I grab the dress that looks like it’ll be the easiest to get into and pull it over my head. Flowing aubergine-colored fabric drops to the floor from my waist, and I tuck my boobs into the deep V of the top. I rush into the main part of the bedroom and find that the impatient knocking has turned into someone trying to shoulder the doors open.
What the hell?
I’m taken aback by someone’s effort to get in here, and for a split second, I instinctively reach out to Pigeon. As soon as her consciousness connects with mine, I recoil. I quickly realize what I’ve done and slam my walls back into place. The doors to my room begin to splinter, and inch by inch my barricade starts to move and make way for whoever is punishing the doors.
I’m not sure if I should help move shit or just wait for them to muscle their way in. So I just stand there like a statue until I can make out who it is. Another minute of animalistic rage at the door goes on, and then a face as clear as day appears through the broken entrance to my room.
I have no idea who it is.
Panic bubbles up inside of me as a deep voice orders, “Falon Umbra, you are to come with us.” He shoves the large table and chairs out of the way, and another colossal guard enters the room. I take an involuntary step back at their advance and try to unfreeze my muscles.
“What’s going on?” I ask as each massive male moves to my side.
They wrap their hands around my upper arms, and the next thing I know, I’m being led out of my room and down several hallways and stairs. I’m used to flying in and out of here, and in no time, I’m completely turned around. I have no idea where we are or where we might be going. No one will tell me either, because apparently that would be too easy.
We spend what feels like an hour going down stairs, so long in fact that my mind has time to wander and wonder why gryphons even have stairs in their building to begin with. At first I think it’s for the elderly or for gryphons who can’t fly maybe, but as we round another corner and go down another flight of stone stairs, I no longer think that plausible.
Fucking focus, Falon. Who gives a shit about the stairs, let’s give more fucks about why we’re being manhandled.
“Where are we going?” I try again, but my guards continue to show their mad skills at the silent treatment.
I try to think through what the catalyst could be for what’s happening, but I have no fucking clue, which means my stupid brain just wants to know about the stairs again. We finally exit the step-labyrinth, and the fact that we didn’t go as far down as the dungeons gives me a little bit of hope that whatever is going on is going to be okay.
We wind down more halls and past more crystal and iron windows, and a flicker of recognition sparks through me. I think this is the level I was on when I was taken to the massive crystal domed throne room when I first woke up in Kestrel City. I start to recognize more and more, and I suddenly have no doubt that’s exactly where I’m being taken. I just still can’t figure out why.
The guards stop me in front of the massive iron doors, and I’m forced to wait for them to creak open just like I did that first time. The doors spread with a final irritated boom, and I’m half escorted, half carried in. Unlike last time, most of the thrones are already occupied. Lazza sits in the largest throne in the middle, watching me like a hawk that’s going to swoop down from its perch at any moment and make you its dinner.
There’s only one female to his left, and she looks bored as fuck. The green-eyed female who marked me is nowhere to be seen and neither is Ryn or some of the old guys that were here last time. Treno is seated on the throne to Lazza’s right, and I can’t discern what he’s thinking or feeling. His face is shuttered. A warning prickle runs up my spine as one of the guards who brought me here steps up to the Syta and whispers something in his ear.
I watch the exchange and try to school my features like Treno is. Something about this scenario is triggering my internal keep it cool alarms. The guard steps away and moves somewhere behind me. I watch him go and realize that the big iron doors haven’t been closed. It’s as if they’re expecting more people and don’t want to go through the hassle of opening and closing them.
“Why did you have your door barricaded?” Lazza asks me flatly, and I snap my attention forward, surprised by the question.
Looks like he’s not waiting on anyone to get whatever this is started.
“I wanted some quiet time and didn’t want to be interrupted,” I explain.
It seemed like a perfectly logical thing to do at the time, but I can see that Lazza finds it suspicious for some reason. I look from him to Treno to try and gauge the effect my words might have on him, but he’s all steel and hard edges right now. That sends even more worry through me. From the first time I met Treno, after I’d been shot from the sky, netted, and pulled half drowned from the water, he was cheeky and curious. His disguised blue eyes at the time were filled with interest and excitement; now they are just flat and ominous.
“Have you been enjoying your time here, Falon?” Lazza asks me casually.
“I have,” I answer, trying to suss out why this feels like a trap.
“I’ve been informed that you’ve spent much of your time in the archives, is that correct?” he queries, looking down at his nails like my answer is inconsequential.
Shit. Is this about the mating book I took? Maybe they take that thing more seriously than I thought?
“That’s correct,” I reply.
“And what have you been looking for in the archives?” he adds.
I answer without hesitation. “I’ve been looking through the records for information about my parents. I was hoping to find out if they were from here and, if they were, how they ended up in my world.” I pause. “I’ve been trying to make sense of how I got here in hopes that it would help me to get back,” I finish.
“Did you discover anything?” he presses, and everything inside of me is screaming do not tell him about your parents.
“No, well, maybe. I came across a name similar to my mother’s. I requested additional information, but the archivists haven’t found any yet,” I offer, hoping the half-truth reads as credible in case anyone in this room can tell.
“Falon, are you a spy for the Hidden?” Lazza asks me simply.
“No,” I quickly answer and try to keep my face a mask of confusion instead of showing all the fear that just went slamming through me.
The room grows silent for an uncomfortably long time. Lazza dips his chin, and one of the guards behind me moves. I don’t turn to track the guard’s movements, too worried if I take my eyes off of Lazza, he’ll climb down whatever web he’s weaving and string me up. Treno shifts his weight like he’s suddenly uncomfortable.
More silence wraps around me, and it feels maddening. When Lazza finally does speak again, I have to keep from jumping, I’m so surprised by it.
“So you’re telling me that you don’t know him. Is that right, Falon?”
I hear the clang of chains, and I turn to see who Lazza is referring to. Fear was already slamming through me, but when I turn to see Ryn being dragged in by his arms, my fear turns to pure terror. He’s been beaten...severely, and it’s all I can do not to gasp or start crying.
“Yes, I know him,” I admit, taking my eyes off of Ryn and focusing back on Lazza and Treno.