Calle.

At the sound of his name, his eyes flew open, and he bolted upright. His eyebrows furrowed, and he rubbed his bleary eyes to glance around. Darkness filled the room, dawn likely still hours away.

He blinked back confusion when he turned his head to find Skaja sleeping soundly beside him, her wings stretched out on either side of her where she lay on her stomach. Her bare back peeked out from beneath the sheets. He wanted to kiss her smooth skin again. He wanted to run his hands over her soft feathers.

Slowly, he grazed his fingers over her lower back. He smiled softly as he recalled their passionate night together and the promise of more to come. The tips of his fingers trailed across the arch of her wing. She didn’t stir.

Calle, the voice said again, causing him to jump.

His gaze darted about, but he soon realized the voice echoed in his mind, and not inside the room.

Who’s there? he answered back with caution.

No reply.

Had he imagined the voice?

Just as he settled back onto the bed, the voice penetrated his mind, louder this time. A child’s voice. He bolted upright.

Uncle Calle. I know you are out there somewhere. Mama needs help.

His eyes widened. Uncle Calle... Mama... 

You are my niece? How are you speaking to me?

Through the strange mind-link, her teeth chattered as if in fear. Magic. Don’t tell Papa. He doesn’t know.

I won’t. Are you frightened? What happened?

I heard Papa say he will kill Mama if you don’t show yourself by tomorrow.

The blood drained from his face.

When? How? He mentally did the math. If this was his older niece, she was less than six years old. She sounded far too grown up for her age, and the reason why caused anger to clench in his fists. I have heard nothing of this ultimatum. 

A sniff. His heart ached at her tears. Papa threatens the rebels once a week. When you don’t show your face, he kills someone. This time it will be Mama. Another sniff. Please, I don’t want to lose my mama. 

Shock and anger drove him to his feet. In the heat of his fury, his feet felt warm on the cold floor. Skaja had been right. Avonia...Typheal...the council...they were hiding information from him. People were dying because he hadn’t taken action against his brother.

Well, no more.

He refused to lose his sister-in-law because he was waiting around on others to make the decisions, to make the first move. This was his move.

He swallowed as he glanced toward Skaja’s restful, sleeping form. He felt her heartbeat, slow and peaceful, reminding him how precious she was to him. He wanted to do this alone. No one else had to die because of him. He refused to put his dear Skaja in harm’s way again. He could not bear the thought of losing her.

Slowly and quietly, he dressed, pulled on his shoes, grabbed his weapons, and slipped out the door. Only then did he dare speak through the magical bond in his mind as if Skaja might hear his thoughts and wake. Or even detect the tension in his heartbeat.

Where are you?

In the castle, the girl replied. In Mama’s room.

Mama’s room... His mind raced as he tried to make sense of her words and recall where she indicated. Were she and Liam sleeping apart?

The queen’s chambers? he asked, dodging quickly around a corner and keeping to the shadows just as Skaja had chastised him to do only hours earlier. 

Yes. Mama is in pain.

He clenched and unclenched his fists as he attempted to calm his anger and maintain a cool head. Is she awake?

A pause. Then, Yes.

Tell her I’m coming. Tonight. 

Another pause, and only when Calle reached the entrance of the fortress did the girl answer. Mama says don’t come. But she’s scared. I want you to come. I’m afraid of Papa.

I will come. I promise. I don’t care what your mama says. Tell her to be ready in an hour.

Could this be a trap? Absolutely. But the fear in his niece’s voice punched a hole in his gut. He couldn’t allow Liam to kill his wife nor hurt his children. What a sick, evil bastard. But his brother had killed Nyana and doomed him to a life of slavery. He had no doubts about him being capable of such a horrendous act.

The pause this time stretched far longer than the others. He walked slowly through the corridor beyond the entrance to prevent his footsteps from making any sound. His heart pounded against his ribs. Any moment, someone might turn the corner and stop him. He refused to be stopped.

Mama says whatever happens to please protect her babies. But I’m not a baby anymore.

No? Then you must be big and strong. Look after your mama until I get there. Also, what is your name?

Maisy.

Calle stopped as if a root of surprise shot out from the floor and wrapped around his ankle. That’s what he’d wanted to name his child if he’d had a girl. Had Liam known? He’d never told anyone but Nyana. Then again, he now knew Liam had likely sent spies to follow them.

His heart pounded as he pulled one of the large, rounded doors to the exit open. In the darkness, two guards drew their swords, the metal singing on the way out of their scabbards.

He feigned a sheepish expression as he glanced between the two of them—the same two guards as when he’d first arrived. 

“Prince Calle,” the woman said, blinking in surprise moments before she dropped to her knee alongside her companion. 

Guilt crept across him like midnight shadows as he now feigned embarrassment. “I didn’t realize anyone would be out here. You see, I wanted to meet someone.”

The other man spoke this time. “With all due respect, Your Highness, the woods are not safe. Perhaps if I retrieved Joel to hide you...” 

“Absolutely not.” He bit his lip. “Skaja already came out here. I don’t want her to think I never tried to meet her.”

“We didn’t see the harpy.”

“Probably because she’s fast.” Calle tried not to tap his foot impatiently. Every moment they wasted was another moment dawn crept closer. Little time remained. “I am not asking for your permission. I’ll be back soon.”

The two guards gawked at him as he disappeared into the forest. Once out of view, he turned fast on his heel to the left and headed in the direction of the castle. A wave of magic rippled over him as he crossed the invisible barrier that hid the fortress from outsiders. 

A shiver ran down his spine as he traversed the forest floor with only a sliver of moonlight to guide his way. He didn’t dare use magic to light the path, afraid someone might spot him.

He pulled the hood of his cloak over his head and climbed down the rocky ravine beneath the bridge leading into Heulwen. Torches flickered above him, and he held his breath, praying his feet wouldn’t slip. A patch of dark green moss cushioned his footfalls. The fresh scent of stream water promised escape in the distance. And when he reached a horizontal grate in the rock face, only then did he release his breath.

He eased one of the thick metal bars loose and silently set it aside on the soft moss. As kids, he and Joel had discovered this passageway that led straight to the castle. Although he wasn’t sure if Liam knew about it, he slipped through the opening and proceeded forward carefully. 

Keep to the shadows. Be aware of your surroundings. Listen to both your surroundings and your gut. Be cautious.

Skaja’s words echoed in his mind as a constant, comforting reminder.

A chill swept through the pitch-black corridor made of stone and moss. The dank smell of mildew and decay teased his nostrils. He lifted his cloak to cover half his face, partially protecting himself from the rancid smell.

He crept along the shadows, moving only as fast as he dared. One hand still held the cloak to his face while his other hand felt along the damp stone. Drips of water echoed in the distance, and wind howled down another tunnel. The darkness swallowed him whole as if he walked straight into the belly of a beast. 

Not knowing how the mental link between himself and his niece worked, he cast a net into the black pit of the ocean.

Maisy?

No answer.

What felt like an entire mile passed as he weaved through tunnel after tunnel. His fingers brushed against an empty sconce, affirming he now traveled directly beneath the castle. So far, none of Liam’s men showed themselves. But his hand lay in wait to grab the hilt of his sword at the faintest sign of trouble.

Maisy, he tried again. Can you hear me?

I can hear you.

Does your father know I’m coming?

A tearful reply followed. I don’t know. I grabbed my sister from the nursery and brought her into Mama’s room. I don’t know if anyone saw me.

His foot hit a stone stair, and cautiously, he began to climb. Darkness still blinded his way. Is the door locked?

Papa took the lock off.

Calle’s stomach churned with disgust at the meaning. Liam’s wife couldn’t seek refuge from his ill intentions. With each footstep up the long, narrow staircase, anger burned in his blood. How could his brother have turned into such a vile creature?

At the top of the staircase lay a closed door. He felt along the wooden structure until he found the handle and turned. He winced as the door creaked open. He paused. Silence greeted his ears.

He took a deep, steadying breath before he pushed aside a long, red tapestry and stepped into the solar.

Darkness coated the empty room like dust. A sliver of moonlight entered through a gap in the thick, velvet curtains. The unlit hearth was clean, as if the room hadn’t been used in some time.

A portrait hanging over the mantle caught his eye, and as he approached slowly, his heart suddenly trudged through mud. He and Liam stood with their parents, each face smiling. They were happy back then. If only things hadn’t changed in the years since.

Crash!

Calle jumped out of his skin at the sound of shattering glass. He drew his sword and pointed it toward the door. No one entered.

Someone shouted in the hallway, and he slowly edged toward the door. The shouting grew louder.

“You good for nothing servant!” Liam roared, followed by more shattering glass. “How hard is it to find a few hundred people?”

“Th-th-they’re using magic to shield themselves,” someone stuttered. “Our disenchanters can’t even find them.”

“Why? Isn’t that your job? To break illusions?”

The servant began stuttering again. “Y-y-yes but we no longer believe the magic is an illusion. They must be hiding in a pocket in another realm.”

“Then find them!”

“Your Majesty,” someone said, a female voice this time. “Why don’t you get some sleep? The hour is still early.”

“I will get some sleep when those damn rebels are found! Are the gallows ready?”

Gallows... 

The pit in his stomach grew larger at the mention. He didn’t dare breathe, afraid even the tiniest sound would alert them to his presence behind the door.

“Surely you don’t mean to hang your own wife.”

Bang! Shatter!

Liam snarled. “Either it will be my wife or my bastard of a brother. Send out another search party. Calle will come. I have no doubt. Always the perfect and noble one. He’ll come.”

Glass crunched against boots before the footsteps echoed in the opposite direction. The glass then scraped against stone as if someone began to clean up Liam’s mess. During a particularly loud scrape, Calle opened the door quickly and shut it behind him, finding himself in a dim hallway. Torchlight flickered around the corner near the source of the commotion. 

He ducked into the shadows and crept along the hallway in the direction of the queen’s chambers. Every footfall mimicked each thud of his heart. He kept his senses alert, listening for the first sign of danger. It was strange to walk these halls again. He remembered every room, every corner, every turn. It was home. 

Yet, it wasn’t at the same time.

A rat scampered down the hallway, followed by the growl of a cat. But otherwise, the castle lay still in the early morning darkness.

Firelight flickered from beneath the door leading to the queen’s chambers. Could he exit the castle as smoothly as he had entered? With three people to protect?

I’m here, he said in his mind, hoping Maisy heard his words. Don’t be frightened. I’m walking through the door.

With one hand on the pommel of his sword and the other on the door handle, he opened the door, slipped inside, and closed it quietly.

A gasp.

Calle spun around, his gaze darting about the room. Two small girls shared a large armchair beside the fire, both looking haggard and tired and scared. And the source of the gasp...

He squinted against the firelight to find a figure huddled beneath a blanket, lying on a cot. A purple bruise lay on her cheek, her neck and swollen eyes faring just as badly. 

It was as if someone punched him in the gut, and he suddenly couldn’t draw a single breath in his shock. Blonde hair. Blue eyes. Small face. Tiny frame.

“Nyana,” he choked.