Every single muscle in my body aches like I haven't moved in weeks, and the gentle rush of water threatens to lull me back to sleep, but I lift my heavy eyelids. My gaze wanders over the never-ending stretch of glossy black, and the beautiful baroque design reflecting from its surface. I trace the swirls of leaves until I reach a combined sun and moon adorned with a crown—the LeFur family crest. My heart drums against my ribs as my last moments of consciousness come rushing back to me.
The Electro in the cells electrocuted me.
It takes every ounce of my strength to slide my hands under my chest and push up from the ground. A long string of drool runs from my mouth to the shiny onyx floor, and my hair hangs haphazardly in a ponytail, with strands covering my face. I hold myself still, waiting for the room to stop spinning before running the back of my hand over my mouth.
"Not very becoming of a future queen, is she?" says a woman with a smoky voice.
Laughter erupts around me, and I brush the hair away from my face. Rows of people line the aisle I lay in. They wear extravagant clothes of feathers, lace, and silks, with their hair in elaborate braids or stiffly coiffed. Vibrant colors and outrageously long lashes accentuate their eyes, and their lips are over embellished in every imaginable shade. I squint against the sparkle of their jewels and stagger to my feet.
Before me stands a wide staircase, which breaks off in two. The steps curve upward around a dais and in the middle sits an enormous jewel encrusted throne with a chained man perched next to it.
"Papa," I say, rushing forward.
Several burly Stigian warriors block my path, glaring at me with dark, menacing eyes. I have little fear for them, just an all-consuming hatred. I beat my fists against the metal plates over their chests as tears and snot trail down my face. It doesn't matter what it takes. I will fight each of them to get to the throne.
Chains rattle and a gritty low voice says, "Stop, Raelle."
My arms stop mid-punch and focus on my father.
With his head bowed and shoulders slumped, he lifts his gaze, but the expression on his bearded face remains lifeless. He sits on a wooden stool too small for his long frame, dressed in his old formal military garb. The uniform has seen better days, frayed at the bottom and around the sleeve, and it is accessorized with an iron shackle encircling his neck. It tethers him to the bottom of the throne with a thick chain connected to his collar. Esmeray has beaten him into a mere fragment of the man he used to be.
"Now Raelle, you have already caused quite a stir in my kingdom. You will act civilized within my court or I'll have no choice but to send you to the cells until Micah can retrieve you."
I lift my gaze to the second landing above the dais. Esmeray stands before a waterfall flowing down from the arched ceiling. Under the stream is a marble statue of herself scantily clad, guarding over the entire room like she alone can grant everyone here their deepest desires. They many believe just that, but I know better.
I narrow my eyes and square my shoulders. "My newly weaponized army has already infiltrated your walls. You will let my father and me go or the casualties you'll face will be great. And Statera forbid you look like the weaker ruler to your pretty puppets."
"Your army fled almost as soon as you were captured."
My heart falls to the deep recesses of my stomach. They drew back and left me to fend for myself. Why would they do that when they had a choice? They vowed to rescue my father, and without them, I'm powerless against the Stigian queen.
Esmeray cocks her hips and places her hand over it. "And just a friendly reminder before you get any more violent thoughts in that pretty head, you are on sacred ground inside this place. Harm me while in the sanctuary and your crown is as good as gone. Along with the wards protecting your people from my warriors dragging them out of their land will fall. The Statera doesn't look kindly upon bloodshed on its floor."
"I know," I say through gritted teeth.
"Good."
The Stigian queen removes the necklace from around her neck. The orange and red stone hangs from the chain and glints with the rays of sun beaming through the enormous arched windows on either side of the waterfall. She saunters to the statue, the ruffled skirt of her emerald silk and lace dress swaying with her hips. With the utmost care, she places the Posseda in her statue's cupped palms, and nods to the warrior standing at the base. They pull a lever on the wall and the sculpture raises its hands above its head and into the rushing water.
"You awoke just in time, princess. My court was about to amplify their gifts." Esmeray descends the steps and takes her seat on the throne. She looks out over the crowd and gestures for her people to come forward.
Like a choreographed dance, the Stigian form two lines, and in pairs, they bow at the bottom of the dais before ascending the steps and climbing the staircase before them. The person to the right extends their hands under the water flowing over the Posseda and places their drenched palms to the cheeks of their pair on the left.
Even if I had not read Micah's journal and understood how to siphon another's gift, the faces of the two parties explain it all. At the moment, a Khiros' hand touches their Cyffred's chest, their eyes roll back in their head and lips part with a blissful grin. The addition of power is clearly euphoric for those siphoning. The same can't be said for the Cyffreds. They go limp—their heads loll to the side and some fall to their knees, too weak to stand any longer.
My stomach churns, and my tongue thickens as I take deep breaths to ward away the sickness my body wants to expel. Although the Statera sent the Pliris ruler this power, it is unnatural. The Cyffreds may give their gift freely, but it is under false pretenses. How many of them already realize this isn't right, but it terrifies them to refuse this ritual?
I return my attention to Esmeray. But the sight of her doesn't help. She strokes my father's hair like he is a well-behaved pet while watching my disgust. Her repulsive actions remind me of the reason I'm here.
I clear my throat to fight past my nausea and say, "I have what you want, and I'm willing to exchange it for my father."
The chain hanging from around his neck rattles as he jerks his head up, flinging away the greasy strands of salt and pepper hair from his face. Finally, there is a hint of emotion in his eyes. A part of me thought no matter the outcome of today, I'd never see that spark in him again. I feared the compassionate and lively man who loved me unconditionally had vanished.
His fingers move between his knees, saying in sign language: let me go.
I sign back no.
The respect and love I have for my father is endless, but I will not be the obedient daughter. Not in this moment, not until he is safely home.
Esmeray leans forward on her throne, her lush black hair swaying with the movement. The lids of her angular eyes drop, and her burgundy lips lift at the corners into a wicked grin. "And what is it you think I want, Princess?"
"The Eporri."
The queen snaps her fingers, and her warriors move away from me, leaving nothing between us but a few steps. She examines me with a critical eye and stoic expression. A dull ache spreads throughout my head like fingers probing at my mind. They flip through each emotion and memory, searching for the truth. The invasiveness of her gift making me feel sick again.
"I heard you tell Micah you want back what he stole, and I know when he left Stigian, he took the other Sacred Gift," I say louder than I intended, wanting her to retreat from my mind.
Esmeray shoves my father's head to the side and stands. She clasps her hands behind her back and walks the width of the dais. Several seconds pass as she watches the last of her court use the Posseda to drain the Cyffreds of their gift. Every passing second heightens my anxiety. Will she bargain with me, or will she chain me next to my father?
Like she has forgotten my presence, she says, "The Eporri does belong here; this is its rightful home. And the Statera knows I've missed playing with the power it holds, but what use is it to my people? I harbor the Sacred Gift which benefits us all." She pivots in my direction and cocks a brow. "Although it is a fantastic trinket, don't you think it's more beneficial to a Cyffred queen? It puts you on equal ground with me, Raelle."
I release a long breath. "It is and I'm willing to hand it over if you promise before the Statera to release my father and let me go once you have it."
The queen's harmonious laugher feels the sanctuary, sending a chill down my spine. "I don't think you are in a position to make bargains. You're powerless to harm me, and your mighty army with their new armor has abandoned you." She taps a slender finger to her red lips. "Now that I think about it, that may have been my fault. It turns out not all in your army are loyal to your king. Maybe you should hold on to the gift you took from my brother. It sounds like you're going to need it."
My legs tremble and my fear bubbles up inside me, making it difficult to catch my breath. Not only did the initial plan fail, but so has my wildcard. I didn't want to give her the Eporri and place my people at a disadvantage, but I've run out of options. The stone in my leg is all I have of any worth. She must take it.
"No, please," I say, drawing Greer's dagger from my boot and falling to my knees. "Take the Eporri and give me my father." I claw at the scale-like metal protecting my legs, looking for a way to wedge my blade between and slice open my outer thigh. I will saw off my entire leg before I leave without the man I came to rescue.
Tears stream down my face and pure chaos bombards my senses—rattling chains, bellowing voices, and uncontrollable sobs. I have to make the trade, I must.
"Silence!" Esmeray's command vibrates through my body and the clamoring stops.
I lower the knife and stare up at her.
The beautiful sharp lines of her face soften, and her eyes radiate what I can only describe as pity. With a tender tone, she says, "Don't you understand, naive girl, you already brought me what I want."
"Me," I whisper.
"No." She laughs and steps closer to the edge of the dais. "The next heir to the Stigian crown."
Confusion washes over me, and I whip my head back and forth, looking for anything to make sense of her words. How did I bring the heir here? I don't even know who she chose to one day take her place.
A dark form steps out from an archway at the side of the sanctuary.
My jaw goes slack, the dagger slips from my grip, and his name breathlessly leaves my lips. "Kyron."
Without a glance spared in my direction, he moves past me. The soles of his boots tap against the floor, matching the beat of my racing heart. He scales the dais' steps and stands next to Esmeray. He looks as if he belongs at her side, wearing black tailored trousers and a matching jacket with golden embellishments. Esmeray takes his hand and beams at him with pride. He reverently bows his head, and when he lifts it, his black eyes meet mine.
Kyron is the future king of Stigian.