Page 20 of Realms of Shadow and Sun

Phillippe shrugged, his face concentrated in thought. “I have no idea. I don't think they weave spells or any dark magic. Perhaps she just liked it?”

The explanation seemed too simple, too mundane for such an otherworldly being. But Grayden had no better theories to offer.

Selenia shuddered, pulling Grayden's fur tighter around her shoulders. “Let's get out of here,” she said, her voice tinged with urgency. “I can still sense her presence. It feels like...rot and decay. I can almost smell it.”

Grayden nodded, suddenly aware of the oppressive atmosphere that lingered in the wake of the Murcurial's departure. He picked up the pile of wood he had started to gather, then put his other arm around Selenia and guided her back to the camp. Phillippe followed behind in silence, his hand resting on the hilt of his sword, eyes scanning the shadows as if expecting the Murcurial to reappear at any moment.

None of the siblings spoke as they made their way back, each deep in thought, contemplating the confessions of the Murcurial. The creature's words hung over them like a cloud, casting a shadow over their mission.

As they reached the clearing where they had set up camp, Grayden couldn't shake the feeling that something had fundamentally changed. The encounter with the Murcurial had shaken them all, bringing to the surface fears and doubts they had tried to keep buried.

But as he looked at his siblings, saw the determination in their eyes despite their fear, he felt a surge of resolve. Whatever lay ahead, whatever secrets or challenges they might face, they would face them together. And somehow, someway, they would find Renya and bring her home.

Chapter Twelve

The dungeon was a far deal better than sleeping in Cressida's bed every night, Sion decided, as he leaned against the damp stone wall of his cell. It was wet, cramped, and musty, the air thick with the scent of mold and decay. But anything was better than being between Cressida's legs, enduring her twisted desires and cruel games. At least here, in the relative solitude of his cell, he could breathe without feeling her suffocating presence.

His cell faced the dungeon door, offering him a clear view of the comings and goings of the guards serving Cressida. Over the past hour, he had watched them closely, noting their movements, their expressions. He knew many were only loyal to her out of fear, their eyes darting nervously whenever her name was mentioned. Sion hoped to work that fact to his advantage somehow. Given time, he was sure he'd eventually be able to bribe or talk his way out.

As he sat there, his mind raced with possibilities. He'd torture Cressida until she broke the blood promises, grab Renya, and they would flee together. They could take shelter in the fallen Sun Realm or head to the Spring Lands, seeking shelter and safe passage there. He'd get a letter to Grayden, and—

“Sion?”

A rough voice came from the cell to Sion's left, interrupting his thoughts. The sound was unexpected in the quiet of the dungeon, and Sion found himself tensing instinctively.

“Cyrus?” he replied, recognizing the voice of the old man who had been brought in earlier.

The old man coughed and wheezed, the sound echoing off the stone walls. “How are you doing, my boy?”

Sion approached the bars of his cell, trying to catch a glimpse of the old man. From the rounded angle of the dungeon, he could just make out the elderly gentleman laying against the wall of his own cell. Even in the dim light, Sion could see the weariness etched into every line of Cyrus's face.

“I've only been in here an hour, so I'm more concerned with how you are doing,” Sion replied, his voice laced with genuine concern.

Cyrus laughed, and the sound was so hearty that Sion instantly doubted the old man's age. There was a strength behind that laugh that belied his appearance. “I've been sleeping, conserving my energy. I told you, I'm right where I want to be. Where I need to be.”

Sion's brow wrinkled. “Why on earth do you want to be her prisoner?”

Silence fell between them, heavy and expectant. Sion was about to speak again when Cyrus's voice, now low and serious, broke the quiet.

“I don't have much choice, but I do believe you'll do what you can for my Renya.”

My Renya? The words struck Sion like a physical blow. No—it couldn't be—

Cyrus continued, his voice barely above a whisper. “Renya is...my daughter.”

Sion laughed, the sound tinged with disbelief. This old man, who spent his time in the human world—then it clicked. He did spend his life in the human realm—guarding over the very portal Renya fell through. The realization hit Sion like a thunderbolt, pieces of a puzzle he didn't even know he was solving falling into place.

“You mean—”

“Yes, my boy,” Cyrus confirmed, a hint of pride and sorrow mingling in his voice. “I was once Fated to your queen.”

Sion felt sick, a wave of nausea washing over him. And embarrassed. Not only had he slept with Renya's mother, but her father knew about it. The shame of it burned in his chest, threatening to overwhelm him.

Cyrus seemed to read Sion's mind. He laughed again, the sound echoing through the stale air of the dungeon. “Don't worry about it, I don't care if you've made me a cuckold. I was able to sever my mating bond with Cressida a long time ago...once I found out that it was the only way to save my daughter.”

The casual way Cyrus spoke of severing a mating bond—something Sion had always believed to be unbreakable—left him reeling. “But—why are you here then? Why allow yourself to be captured? You know she'll want to kill you for what you've done.”

“Trust me, my boy,” Cyrus replied, his voice taking on a tone of grim determination. “She needs me. I'm critical to her plans. She wants her daughter's unquestioned loyalty—and there's one thing standing in the way from that. But with any luck, I'll be able to right a wrong and finally do something for my Renya.”

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