Three hundred years ago, the Earth split and the sky trembled. And then the monsters came.
The island of Lowynn is cursed. The Veil between worlds has torn, and now, monsters come with vengeance. They can only be placated by the blood of sorcerers...
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The chains around her wrists were fine, and they jangled softly as Ciara walked. She tried to memorize the endless journey to the dungeons, but the tunnels and rooms stretched deeper and deeper. Right at the Afrean vase. Left, right, right, left again. Her head ached, and Ciara wasn't sure how well she would retain any of it.
She had to rest and catch her breath five times. The guards who were accompanying her grasped her fiercely, holding her up. Though she hated to admit it, their solid hands were the only thing keeping her together.
The maaran tea had been a glass of fire. For twenty minutes after drinking, Ciara had lain in the corner of her room, sweating and shaking. She was able to walk now, but it felt as though a piece of her had disappeared with the magic.
Ciara knew that she had only been in the Keep for a day at most, but without windows to tell the time, it was an eternity. Curse or no curse, Ciara suspected she'd go as mad as Connal if she stayed there too long. It was too harsh; glinting with a false, gilded beauty. It was like they were all long dead here, buried beneath the vibrant summer.
"We're here," the guard said roughly. He grabbed Ciara and practically threw her towards the bars. The rest of the Keep was a beautiful prison, at the very least. But the rooms where they were keeping Lugh and Ayla were barely lit. Still, Ciara didn't need light to imagine how dank and dirty they were; she nearly choked on the scent of mold.
"Lugh! Ayla!" she cried, forgetting her weakness. She stumbled towards them, and the guards didn't bother to catch her.
The two of them finally came into flickering view, and Ayla was sleeping, head on Lugh's shoulder. Once, the sight of the two of them reconciling would have made Ciara giddy. But now, all she could think of was the fact that she had been sequestered in a silken bedchamber while they rotted away on pillowless stone.
"Ciara!" Lugh said, gently nudging Ayla awake. "Oh, thank the gods. You're alright. They said that you survived, but I couldn't... I didn't believe." A shadow slipped across his face, catching strangely on his crooked and swollen nose.
"You're not!" Ciara cried. "Oh, Lugh. What happened?"
"Your father did," Ayla muttered. "His guards ambushed us. We could have taken them all, but they said you'd get hurt unless we cooperated."
"You shouldn't have listened. They need me! You should've fought. You should've run!"
"I know," Lugh said. "But I didn't couldn't risk it. We don't take chances with you, Ciara. You're our hope, you know. Our power."
"I don't have my power anymore," Ciara blurted out, suddenly overrun with guilt.
Ayla shot to her feet. "What?"
"He made me drink tea... to get rid of them," she stammered. "But it's better this way. I don't have to worry, or hate, or...." But the world swayed beneath Ciara, betraying her.
