Pandora's Box

Chapter 7: Part II

The indigo gleam intensified when Pandora's hands lifted the box from its resting place. The pedestal silently descended into the floor, disappearing without a trace. The box's glow seeped into the princess's skin, surged up her arms, then vanished.

Donovan brushed Malachai aside and seized Pandora by the shoulders. "Have you lost your mind? Why on Earth would you touch that— that thing?" The young cadet's head tilted slightly, his arms went rigid, eyes filled with twisting concern. "What were you thinking?"

Pandora's eyes flashed to Malachai and then just as quickly to the floor. But she knew it wasn't fast enough. Donovan tracked the fleeting glance to its true target. When he turned to Malachai, Pandora's blood ran cold.

"It was you, wasn't it?" Donovan said, thrust a palm heel in Malachai's shoulder. "This all reeks of you."

"I don't know what you're talking about. I followed her here same as you. In half the time I might add." Malachai smiled and casually adjusted his collar.

Donovan began leaning in for another strike, but Pandora stepped in between them, palm pressed into Donovan's chest.

"Novi stop. Malachai had nothing to do with any of this. I came here, because I wanted to. I picked this up because I wanted to. I'm no one's puppet." She cradled the treasure to her chest and stroked its lid as if it were a newborn. A thin crack of light spilled out from under the lid. With a gentle press Pandora sealed it, leaving the chamber dark but for the hollow glow of the emerald current behind the polished obsidian walls.

"Pandora— Pandi... please," Donova said. "Look around. Doesn't this all seem a bit crazy to you? You're standing inside a giant temple that's less than a mile from the castle. Doesn't that seem a bit ridiculous?"

Pandora stared at the music box. She said nothing.

"Well I don't think it sounds all that unusual," Malachai said, dropping an arm over Pandora's shoulders. "Magic often works in ways the untalented can't understand."

Donovan harrumphed. "That's rich, even for you, Killian. Let me get this straight. Neither of you think that a giant pyramid exploding from the ground within eyesight of the castle we all live in is a tad strange?"

"I think I was meant to find it, Novi," Pandora replied. Her voice surged with hope. "The lullaby lead me."

"What lullaby?"

"The one my father used to sing. It's a sign, Novi, it has to be. I think whatever this thing is can help"

"Help what, Pandora?" Donovan replied. He paused, took a breath, then sighed as he tilted his head back. "Gods above, Pandi. You think that box will bring back the king? Even if it could, how is that a wise thing to do? Fate called your father home. He was a great man and a fine father— the finest I've ever known. I loved him too but I don't understand how you can't see it's not for anyone to undo."

Pandora lowered the music box to her waist, nearly choking on her worlds. "That's because you've never lost one. You don't know what it feels like."

The mile thick sheet of tension standing in the handful of inches between the princess and her closest child friend, hung heavy in the air. Pandora hadn't meant for the words to arrive as hard as they had, but they came no less no true for it. Donovan didn't know what it was like to lose a father. He couldn't have known the icy, gripping fist that crushed her heart when the king took his final breath just outside her reach.

"I'm taking this to my mother. She'll see its power. And she'll do the right thing," Pandora said. Her expression had dropped any hint of grief and was now galvanized with resolve. She strode by Donovan with Malachai in tow.

"Seems like the princess has made her decision, cadet. Why don't you let that sink in on your walk back," Malachai said, not bothering to look back as he spoke.

Donovan watched helplessly as they disappeared into the shadowy passage leading outside. The torrents of verdant energy slowly faded into nothing behind their black enclosures. The fists clenched by his sides strained until their skin drained of color and knuckles popped.

***

Moonlight split the heavy brocade drapery covering the lone window to Malachai's bedchamber. As a newly minted junior officer, he had been provided a private room on the floor occupied by the cadets he would one day command. Though the room was still sparse and small by comparison to the senior officers it was infinitely more comfortable than the wide open halls and endless rows of hard wooden bunks enjoyed by his underlings.

The chamber was furnished with a modest desk and chair, a soft-for-military-life bed, a rickety bookcase laden heavy with an armful of dust-covered books, and—to the envy of the cadets down the hall—a private hearth. A healthy fired crackled within the stony prison and the scent of burning wood filtered through the room.

Malachai stood with his bare back to the fire, admiring the towering shadow it cast over the drapes. They had been a gift from his mother; he remembered the expression of disinterested pride on her face when she had given him the set for his new chamber. He remembered she had conferred the same set to each of his brothers at each of their own promotions. An empty cold soured in his belly. He would outshine all who went before him. Outrise them until there was nothing left of their bones to climb.

And then he would fly...

Malachai pulled the loose stone at the heath's base free and reached into the hidden gap behind it. When he unwrapped the veil covering the wavy-bladed dagger his skin prickled and a nightmare's cool breath swept over his back. With a single flick of the knife's blade and the sizzle of his blood upon the flames, he reported to his exiled lord that all had gone exactly as planned.