“Get up, boy,” the guard commanded, and I sighed as I pushed myself up from the straw and rough fabric I’d slept on every night since I’d been locked up. I didn’t even know how many years it had been at this point. Thirty? Forty? Perhaps I should be thankful there was enough room for me in this cell to at least get some exercise.
“Is this him?” I stiffened at the sound of the female’s voice, and my eyes shot up.
She was dressed in the black, Elythian leather armor of The Order, a half cape hanging from her right shoulder. Her pale silver eyes were gentle yet piercing. I hadn’t seen such pale eyes as hers—eyes that were revered among our kind, who believed favor was bestowed by our Goddess, Selene, on those who possessed them. Black hair framed herporcelain face, hanging in loose waves down to her waist. Her frame was small, and she carried a sword at her hip, her gloved hand resting atop the hilt. I recognized it immediately—a sword of legend. The hilt was gold instead of the standard issue silver, intricate details and enchantments carved into the Elythian steel, and I didn’t need to see the blade to know it was black and gold instead of black and silver.
Fuck.
Moira’s reincarnation... The queen and the demigoddess of the immortal race.
Rumors had made it to the dungeons some time ago, cellmates muttering about the queen reincarnating again. I’d been skeptical, to be honest. I remembered when Queen Elena had fallen, remembered the sorrow I’d felt as a child for a person I’d never met. I had seen the kindness she’d shared with our people—the sacrifices she’d made to protect us.
“This is him, Your Majesty,” the guard said in confirmation. When she approached the cell door, his hand shot up. “Don’t get too close to the bars. They’re warded, but he’s a nasty bastard. He’s caused more fights in the last few decades than I’ve dealt with my entire career, even without his magic.”
I huffed a laugh as I pushed myself to my feet, my bones sore from lying against stone, muscles stiff. “Awe, and here I thought we were finally getting close, Stephan.”
The male eyed me as I lifted my arm to rest against the bars, the dwindling, subdued flame in my chest recoiling at the contact with the warded iron. I leaned in, looking down at him. “ItisStephan, right? I mean, that’s what the female cried out the other night down the hall.” The guard bristled, his cheeks going red. “I knew you had it in you.”
“You should have heard it,” I said, unable to hide my smile.
She didn’t react or respond. Her expression remained soft, but it didn’t hint as to what she thought or felt. The guard seemed to vibrate at her side, his anger lighting the air. I liked the scent, like smoldering oak in my nose. I wondered how far I could push him this time. Maybe I could get him in this cell, work out some of this pent-up tension and frustration that had been building for the last couple of weeks since I’d been put in confinement after smashing another prisoner’s face in.
I lowered myself to the female—the queen, if that was truly what she was—and whispered, “Between you and me, though, it didn’t last long. I think he finished before she did. Poor girl.”
His hand shot through the bars, grabbing the frayed collar of my shirt. He jerked me against the iron, the bite of the warded metal forcing the flames within me to retreat further, and I internally winced. “Shut it, boy!”
“Stephan,” the female said in a calm command.
A grin tugged at my lips as he ground his teeth but released me. “Good boy, Stephan.”
“Barrett Stratos,” she said, and my eyes shifted to her, narrowing.
I humored the female. “That would be me.”
She opened a scroll. “You murdered your family.”
The flames stirred beneath my skin at the mention. “What of it?”
“Why?” she asked.
I froze, blinking. “What?”
“Why?” she reiterated.
My brows furrowed. Pent-up magic stirred within me, eager to be used, to be unleashed, like a leathery beast leashed too short for too long. “Because I wanted to.”
Her silver eyes met mine, warm and kind, and a soft smile curved her lips. The sight of it irritated me.
“Lie,” she said, her tone hopeful and with such clarity, such solid confidence, that I didn’t know how to respond.
I drew back. “What do you mean,lie?”
“Your sister,” she started, disregarding my words.
My hands balled into fists, the flames pressing against my skin, the room warming despite the wards that should prevent them from surfacing. “Don’t you dare say her na?—”
“Calliope?” she confirmed, lifting her gaze from the scroll. “Did you kill her too?”
The flames were doused beneath my skin, my blood running cold, and my heart stuttered at the name I hadn’t heard spoken in decades.
