. All the doors were shut leaving very little light into the corridor. A few loud suggestive moans seeped from their confines, leaving very little to the imagination of what transpired behind the doors. The sounds only reiterated the fact this was not an establishment he wished to frequent.

Door number thirteen appeared at the end to the right. He knocked thrice, and the door opened wide enough to allow for a short, heavyset man to squeeze through. The man inclined his head as an invitation for him to enter.

There, in the cramped room only large enough for a wooden cot and two standing adults, lay a motionless body covered in bloody wraps. The young lad’s head was beaten and swollen, almost unrecogniza—Ryker!

He looked up and saw his dear friend sitting on a corner stool. Tired and weary.

“By the Gods!” Kael exclaimed as he stared at the broken body. He threw back his hood as he reached forward and grasped a wrist with his fingers as he searched for life.

“I don’t think he’ll make it, sir.” Anders spoke as he lifted an abused flask to his mouth. “He’s been like this for days.”

“What happened to him?”

Anders shook his head and shrugged his shoulders. “I went out lookin’ for him later that night after we spoke. I found him like this. Somethin’ or someone found him before I did. He had no valuables on him, so I’m guessin’ he was beaten then looted.”

“Gods.”

Anders swallowed what remained of his alcohol and tossed the empty cup to the floor where it twirled on its bottom edge, before stopping upright. He pursed his lips in disgusted thought. “It’s takin’ too long, sir,” he began. “Somethin’s happened to them.”