Kastali Dun

Claire's heart raced the moment she heard footsteps outside her cell. She shrank back into the corner. All this time she had waited, furious. Now she no longer wanted to leave the darkness of her familiar cage. An empty hopelessness settled over her, weighing heavily on her shoulders. In everyone's eyes she was already guilty. The Promise wouldn't let her argue otherwise. It trapped the answers, and there was only one person who could free them.

The heavy door creaked open. Guards beckoned her out. She hesitated.

The time had come to face the king.

Glancing once more around her cell, she moved forward in a trancelike state. If the guards noticed her internal struggle, they made no note of it. They led her through the keep at a quick pace. Numb, she hardly noticed the rich sculptures lining the corridors, or the decadent hangings on the walls. She did not admire the ornate architecture with its arched windows and vine-carved doors. Even less attention was paid to the passersby, who stopped to gawk and whisper.

A rough hand found her arm, forcing her to stop. Giant double doors towered above her like menacing trolls, barring her entry. She knew immediately that these led into the king's court. It was a mercy they were closed. Her facade of strength crumbled. She began trembling.

"Can I...can I have a moment?" she croaked, her voice little more than a whisper.

They nodded and stepped away several paces.

She looked down at herself, readjusting her clothes. She'd decided to wear the gown given to her by the Sprites. Compared to her jeans and T-shirt, it was the only suitable clothing for a king's court. She wanted to look her best.

When she looked back up at the doors, a fresh wave of nausea clenched her gut. She put a hand over her stomach, hoping she wouldn't be sick all over the floor.

"I can't do this," she whispered, too low for the guards to hear. She didn't have the fortitude to face the king. She glanced down the corridor. What would happen if she dodged the guards and took off? How far would she make it through the castle before they captured her?

Cyrus?

She wasn't sure why she called to him. He was dead, after all. But some impractical notion hinted at the a shared connection between them. Ever since her flight over Kastali Dun, a part of her had known that Cyrus was with her. She couldn't explain how. All she knew was she needed him now more than ever.

Cyrus, what do I do?

Her question was met with silence. Maybe she was being absurd to expect an estranged voice to answer. But he was her only life-line.

Cyrus, Please! I need you—

I am here.

She gasped. Emotion slammed into her like powerful waves against a rocky shoreline, sending mist and foam high into the air in a tumultuous crash of water. She exhaled and took several gasps of air. Her eyes stung. Was it really him? Was this Cyrus?

I am here. I will always be here.

It had been his voice...all this time? How had she missed that?

Even the best of us can neglect the most obvious signs. Be brave, Claire. You saved me, remember? You are stronger than you know.

She gulped down air. I want to be brave, she said, but I don't feel brave at all.

You are too hard on yourself.

Was she? Perhaps he was right, but at the moment, she felt like a coward. If she could, she would have run away and left this all behind.

I highly doubt that. A mental snort accompanied his words. He knew she wouldn't flee, even if the guards stepped aside. Deep down, she knew it too.

Tell me what to do?

You truly wish to know? he asked.

She nodded at the doorway, very aware that this silent conversation was certifiably insane.

You hold your head high and proceed. You have no other choice. You were meant to come here—to do this. Think of it as your destiny.

My...my destiny? Her frown deepened. Don't you think that's a little extreme?

Cyrus did not answer but from somewhere within, an unyielding confidence radiated through her like flames to paper. Her body burned hot as every fearful thought, every second guess, every misgiving was swallowed up, leaving her with courage and strength.

Was it Cyrus giving her the strength she needed? No, somehow she knew otherwise. This was the same courage she felt when a dragon fell from the sky. It was the same courage that urged her to save the human she found in its place. And it was the same courage she felt when she faced the Vodar wraiths on her front lawn the first time.

Cyrus was just exposing qualities she already possessed.

Never forget, Claire, that fear is a snare. Sometimes, a reminder of our strength is the best remedy to our struggles.

He was right. Taking a deep breath, she squared her shoulders and lifted her chin. Cyrus was with her. He would see her through this.

I will always be with you.

The guards resumed their position beside her. One of them rapped three times against the wooden doors with the butt of his spear. The echoing booms resounded. The doors immediately swung forward.

She gasped. Colors greeted her. Rainbows of colors, dancing like ballerinas upon every surface, casting beautiful patterns of light throughout a vast space. Multi-story stained-glass windows lined the walls. Her mouth fell open, taking it all in.

They are depictions of the famous battles of Rage, put in place by King Eymar, first of his name. The same King Eymar who built this great keep.

The hall was immense, with dark slate floors and thickly carved columns, gazing down upon her like proud giants. She took a deep breath, and then another. The heavy scent of wood greeted her like an old friend. The smell was familiar and comforting. For a moment she was back in Esterpine. Whatever goodness, whatever encouragement the hall was willing to give, she would take.

Harsh hands brought her back to reality. The guards were ready to lead her. She had no choice but to move forward. Radiating pride, she took one step, and then another. Dragonwall may not have known, but she did. Cyrus had saved them, and she was the one he chose.

"Stand back!" ordered the guards, pushing at the crowd. Their loud voices penetrated the throng of onlookers who pressed together to witness her entrance. In a single sweep they parted, leaving a wide space for her procession, but she could no longer move. Her feet were glued to the floor. There, at the end of the pathway, was Dragonwall's king.

His appearance matched what she already knew of him—he was powerful...and frightening. It showed in his posture. He sat comfortably on his throne, his elbows resting atop the armrests. His fingers were steepled in front of his mouth. This was a man who did not doubt his supremacy. He knew full well of the dominion he possessed.

She hated him even more for it.

"Move." A shove came from behind. She took a deep breath and proceeded forward, keeping her eyes fixed on the source of her unease. The first few steps were difficult, but with Cyrus's encouragement, each step became easier, until her confident strides had the guards huffing to keep up.

"Reyr, it seems you warned me of her beauty and stubbornness, but you forgot to warn me of her pride." She missed a step when the king's voice sounded in her mind. "She walks as though I am at her mercy, as if it is I who must answer to her, as if three days in a cell did nothing to wear her down."

"Yes, well...perhaps I forgot to mention that." It was wonderful to hear Reyr so clearly over the buzz of other Drengr constantly plaguing her. She gave no notice of the exchange and continued.

Reyr was there in front. So were Jovari, Koldis, and two more Shields she didn't recognize. They sat in elegantly carved chairs arranged at the base of the throne's dais, three to one side and three to the other. One was empty.

It was my place.

Reyr sat opposite the empty chair, closest to the throne on the other side. Sitting beside him were the two she did not know. Next to the empty chair on the other side sat Koldis and then Jovari.

When she briefly met his gaze, Koldis winked. She blinked, not quite sure she'd seen it. But yes, he had. Her heart lifted. The simple gesture meant a lot. Reyr, on the other hand, she refused to look at. She blamed him for her abandonment. He'd promised to speak sense into King Talon. A whole lot of good that did!

As she approached, the king's eyes followed her procession. They were intense, as if he could read her secrets. But not all of them. There was one she hoped he'd never discover.

She drew close to the dais and he moved his hands. She faltered. An inaudible gasp fell from her lips.

His face was covered in scars. She quickly schooled her features. A thimble of pity welled up inside of her. What kind of horrors had done such a thing? For a brief moment, compassion replaced her intense hatred.

She stopped at the base of the stairs and beheld him more closely. He was completely different than she imagined. She'd expected him to be old, perhaps a white-bearded man stooped with age. He was nothing of the sort.

Hiding behind his marred skin was a young face. She could see that he was once handsome, with a prominent forehead and heavy-set silver eyes. They glittered with flecks of gold. Beautiful as they were, his eyes did not overshadow the rest of him.

Was it difficult, she wondered, for his subjects to see past the mutilations that covered his face? The most noticeable ran diagonally from his right eyebrow to his lower jaw. She forced her gaze away to look at the rest of him.

His jet-black hair was thick and unruly, hardly tamed by the crown of gold atop his head. These two wrestled for power. Order versus chaos. The winner was clear. Yet the untidiness suited him, lending itself to his beast-like appearance.

The guards moved away, shattering the spell that held her captive by the king's appearance. She was instantly reminded of why she was here. She glanced around the hall, acutely aware of thousands of eyes upon her. Only one pair mattered, and these hadn't so much as blinked.

The king regarded her with a stony expression.

What had she expected? Kindness? A warm welcome? Perhaps some shred of compassion for all she had been through? No, it went deeper than that. She despised his judgement. Despised that he'd marked her as a traitor before ever meeting her.

Heat flooded her skin. Anger. She forced her body into motion and gave him the sloppiest bow she could muster, keeping her face upturned rather than lowering her gaze. Challenging him.

His expression briefly flashed from surprise to disdain. Soon enough it turned back to stone. Only his eyes betrayed him, glittering with anger. Good! She wanted him to know her behavior was intentional. The beast within was stirring and she'd just invited it out to play.

Be careful when crossing a black dragon. Hate him or not, he is still the king.

Without being invited to rise, she stood from her bow. Whispers swept through the hall. Good, let them be appalled. Let them hate the way she acted, the way she carried herself, the way she dressed like a Sprite, an outsider, someone they did not understand. She no longer cared what they thought. This kingdom was not her kingdom. This king was not her king.

"Silence!" a voice called. A man moved forward from behind the dais. He held a quarterstaff, which he rapped several times on the slate floor. His old age gave him a slight stoop. "Silence in the court," he cried again. "I am the steward and I demand silence!" A hush fell.

The steward's eyes found hers. He unrolled a scroll and began reading. "To the woman, Claire. You come before the king and court this day to answer for your crimes against Dragonwall. How do you plead?"

She cleared her throat and lifted her voice. "I plead not guilty."

The crowd erupted into more speculative whispers.

"Siiilence," the steward cried, drawing out the word until it snuffed out all else. When his gaze returned to her, he continued. "Not guilty, you say? The Council disagrees with you on all charg—"

"What charges would those be?" Her voice turned sickeningly sweet.

This charade was so beneath her, so she humored him as if he were a child. The steward's face turned red. He glanced up at the king, waiting for some form of punishment. The king merely nodded, inviting him to continue.

"Firstly, you stand accused of entering Dragonwall through the Gate. For this, the Council has already found you guilty. The punishment for such a crime is death." He offered her a sly smile.

Cyrus began speaking in her mind, a rush of instructions about the laws of Dragonwall. He spoke so quickly that it left her mind buzzing.

"Well? How do you counter?" asked the steward.

Remember, you cannot lie, he added.

"Steward, the common law dictates that the use of any Gate is illegal. However, the original charters written by King Eymar state that under extreme circumstances—such as mine—a person may venture through any Gate from either side." Confused mumbling followed. The king shifted upon his throne.

"And how is it that you, an outsider, could possibly know of such a law?" demanded the steward.

"You are welcome to have a look, Steward, if you do not believe me. The sub-clause can be found in article six, residing within Laws of the Land, one of three charters written and signed by representatives of the Drengr monarchy, the Sprites, and the Dwargs."

The steward's eyes bulged. His mouth opened several times like a fish starving for air, but no response came.

Tell him where they are.

"The original documents can be found hanging in their frames within the royal library. If you would like to go and have a look, I can wait." This drove the court mad with excitement. Onlookers failed to keep their voices down. She crossed her arms and spoke over them. "Please, take your time. I have nowhere else to be."

"I know where they reside," he sputtered. "And I am well aware of the sub-clause to which you refer." With all the chatter, he was forced to yell to be heard. He began slamming his staff against the slate floor, calling for silence yet again.

"Well...good. I am glad to hear of your familiarity with it. You then understand that based on my stance, the Council must deliberate for at least twenty-four hours to reconsider the circumstances that have brought me here. Shall we reconvene tomorrow?" she asked, knowing full well he would refuse.

"We—we shall not!" he gasped. "We have other crimes to discuss."

"Oh very well then, let's get on with it." She spoke far more confidently than she felt.

"The second charge stands as follows. You stand accused of withholding information from Lord Reyr, a King's Shield. This is another act punishable by death."

How unsurprising.

She glanced up at the king and found his face cold and impassive. He wasn't looking at her. He stared dead ahead at the opposite end of the hall.

"What say you regarding this claim?" asked the steward.

"Well, Steward, you can ask Lord Reyr if you like." She glanced at Reyr. He shifted uncomfortably in his seat. "He knew of my reasons. It was he who approved my request, granting me permission to withhold my information and pass through the Gate."

"Because you gave him no choice!" A commanding voice swept through the hall, rich and powerful in its address. Silence fell.

"I believe, Your Majesty, that you also know the reason for Lord Reyr's approval. You know exactly why he granted this request."

The king smoothed his expression and said nothing. He'd never believed her Promise was legitimate. According to him, she was merely using it as an excuse to gain entry into his kingdom. As if this was such a great place to be.

"How do you plead?" the steward asked, regaining control. She gave the king her best expression of disgust before turning away.

Plead guilty...

She sucked in a breath. What?! But....

Kane's Nasks cannot know about the Promise.

She glanced towards the left and right sides of the dais. There she found the lower council. She swallowed the lump forming in her throat. Which two men were Kane's Nasks?

A row of elevated seats ten in length were arranged on each side of the throne room. All twenty were filled. These mediators sat just below the king's throne in height, giving them a good vantage point of all that transpired. Her eyes flicked from one side to the other. Saffra was there, but she did not make eye contact.

If Kane's Nasks knew she had the power to sell them out, what would they do? Sneak down to the dungeons and kill her in her sleep? Perhaps they would call for her immediate death here and now, to which the gathered crowd would respond with glee. Or worse still, they might flee, never to be held accountable for their treason.

Give no indication that you know. Kane has no idea how much I saw within his mind.

Her heart hammered, sending blood roaring past her ears. Guilty or not, the king wouldn't dare kill her, not yet, not before she could tell him what she knew. She gulped down air and said, "For these charges, Steward, I plead guilty." Her words were as heavy as death. The hall erupted into chaos. The steward failed to withhold his malicious grin. He was delighted. How much had Kane's Nasks paid him to tip the scales?

"Are those my only charges?" she asked, tired of entertaining the crowd at her own expense.

"Of course not!" he claimed eagerly. "There is one more."

"I'll have it then." The poor little man was trying so hard. It irked him to see her stand tall.

"You are charged with the murder of Lord Cyrus, a beloved King's Shield and advisor to the king. How do you plead?"

She sighed. "I plead not guilty." As she said it, she met the king's eyes. They were cold and accusing. Her stomach knotted. After everything, he still didn't believe her. What was worse, he looked as though he might kill her himself.

Why the anger? Had he expected a different response? Of course he had. He wanted her to admit to killing Cyrus. It infuriated him that she did not.

The steward stepped down from the dais. "Not guilty, you say?" He made a show of his skepticism. "We shall see, won't we?" Snapping his fingers, the steward called forth a man who emerged from the crowd. This man carried a long object wrapped in cloth. Her blood ran cold. She'd forgotten about the Vodar sword, the one that had been buried in Cyrus's abdomen. The man unwrapped his bundle for all to see and handed it to the steward, who was careful not to touch the blade.

"What do you make of this?" he asked.

Cyrus?! What was she supposed to do now?

"Well?" prompted the steward.

Cyrus was silent.

"It isn't mine."

"Isn't it, though? It was in your possession when you were discovered. Reyr has confirmed that. Hmm..." The steward feigned thoughtfulness as he looked over the blade, studying it. "Well, if it is not yours, if there is another to whom it belongs, let it be known. An accomplice perhaps?"

She opened her mouth to speak, but nothing came. The Promise would never allow her to say the truth with such an audience. The steward gave her a toothy grin. Letting him win riled her. It wasn't fair.

Better to appear ignorant. The Nasks cannot know.

"If you cannot explain this sword's existence, you may as well claim it. Own up to your crime." The steward looked over his shoulder at the lower council. In his mind, her silence was evidence enough to convict her. He was met with many nods of agreement.

"It isn't mine!" she cried for a second time looking now at the lower council. Who did she hate more, the steward or the king? The council members whispered among themselves, looking smug. Saffra alone remained silent.

A man from the council abruptly stood. The king looked over, acknowledging the council member's desire to speak. "The council has already come to a majority agreement. If this woman cannot explain the sword, then we are forced to accept it as hers. We are forced to believe she killed Lord Cyrus."

The king gave a brief nod and the man sat down.

She clenched and unclenched her fists.

Hold yourself together. You must remain composed.

She looked up at the king. "I did not do it, Your Majesty. You must believe me. I didn't kill Cyrus."

The king finally stood. Like dominos, the entire hall fell to one knee. She looked around. She was the only one still standing. Even the stooped little man with his staff was kneeling. Let them pay their respects—she had none left to give.

Perceiving her rebellion, the king's towering figure descended upon her. She took several surprised steps back, afraid that he might strike her down.

Do not fear him. He will think less of you if you fail to stand your ground.

Swallowing against her now dry throat, she did as Cyrus advised, bravely lifting her chin to meet the king. He was trying his best to frighten her and it was working. When he stopped before her, she discovered just how mighty he was. It took everything to keep from cowering.

She was tall by female standards. Despite this, the king stood a whole head taller, towering over her. His body was powerfully built. He could have easily flung her across the hall in a single sweep of his fist if anger drove him to it.

"If you did not kill Cyrus, then who did?" he asked, keeping his voice low and controlled. Only those nearest would hear. They remained kneeling upon one knee. The king had not yet bid them to rise.

This was an answer she could not give—not in front of a sea of onlookers. Her eyes nervously flicked towards his Shields. Their faces were composed, but their shifting betrayed them.

"Well?"

"I—I cannot say, Your Majesty." She faltered under his towering stance. The strength and fortitude she initially possessed was quickly evaporating.

At her refusal, a muscle in his forehead ticked. Fury materialized upon his features. For the first time since their meeting, it did not vanish. He no longer held back his feelings. "You cannot say?" He spoke through clenched teeth. "Or you choose not to?"

She shook her head, pursing her lips.

"I think it is the latter. You will tell me. I command it of you."

The Promise will not allow it.

She clenched her teeth, furious with Cyrus for putting her in this tight position.

It was the only way.

"I made a Promise, Your Majesty." Her quiet whisper drifted no further than the king's ears.

"You expect me to believe such nonsense!?" he glared down at her. "Promise indeed! My obligation is to my people. It is they to whom you owe an explanation. Until then, you are guilty in the eyes of all." As he spoke, his eyes bored into hers, and for a moment the world disappeared.

Within the depths of his regard, she found debilitating sorrow. It was well disguised, hidden to protect his vulnerability. Cyrus was a heavy loss for him. In an instant, she realized this pain cut him deeper than his scars ever would.

Seeing such a human emotion from a monster was enough to make her snap. "Then I shall be guilty!" she cried aloud for all to hear. "I owe your people nothing! Yet I have done more for them than they will ever deserve. If only you knew. You, who locked me in a cell for three days!"

His mouth opened and his eyes widened. The look on his stunned face was worth the cost she might pay for it.

"And you expect better?" he asked, keeping his voice even. "You who would deny an entire kingdom the truth they so justly deserve."

"Truth?! You don't want the truth. No, you're enjoying this. I am here for the amusement of all." She spread her arms wide. "I am not blind, Your Majesty. Behind your monstrous facade, there is only desolation. You hide it in hopes of disguising your true faults, and many faults you have. Oh, yes. How painful it must be to know the role you played in all of this."

She knew she was kicking a wounded dog, but after everything he'd put her through, the torrents of frustration could not be stopped. He opened and closed his mouth.

"Tell me, Your Majesty, does it keep you up at night? Does it cripple you knowing that he died because of you? Because of your rash decisions? Hurt has driven you to a dark place and now you must live with regret. Don't dig yourself into a deeper hole. Pain is understandable given the mistakes you've made. That doesn't make your behavior towards me acceptable. You know—?" she barked a laugh. "I find myself disappointed. I thought I was coming here to meet with a king. Instead, all I have found is a rogue beast!"

The words were out before she could stop them. Adrenaline coursed through her, making her chest heave. That was it. She had just dug her own grave.

I do not think that was the smartest approach.

No shit!

The silence in the hall was profound. She thought the king might strike her down. She'd just humiliated him in front of everyone. His eyes flashed. She thought she saw a hint of something crawling across his skin. There and gone again. Dragon scales?

"Are you finished?" His lips hardly moved. She stood frozen in place, wishing he would prove her right, wishing he would show his subjects what a monster he truly was. But he did not lift so much as a finger.

"I—I'm finished."

"Good." His low voice sent chills racing down her arms. "Now it is my turn. I curse the day my Shields found you. You have weaseled your way into my kingdom like a worm, blood on your hands and evil in your heart. You bewitched Shields into proclaiming your innocence. You stomped through my lands with little regard for the rules put in place by my forefathers. You make silly demands upon my time, while failing to deliver what is rightfully owed to myself and my people."

Her eyes widened.

"And now—" He paused to catch his breath. "And now you dare stand before me to lecture me? To tell me what a monster I am?"

She huffed. "Even the wisest man can learn from the lowest. Only a fool knows everything." She wasn't sure what drove her to say it, or how such a thing came to mind.

King Talon's reaction was immediate. His eyes widened a measure and his expression froze as if he'd been struck by a paddle. Then, every bit of color drained from his scarred face.

He recognizes my words. He heard them often.

She stood still, waiting for his wrath, but it did not come. Instead he gave his head a little shake and took control of his emotions. He licked his lips. "These...these words of wisdom are your final defense? You will give no explanation for his death?" He hesitated. "Be aware that your refusal will result in a final verdict of guilty. You will be returned to the dungeons to await your death. The torture chambers will show you no mercy, neither will the noose."

She balked. Torture chambers? What kind of monster was he? Unease broke through what little strength remained, gobbling it up until she was left with nothing.

This is not King Talon you speak to now, but his black dragon. I warned you not to provoke him.

Black dragon? What did that even mean? What had he become? Was there still some hope of finding the man Cyrus thought him to be?

Taking a deep, steadying breath, she said, "I am aware of what awaits, Your Majesty. My words are final, as you well know."

"Very well then. You must return to your cell." King Talon put his back to her and ascended the dais stairs. At the top, he turned to face her once more. She caught a glimpse of something strange upon his face. He had an odd way of regarding her, like a lion watching its prey. It left the hairs of her arms on end.

He looked over his throne room. "I pronounce this woman guilty of a most terrible crime. Her final days will not be easy, and her death will be the only release she will find." His verdict should have been terrifying. She was too numb to understand the implications of his words. That would come later.

"Guards!" he ordered. "Return her to the dungeons." Her two escorts materialized, each with an iron grip to turn her away.

In that final moment, as she looked over her shoulder, she caught a brief glimpse of Saffra. The seer was sitting erect, looking down upon her with dark, chocolate eyes. Her gaze was soft and encouraging, and within it she found strength, strength she would greatly need in what was to come. 

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