It was stars and seas better than her hammock crammed between two pirates inside a pungent hall aboard the Crying Queen. Walking to the pitcher, she poured herself a glass, drinking down the cool liquid greedily, and wondered if she might as well take up permanent residence here.
Wiping her mouth with the back of her hand, Niya glanced down, reading the cover of a book that sat beside her washing bowl.
Repent to Replenish: A Sinner’s Final Prayers.
Or perhaps not.
Out of habit, her hands moved to her hips but grasped air. Her knives had been taken from her by the guards, which was more annoying than surprising, given she had just gotten them back. But her boots hadn’t been removed, nor her clothes switched out for a prisoner uniform.
Her mind spun for what to do next, recalling all she had just learned.
So Alōs is royalty, was born to rule Esrom.
Niya ran a hand down her face, unable to hold in a snort of laughter.
If she had gambled about the truth of such a tale, she would have lost.
Despite her and her sisters being a part of many twisted stories, this . . . this seemed utterly insane.
Alōs might exude princely confidence, but he was a scoundrel, immoral, coldhearted . . . all right, so most royalty carried these traits as well.
Niya shook her head. At least this explained why Alōs’s powers felt so deep and ancient. It was because they were.
By comparison, his younger brother Ariōn’s gifts felt more like an ember than fire. Niya assumed that had something to do with whatever disease had given him his silver scars. Alōs and Ariōn were part of the most ancient royal bloodline in Esrom: the Karēks.
While not many in Aadilor had ever seen Esrom, all knew who ruled the hidden city. The Karēk family was said to have sat on the throne since the lost gods had still walked among mortals. In fact, Niya couldn’t remember any other surname being attached to the crown. Though she’d never been taught who currently sat on the throne, nor whether they had any children. Their father seemed to think such details were trivial when it came to a city that hid underwater for centuries and never traded with any other realm. The name Karēk was all that mattered.
I ensured both of Tallōs and Cordelia’s children lived.
So Tallōs and Cordelia were Alōs’s parents . . .
But what had happened to cause Alōs to need to ensure their children lived?
The magic in Esrom grows weaker by the day. It won’t be long until we surface, for all the world to rape and pillage.
The Room of Wells is nearly dry. The High Surbs believe we have a year at most.
Surb Dhruva’s and Ariōn’s words replayed in Niya’s mind, her foot tapping impatiently as she worked out how to use this to her advantage. She also tried to ignore a twinge of sadness she felt for Esrom and the threat it apparently was under. For Surb Dhruva was right. If such a treasure as this kingdom surfaced, after centuries of hiding from the rest of Aadilor, then it most certainly would be attacked, those who sought sanctuary here destroyed. Rare beauty brought war more than peace, for man was a greedy creature, seeking to master land they felt they deserved despite it already belonging to another.
But such empathy would not help Niya in her task. She had her own problems to worry about. Like getting out of her binding bet and finally becoming free of the insufferable weight of being ruled by Alōs.
Prism Stone, her magic whispered through her veins.
Yes, thought Niya. Whatever this object was, it sounded important and was what had caused Alōs to be banished. But why would he steal from his own people, especially an object that all of Esrom apparently depended on? And how would this have saved his brother’s life?
While there was much still to learn, Niya had heard enough to know one thing: Alōs needed this stone more desperately than she had originally thought, and that was her leverage.
With a new plan forming, Niya moved to the bars of her cell, grasping them.
She hissed in pain.
They were ice cold, leaving her palms red, nearly frostbitten.
“Lovely,” she muttered.
“Better than mine,” said a voice from a cell across from her. In the darkness Niya could just barely make out an old man with a graying beard and glowing green eyes sitting on his cot, a book lying open on his lap. “Lightning,” he explained, pointing to the bars in front of him. “At least that’s what it feels like if I touch them.”
“Is there a way past?”
The man laughed. “You think I’d be sitting here if I knew that?”
Niya frowned, reassessing the metal. Now that she was closer, she could make out waves of magic vibrating from the bars. A spell.
“I haven’t had company in some time,” said the prisoner, shutting his book. “You must have done something awful to end up here.”
“Why?” She went to retrieve her own book.
“There’s little crime in Esrom,” explained the man. “But they still don’t bring pickpockets and drunks up here. That lot are taken to a shared room a floor below. You and me, what we’ve done gets special treatment.”
Niya threw her book against the bars. To her surprise, it stuck, ice quickly growing over the cover, before it cracked, shattering to the ground.
“Interesting.” She placed hands on hips.
“You’ll regret that,” said the man, coming forward. “I’ve read my prayer tome fifty-two times now.”
Niya ignored him as she called up the powers that sat hot in her veins. Twisting into a quick dance, she spun her arms out. Flames shot from her palms and blasted against the bars.
The metal hissed, and steam filled her cell. She kept pushing until her limbs ached. Lowering her hands, Niya breathed heavily as the smoke dissipated.
The bars were still perfectly intact.
“Well, sticks,” she muttered.
“That’s a pretty power you’ve got there,” said the man. “Are you a murderer?”
“Excuse me?” Her gaze snapped to his.
“Are you a murderer?” he repeated.
“Uh. I’ve killed people, yes.”
“Many?”
“Enough.”
The man slid her a grin. “Me too.”
“I didn’t enjoy it, though.” She frowned, turning from the man to search her cell for anything more she could use.
“I did.”
Niya gave a humorless laugh. “Then I see why you’re in here.”
“I think you enjoyed it too.” His glowing green eyes followed her movements around her cell. “With all that heat in you. Yes, I think there are some you enjoyed very much sending to the Fade.”
Niya paused as she lifted up her mattress, thinking about that for a moment. “Yes, perhaps some.”
The man let out a cackle of delight. She noticed then that he wore the same blue robe as Ixō and Surb Dhruva, yet he didn’t have the silver marking on his forehead, only an angry red scar. Niya didn’t know exactly what a High Surb was, but she assumed, from the looks of them, that they were some sort of holy order. Every city in Aadilor had its religious sect, people who still gave themselves to the lost gods’ teachings, despite their abandonment.
“Are you a surb?” she asked.
His grin held. “Was.”
“Where is your silver marking?”
This sobered him. “They removed my chaplet,” he said before he spat on the ground.
“Is that what it’s called? A chaplet?”
“Where are you from?” He eyed her. “Not here, I imagine.”
“No, not here.”
“You’re strong.” It was not a question.
“Is that important?”
“No.” The man breathed in deep before blowing a shot of water from his mouth. His bars sparked with blue lightning as his liquid spell slapped against it. With a wave of his hand, he evaporated it all into mist. He met her gaze again. “Strength is not important here.”
Niya chewed her bottom lip, sizing the man up again.
“Do all surbs have the gifts?” asked Niya.
“In varying degrees.”
She had felt the magic in Ixō and Dhruva, but it was good to know what else she was dealing with. She also saw an opportunity with this acquaintance.
“What can you tell me about this Prism Stone?” she said.
The man’s brows rose. “Now, how has someone not from here come to know of such a thing?”
“Why did Prince Alōs steal it?” She ignored his question, pushing for him to answer hers.
The ex-surb’s smile was crooked. “I can see why you are now up here with me, destined for the gallows.”