RE: Monarch

I wouldn’t have traded the events of the last few hours for anything. But that satisfaction didn’t diminish the fatigue that settled over me as I walked the castle grounds towards the dungeons, well-manicured halls and polished stone fading to dull, dingy grey.

The dark bags beneath Alten’s eyes likely matched my own as Sera tagged along behind us, whistling a chipper tune.

She gave the whistling a rest to pose a question. “If it’s some abyssal god or some such, you think it’ll be weaker to fire or lightning?”.

“It’s not an abyssal god.” Alten glared at her. “And if it is, I doubt we’ll find its elemental weaknesses clearly outlined in a manual.”

“Cairn?” Sera said. “Do you hold the same opinion as your mongrel?”

“Woof.”

I rubbed my eyes, trying to hide my discomfort with her presence. It wasn’t rational. By any metric, it was far better to have Sera on my side—even for a limited time—than to have her skulking in the shadows, full of bitterness and metastasizing anger. But having the sister who once gutted me at my back wasn’t doing anything for my peace of mind. I couldn’t help but go through the mental calculations of how much easier it would be for her to slide a knife into my ribs here than before, when there was at least a chance that Alten would see it coming.

At this range, if she was fast enough—which she was—neither of us would see it coming. That fact remained unpleasantly lodged in my mind as we walked through the less populated sections of the castle.

“Cairn?” Sera prompted.

“Right. Uh.” I wobbled a hand side to side noncommittally. “Hard to say. In my experience—which keep in mind is still pretty limited—the old stuff, demons, the beings and monsters that have been around for thousands of years have persisted as long as they have for a reason. Fire and lightning are both common offensive avenues of magic—”

I caught a glimpse of Sera’s expression darkening over my shoulder.

“—As was dantalion flame, until relatively recently.” I finished the thought, and she seemed to take that in stride, happier now that there was solidarity in our theoretical impotence. “And since magic itself used to be more unified before it was divided into elements? If the worst case comes to pass and we find ourselves up against an abyssal god, there’s a real possibility that it has no weaknesses whatsoever. And if it does, there’s no guarantee that those weaknesses are avenues of magic available to us today. All I’m saying is if that is what’s happening, prevention is our highest priority.”

“Who pissed in his eggs?” Alten grumbled.

“Probably the favored dog,” Sera said. But she was lost in thought, the jab little more than a throwaway. “As much as I hate to say this, maybe it’s a good thing this is happening here.”

“Because if it does, it will catch your entire family and city in the crossfire?” Alten asked dryly.

“Because this is the domain of King Valen,” Sera groused back. “Any inquest here is met with vindictive fury. He’ll far be more proactive if the threat is real.”

“Uh-huh. And you really think your daddy poses any degree of threat to a god?” Alten poked at her.

“Yes,” we said simultaneously. It wasn’t hyperbole or blind, naïve faith. The level of mythos King Gil had accumulated during his lifetime was astronomical. Some of it was embellished for certain, and there were more than a few outright lies floating around that he allowed to proliferate, simply because they aided his image. But there was simply far too much for all of it to be bullshit. I’d been up against some of the worst Silodan had on offer and survived. Yet my accomplishments were still only a fraction of what he’d achieved.

That incongruity was starting to bother me. I had two elements to my name, a high-ranking noble title, and a power that let me redo key moments should the worst occur. But it wasn’t like I was breezing through. If anything, the opposition I faced was overwhelming at best, insurmountable at worst.

King Gil—albeit an excellent strategist and one of the finest martial fighters on the continent, if not the world—should have still faced the limitation of being a man without magic in a land rife with it. Instead, he seemed to share none of my experience. He strutted about the kingdom, making little attempt to sidestep trouble, spitting in the eye of anyone who looked at him funny. And when they came for him, which they always did, he never lost.

I realized—to my irritation—that in our current situation, where multiple non-humans were disappearing in a domain under Gil’s direct control, his name hadn’t even come to mind—and it absolutely should have.

The method was absolutely in his wheelhouse.

The end of the slave trade would have served as a solid opening move. It was controversial, but more importantly unexpected, a combination that ensured word would travel quickly. After that, it was as simple as opening Whitefall’s door to more than just humans. Instead of having to seek them out or mobilizing a section of the military to pick a handful of nonhumans from small villages, they would come to him. The bizarre cleanness of the disappearances wasn’t even a point against. If anything, it implied Thaddeus’s influence in the matter, and if my father was using Whitefall as a honey trap, he’d be willing to cede his typical bombast for the sake of strategy, something he’d done many times before.

He was certainly capable.

But a motive eluded me. He simply didn’t have a reason. Even if his recent pragmatic shift was a facade, and the breadth of his hatred was alive and well, the abductions seemed almost random. According to Kilvius, no high standing members of the infernal or elven communities had been taken, and if the intent was to erode nonhuman influence in Whitefall, they would be among the first to vanish. As it was, the idea of abducting at random simply because he didn’t like them didn’t track either.

The timing made even less sense.

King Gil could appear patient. On rare occasions, he could actually wait for surprisingly long periods of time if there was an advantage to be gleaned. If this was his intent from the beginning, though, I could see him waiting a year after opening the doors — at most. Kilvius seemed confident the abductions had started over the last few months. Which meant he’d have waited far longer than my most generous estimate.

When I considered it from all angles, it just wasn’t viable.

The most likely scenario was still some infestation of unknown creatures. Made even more probable by the possibility that Thoth had pulled some unseen string in the background to bring this to pass, just as she had done with the demonic legions in the enclave.

Still, it should have been the first thing I thought of. And I didn’t like how the possibility just… didn’t come to mind.

It meant that sometime between our initial clash, the conflict with the drephin, and my return, my feelings towards him had shifted. And that change may have started long before that. During our separation, I’d come to understand the way he thought. The reasons for the horrible and nauseating actions he took, which I once interpreted as nothing more than cruelty. He was still a monster in my mind. Just not a senseless one.

In the interim, I’d built up our inevitable conflict so much in my head, considered it something that was fated to happen.

But now that the conflict was resolved?

I didn’t know how to think of him. His recent actions and revelations had upended my feelings about him. There was a part of me that wanted to ignore everything he’d done simply because life was so much easier in a world where he was nothing more than an ally.

I wanted to trust him. And that alone meant I needed to place him under far more scrutiny than ever.

I stepped over a line of filthy water eroding brick as we approached the iron-barred gate that served as the only official entrance into the palace dungeon. Even the guards looked meaner here. More turned out. Edgy. One elbowed the other as we approached, and they both bowed in a low, exaggerated manner that couldn’t have been anything but mocking. Had I been alone, they might have pushed back. Heckled me a little. But Sera was all business now, her expression hard and unyielding. Beyond the rumors—or perhaps because of them—she’d cultivated a very particular reputation around the castle of one not to be trifled with.

They opened the gate and ushered us through.

There was an immediate shift in temperature, and my breath billowed out in a lingering fog.

“When’s the last time you were here?” Sera asked, a slight edge to her tone as she panned the dark stairway downward, dimly lit by braziers sparsely placed along the descent.

“When father brought us down here to scare the shit out of us,” I murmured. It wasn’t entirely accurate. In my previous life, I’d come down here searching for Lillian, ensuring she wasn’t being hidden right under my nose. Naturally, I hadn’t found her. What I did discover was that our father’s introduction had uncovered a mere glimpse of the darkness that pervaded here.

“Same,” Sera said. She shuddered at the memory. “Pretty much stayed the hells away ever since. Don’t even like coming around this part of the castle, if I can avoid it.”

I hesitated, then bent the truth a little. “Last time we were here—do you remember those walled-off cells, with only a slot to speak of?”

Sera nodded that she did.

“Did you look inside?”

She snapped her fingers. “There was a long row of them, right? They had markings around the slot itself, like something inside was clawing, trying to get out.”

“Yup.”

She tilted her head thoughtfully. “Don’t think so. It’s all kind of a blur.”

“Well, do yourself a favor. Don’t.”

Alten and Sera exchanged a glance as I continued descending the long stairway. The dungeons felt ancient. Gritty and subterranean as a cave rooted deep in the earth’s marrow.

Or a tomb.

Persistent, unintelligible noise gradually gained the clarity of sobs, pierced by intermittent screams. It vaguely called to mind the image of a chair and a cave, and the faces of cackling demons.

I closed my eyes, trying to banish the memory.

Sera’s pointed elbow jabbed into my shoulder, bringing me back to the present.

“Getting scared, baby brother?” she smirked, regaining some of her previous bluster.

“A little, yes,” I admitted.

A long silence passed between us.

“No need for all three of us to check if the knife-ear skipped his cell,” Sera said, oddly quiet. “If you want to wait outside, I can let you know what I find.”

I managed a smile. “It’s not this dungeon in particular. Though, when I have my say, places like this won’t exist. Not in Silodan, at least.”

Sera’s mouth firmed. “Isn’t that a little idealistic? Sure, it’s unpleasant to look at, but we’ve gotten valuable information from the dungeons before.”

I grappled with that, repeatedly forcing the memories back down to the depths they coiled in. “I… just think there are better alternatives. Spy networks, for one. Thaddeus’s men could take any of these poor saps out for a night on the town, probably get a read on whether the person knew anything valuable in a matter of hours, and by morning bell, know their entire life story and personal connections.”

Sometimes it was as simple as listening.

Still, Sera didn’t seem convinced. “I’m not guileless. I know the guard isn’t perfect, and sometimes mistakes are made. But they release people from the dungeons all the time. Father loves to say our interrogators are the best in the world, and while he sometimes exaggerates, I don’t think he’s wrong. Once they’re confident the person knows nothing, they let them go.”

“Do you know where that confidence comes from?” I asked, unable to completely soften the edge in my voice.

“Experience.”

I shook my head. “They don’t even start by asking you questions. They start with pain. Not a lot. Just enough that you feel helpless, scared. Then they’ll ask a question, and eventually, you’ll answer. Doesn’t matter how brave, loyal, or downright stubborn you think you are. Eventually, you answer. But even if they believe you, it won’t matter. They’ll keep hurting you, just to make sure there isn’t some tiny, crucial detail you held back out of spite. And gods help you if you don’t have what they want, because they can drag this out for weeks, drawing false meaning from a hundred different variations of “I-don’t-know-please-stop,” calibrating their cruelty, honing in on the methods you fear most until you break. Go catatonic. But the real bastards? The fuckers who turn this barbarism into an art form? They keep going, because they know there’s a chance you’re one of the rare few. Liars who can convince themselves the lie is reality, repeating it over and over until they themselves believe it, locking the truth away. They work on you at a slower tempo until your mind wraps back around, patches itself back together out of sheer desperation. And then they start anew.”

I glanced at her. “Let’s say you were sent somewhere as an envoy bearing no ill will, and instead of greeting you properly they took you captive, put you through that, then once they finally realized their error, set you free. What is your first point of order when the chains come off?”

Sera didn’t hesitate. “I’d kill them all.”

“Exactly.”

I picked up the pace, hoping we could finally leave the topic behind.

“Cairn,” Sera called after me, her voice unsure. “How could you possibly know that?”

Alten, silent up to this point, groaned and turned to Sera. His voice was almost too low to hear. “Look at him and guess.”

I wiped the sweat, beading on my brow. “Let’s get moving. The sooner we find our drephin, the sooner we can get out of here.”

There were a few cloaked figures milling about the more open areas of the dungeon. They looked over their shoulders and whispered to each other. Unlike the castle staff, the torturers and interrogators were a cloistered bunch, with little interest in the sudden appearance of nobles in their midst.

I spotted a large Terragorian man in a nearby room eating a leg of lamb, a rack positioned horizontally at his table, the wooden surface still stained with months-old blood. I knew who he was on reputation alone. If there was a human torturer who could match the demons, there was no question in my mind it was Jion.

Jion stood, towering over the rack, still gripping the leg of lamb like a club, his face ensconced in shadow. Then his mouth split, revealing white glimmering teeth in a wide smile. “Welcome, Prince Cairn.”

How the hell did he know me?

“Greetings, Jion. Sorry to interrupt your meal.”

He waved my token regret away. “No trouble, no trouble.” His accent was thick, and he spoke slowly, as if he didn’t speak the language often. Before I could say more he closed the distance enveloping my hand in his fist and shook my entire arm, jarring me with a handshake. He leaned in as if we were old friends. “I’ve heard you can generate a flame hot enough to sear flesh from bone? And that you immolated a drephin from the inside out?”

I winced and fought the urge to yank my hand away. “Yes, to the first. To the second, she was going to give away my position, and I had no other method for silencing her in time.”

Jion nodded vigorously, dark strands of grease-clumped hair falling before his eyes. “Practical and inventive.”

“Guessing our drephin friend gave you the broad strokes?” I asked dryly.

His face turned regretful. “Unfortunately for us both, the shaman is off-limits for anything too ruinous. But besides him, the cells are full.” His eyebrow rose suggestively. “I’d love to see your work.”

A wave of nausea rose in my chest as I realized what he was implying. I’d picked a terrible moment to confide in Sera, and as a result the memories of my experience at the hands of the demons was still fresh in my mind. Almost entirely unbidden, I felt the magical pathways inscribed into my arm begin to fire.

“Jion, was it?” Sera called from behind me. “There are matters that must be attended. We are not here to coddle your fancy.”

Sera’s interruption gave me enough time to collect myself, allowing my surging mana to settle. But the shift in Jion was almost instantaneous. His almost childlike enthusiasm disappeared, and he stared at Sera in something approaching abject hate.

I gently pulled his attention back to me. “We need to speak to the drephin shaman. It’s urgent.”

He still seemed disturbingly enamored of me, but Sera’s interjection had placed him on guard. “As much as I wish to accommodate, I cannot. He’s in lockdown. Completely isolated. No one’s allowed to speak with him, other than me and a handful of others. On order of the King.”

I gestured for him to lean closer. “There’s word of a drephin plot.”

“What sort of plot?” Jion blinked.

“To rescue the shaman,” I said conspiratorially, looking over my shoulder. “There’s no need to speak with him directly. All we need is to confirm he’s still where he’s supposed to be.”

Now, it was a question of priorities. If Jion held the same dogmatic level of loyalty to the crown as many in the castle—or if he was in on the disappearance—he would probably stonewall, putting many bureaucratic barriers between us and our elven guest. If he didn’t, or his fixation on me consisted of more than simple fascination, then we were in luck.

It only took him a minute to decide.

“Come with me.” His eyes flicked to Sera and his mouth turned downward. “And don’t touch nothing.”

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