The Prisons of Magic

1 | The Cliff

His eyes were the same light brown, reflecting light even though there was none. He was as tall as Lucas would be if he were alive. The only difference was the single streak of white, carefully hidden in his curly, dark blond hair. That, and the vaguely familiar accent that did not match his face.

"This is impossible," she said.

"What is?"

"You look..." Her voice trailed off as large droplets of water fell on her head.

The storm had arrived.

"Let's take cover," suggested Jaxon.

Reluctantly, she followed him into a cave. She knew she shouldn't trust a random boy, but he had her brother's face. The rain filled her boots and drenched her hair, but she only felt an overwhelming numbness. How could they look so similar?

The calm way Jaxon peeled off his wet shirt only disturbed a small part of her. Lyra had to acknowledge that Jaxon and Lucas were two different people and this wasn't her brother in front of her, but she didn't want to. She wanted Lucas to be here, alive.

Lyra knew she should avert her gaze, but her eyes kept returning to Jaxon's bare skin. Whether it was the fat under his muscles that gave it away or the way he spoke, slowly and deliberately, as if he had rehearsed every word, Jaxon had nobility written all over him.

He should have noticed the way she sat in her wet clothes, unfazed by the cold and the blood dripping from her palm, but nobles were as ignorant as they were self-righteous. For Lyra, there was no escaping the part of her that was an orphan and a thief, but if Jaxon knew that, he'd be willing to throw her to the wolves.

"Well then," he said, "I'd really appreciate it if you said something sensible."

"I'm Lyra."

"Lyra what?"

Where was she supposed to get a surname from—the parents she never knew? "Just Lyra. Who are you?"

"Lord Jaxon Trist Richmond of Walbreck."

Walbreck. That explained the accent. How could someone she was supposed to hate have a face she loved?

Oblivious to her newfound anger, he continued, "What did you mean when you said you buried me?"

"I just—I'm good now."

He tilted his head to the left. His legs were stretched in front of him. Lucas would never sit like that; he would either cross his legs or crunch them up to his chest. Lucas would never keep his hands stiff in his lap; he would always fidget. Lucas wasn't alive, and Lyra was stuck with a false ghost.

"What were you doing at the edge?"

"Someone wants me dead." Lyra's tone was not unlike the one she would have used had Lucas asked her that question. She honed in on Jaxon's accent, focusing on the way he pronounced his vowels to remind herself this was not her brother.

"What did you do?"

"Nothing important," she said. When a guard considered her keyhole-shaped birthmark enough evidence to lock her away, Lyra broke a bottle over his head. Having lost her temper, she'd forgotten about his friends, all of whom promptly came out of their hiding spots. Unwilling to test her luck, Lyra made a run for it, only to be chased off the cliff. But Jaxon didn't need to know any of that.

"Oh! You hurt your hand when you fell, right? Here, I have bandages." Jaxon began to shuffle through a packed satchel.

Lyra tightened her lips. "Did you expect to fall?"

"Fall?"

"Down here."

He looked up to see her expression, then back down to hide his own. "I came down a few weeks ago."

"Why?" asked Lyra.

"Have you heard the story of the Prisons of Magic?"

Every rogue thought running through Lyra's head stopped. "The Prisons of Magic?" Once she said it out loud, the legend came back to her. "What about them?"

"I'm here to find the Prison of Mind."

"And do what? Fight the wielders?"

"If it should come to that." He spoke with a steady voice that didn't match the insanity of his ambitions.

"You're risking your life for a legend?"

"Is it still a legend if I know it's true?"

Lyra straightened herself. "Go on."

"That's it."

"That's it?" Lyra's eyebrows shot up. "You just know it's true?"

"I'm the Xalaber."

"What makes you say that?"

"I am." With every word, he became more dangerous.

Lyra scoffed. "You're crazy."

"No, I'm not."

"Where is it, then—the Prison?"

"Under the river."

Lyra glanced toward the mouth of the cave and listened to the crashing of the river's waves. It sounded exactly as any river would in such a storm, yet Jaxon was suggesting it hid magic. Not sure why she was still humoring him, Lyra said, "Even if that is the truth, why are you trusting me with it?"

"Are you not trustworthy?"

No, she was not trustworthy. She was guided by memories and grudges he would never understand. Still, Lyra only said, "I'm a stranger."

"Well, do you believe me?"

"What if I don't?"

"Then," said Jaxon, "I have nothing to worry about."

"And if I do?"

"If you can trust me, I can trust you, right?"

Lyra inhaled sharply, drumming her fingers on the grass. She didn't want to talk about this anymore, to be influenced into doing something she'd regret. He was a stranger, she told herself again, even though her heart said otherwise. She needed to look beyond his protruding ears and crooked teeth and focus on getting back home. "I doubt you just jumped and hoped for the best."

"I had rope, but I lost it."

Whether or not he was telling the truth—and she was inclined to believe he wasn't—Lyra would not be getting rope from him, which meant she had to make her own.

Holding out some bandages, Jaxon asked, "May I?"

"I'll do it myself."

"It will be difficult to bandage your right hand."

"I'm left-handed." Lyra glanced at him. "But I suppose I need two hands to tie a bandage."

He shifted to close the distance between them and cleared the blood on her arm with some water. Then, he wrapped the bandage around her arm, holding it in place.

When he wasn't speaking with his Walbreck accent and his white streak of hair was hidden in the dark, nothing differentiated him from Lucas.

Lyra closed her eyes and looked away, afraid such thoughts would send her into a hole she couldn't climb out of.

"I'll take first watch," she offered when she remembered she was stuck here for the night, her intentions all but selfless.

"There's nothing dangerous down here."

Except you. Still, she shrugged. "If you say so."

Lyra lay down and shut her eyes, but her body remained alert. Her hand closed around a sharp rock. It would have to do, at least till she found a better weapon.