𝐂𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐢𝐨𝐩𝐞

Locked up as I was, time passed agonizingly slow. Days felt like weeks, weeks felt like months. I told myself I deserved it. That much was true. Still, it was no wonder that some of the prisoners went insane.

The synchronized march of soldiers shook me from my thoughts. A half dozen men with curved swords at their hips filed into the room. The soldier at the front, who also looked the youngest, held a ring of keys that jingled as he walked. Was there an execution today?

The man holding the keys conversed quietly with one of his comrades. The other guard nodded, and he turned his eyes to me.

I sucked in a breath. His keys were like alarm bells ringing in my ears. No. No, that can't be right. I wasn't scheduled for execution. Or release, at least not for a long while. He stopped outside my cell, and I lifted my gaze to meet his.

Familiarity sent a shiver down my spine. I didn't know him, but I must have seen his chilling blue eyes before. Frosty, crystal blue like those of the beasts in my dreams. His jet black hair was combed neatly back, a stark contrast to his pale features.

I swallowed my fear deep beneath a mask of indifference, clenching my teeth and standing taller so we were eye-to-eye. Almost. He was still taller than I, a few inches feeling like miles towering above my head.

"Calliope Vendelle?"

"You really need to ask? Or can't you read?" I jerked my chin at my name, engraved on a metal plate outside my cell.

His response was flat. "Protocol."

I flashed him a sarcastic smile. "I suppose you intend to relieve me of my head now?"

The lock of my cage fell away from its chains, its dull clang echoing through the dungeon. "If the Council of Elders decides so, then yes." He swung open the door. All I could do was stare. The Council of Elders?

I was going to have a trial.

More locks clicked free as he turned his keys inside of them. My chains fell away, curling at my feet like giant silver snakes. Rings of raw skin encircled my wrists where they once had been. It felt wrong, like I was dreaming it, but it felt good.

As I was led down the hall, iron cuffs still dragging around my ankles, curious faces peered at me from behind their own bars. They all wished it was them walking out of this miserable place instead. I had wished the same for weeks. But it wasn't right. None of the captive faces should be let free until we had served our time—even if for some that meant a lifetime.

The first time I had been taken through these passageways was a blur. One moment I was outside the fortress, the next I was chained up inside it. Between that were sobs and struggles and memories that didn't add up to much. I had failed my king, and through that, my whole nation. Worse, I had failed my family. I had lost them, and it was my fault.

Though I still thought the trial was a chance I didn't deserve, my heart fluttered in my chest realizing I might see my sister so soon—if the trial went well, of course. She was the only blood I had left, and I loved her far more than I loved myself. If I lost her someday too . . .

Burning.

Smoke.

Wolves.

I squeezed my eyes shut, trying to shake off the memory. It was the past now. The present was the clunking of my steps in a dark hallway, and the future was Eva.

I couldn't drown in the past now.

An elaborate, heavy-looking door came into my vision behind the heads of the soldiers. I guessed it to be the Council's chamber, their room for judgement. Judgement of my crimes and those of countless criminals before that. They were wise, and I knew their decision of my release—or execution—would be wise, too.

Or so I told myself to calm my nerves. Every day I seemed to convince myself of something new.

Our small squad stopped before the door. The man with the piercing eyes looked at me again.

He spoke in a bellowing voice, so those in the other room could hear him. "The prisoner is here." I held my breath in anticipation.

Maybe for once, things would go well.

≪•◦ ❈ ◦•≫

In answer, the door swung open to reveal a great domed chamber. The floor was tiled with warm-coloured travertine that complemented the sweeping white walls and walnut steps leading up to a dais. Twelve simple stumps were perched on the dais, draped in deer hide, and another fourteen stood a tier higher behind them. Guards were lined along the walls, watching like eagles at every move I made. In the center of the room, facing the dais, was a handmade wooden stool. It was a mostly bare room, but it felt full with the presence of the Elders and the silver-clad guards.

The men who had escorted me bowed their heads and took their places beside their comrades. I knew I should show my respect too, but I was frozen.

It was not that I was awed to see the Elders; I had seen them before, ancient faces etched with wrinkles that seemed to mark centuries rather than years. Before, however, I had seen them in fleeting moments or attended meetings alongside them. I had never faced them the way I did now, with my future in their withering hands.

I was afraid. Across the room from me, Elder Basir stood. His silver hair fell in a waterfall from his head. The other Elders rose in turn, acknowledging that I was here with a nod. When I finally managed to move, I bowed my head nervously.

Elders were closer with the gods than anyone else could ever be. The gods did not speak to them, but they shared with them a sliver of their Wisdom. The Council was like the Elders of elders and made decisions that concerned the entire kingdom of Zhyne. They deserved to be held in the same regard as a temple or a sacred relic.

"Dear young Calliope," said Basir, his voice melancholy. "You are pure at heart, despite what your actions may be." I looked at my feet, not wishing to meet anyone's gaze. "Sit. Sit and hear a story." His voice was faltering, an old man with many of his own stories atop the burden of history that was his duty to carry.

I sat on the little stool. Another Elder, Arienne, spoke a prayer in an ancient version of Zhyne's native language. I listened to the fluent words that seemed to weave a melody. Distractedly, my fingers twisted the silver ring around my middle finger.

Listen, not with your ears but with your being. Hold the tales of the stars in your heart and share them with those who are not Wiser. Share the tales of yore, of gods and giants and ourselves, and remember that we are only temporary. The past is forever.

"Formané," everyone present responded in solemn unison. Somewhere in the blend of voices someone had fumbled the word—odd, with how often it was said in situations like this—but it was impossible to place who it was, nor did it matter. Elder Basir began to speak.

"Long ago, when the gods looked down from the heavens, they saw the giants crumbling to violence. Power is a great privelege, but misuse is an easy road to take. The gods' most beloved creations had grown too stong, too vain. They fought for thir pride, and for what?" I had heard this story many times before, but I listened nonetheless. "The gods were devastated at the death of their most beautiful creations, so they made them a part of the earth. Their bones became mountains, their flesh fertile soil. Rivers run with their blood and tears. But three giants remained after the wreckage - miserable, deserted from the rest of their kind. They begged the gods to meet the same fate, and grudgingly, their wish was granted. The gods took their lives and buried the three ancient hearts deep in our world's core, where they still beat to this day. Should they ever cease to beat, the world will become barren and grey, as though before the gods had made it home to life. Even the gods shall perish."

He looked at me with glittering eyes, his expression expectant. "Why, Calliope?"

I gathered the strength to meet his eyes, to breathe, to stop avoiding the inescapable attention of the Council.

"Because everything has to die," I said. My voice cracked. "Not even the gods can escape death."

He nodded. "Yes. Even the gods." His velvet robe rippled amber with every movement. He brushed back a silver curtain of hair, exposing the marks on his face that were distorted by countless wrinkles. "Even I, and everyone in this room, and you." I could see where this is going. "Even your parents."

I winced, wishing I didn't already know that far too well.

A third Elder spoke up. "We know it was not your intention to hurt anyone whom you were not instructed to. But you did, and no matter why, that is a crime to be punished for."

"The explosion of the building killed three innocents, Calliope." Basir's tone was not harsh, but I felt a wave of guilt crash over me. "That is serious."

"However," added Arienne, "there has been a proposal for your release."

My head snapped up. "What?"

She pulled a paper from the folds of her robe. "A proposal by a formidable figure. So, together as a Council, we have decided to grant you a month of parole, and then you will return and serve your remaining six."

All of a sudden the room felt less imposing. My worry diluted to a latent nervousness. A month. A month wasn't long, but it was a month I would pay in diamonds for. I could breathe fresh air again. Maybe my nightmares would subside. I might even be able to visit my parents' graves—all I'd really had a chance to do before my arrest was attend their funeral, but I hadn't taken that chance. Instead I had grieved alone.

"Thank- thank you" I stammered. I lost whatever else I had been wanting to say.

"It is our pleasure. Spend your month wisely. It may not be what you think." Basir rapped his foot on the dais. "You may depart."