Page 48 of Song of the Shadow Prince
“Of course, Your Highness,” the servant offered with a bow. “This way, my lady.”
I was ushered down the hallway, away from the chaos I had inadvertently caused.
13
DAMIEN
Istood outside the volcano in a modest garden nestled by its base. With only one trip to the mainland each month, it was difficult to buy food that lasted long enough without spoiling. That meant we grew most of our own vegetables and raised chickens and pigs to balance things out. In my free time, which was most of the time, I was here. The mundane work was therapeutic and kept my mind busy.
The soil here was surprisingly fertile, a small gift from the otherwise stern and unforgiving landscape. Rows of vegetables thrived. Robust tomatoes hung heavily on sturdy vines alongside leafy greens that carpeted the plot. This garden wasn't simply a pastime, it was an essential part of surviving on an inhospitable island where every meal was a logistical challenge due to infrequent supply runs.
As I moved between the plants, pulling weeds and checking the health of our crops, I lost myself in the task. Each plant required attention—water here, trim there—which kept my mind occupied and away from worrisome thoughts about the outside world. With every tomato I plucked or lettuce head I harvested, I momentarily forgot the reasons for my isolation.
Before my uncle left this morning, I asked him to fly me out of the volcano to the garden so we wouldn’t raise any suspicions among the guards about how I got there. The island’s sentinels were obsessively watchful and reported every little disturbance to my father. We had to remain diligent. The last thing I needed was to give them any reason to doubt me. I was already nervous about today’s luncheon. I couldn't help but wonder how Arya was managing under the intense scrutiny she was bound to face at the emperor's table.
I wanted to believe her, but I’d known Arya’s reputation for quite a while and nothing good could come of relying on her to keep her word. Last night I took a big risk. I was still wondering why.
I was digging around the base of a squash plant when my uncle’s voice cut through the quiet. “Damien!”
His voice echoed against the volcanic stone, a stark reminder that no matter how deeply I buried myself in the dirt of the garden, I couldn't escape. I straightened and wiped the soil from my hands on my pants before turning towards the sound, ready to step back into the complexities I’d momentarily left behind.
As I stepped outside of the lush greenery of the garden, I saw my uncle weaving his way through a cluster of stone-faced guards. Their rigid stances relaxed slightly in his presence—a sign of respect or perhaps caution for what he represented. He furtively glanced around, his eyes darting from one guard to the next to ensure no one paid too much attention. Catching my eye, he gestured urgently towards the volcano, a silent command that brooked no delay.
With a flourish typical of his dramatic nature, his dragon wings unfurled, a magnificent spread of crimson that shimmered under the sun's relentless gaze. The sight was always a stark reminder of the power and majesty contained within hisolder frame. I jogged over, the soil of the garden still clinging to my boots, leaving faint traces on the rocky ground.
In one fluid motion he scooped me into his arms and we ascended sharply. The wind whipped around us, tugging at my clothes and roaring in my ears as we spiraled upwards. The ground fell away, becoming a patchwork of the harsh, rugged terrain that comprised our secluded refuge. We soared higher until the volcano's mouth loomed ahead, a dark maw ready to swallow us whole. With a dive that stole the breath from my lungs, we plunged into the volcano and rapidly descended into its depths.
The moment we touched down, he retracted his wings with a swift, flowing motion that spoke of years mastering his transformation. The dim light inside the volcano threw deep shadows across his face, accentuating the lines of worry that had formed. He began to pace, each step heavy with unspoken dread, and my stomach knotted with the anticipation of bad news.
“What is it? Should I prepare to flee?” I raced through a mental list of things to do and pack.
My uncle's hand shot out, gripping my wrist with surprising strength. “No,” he hissed, his voice barely above a whisper, his eyes darting nervously. “The luncheon was not about that.”
I frowned, confusion and irritation mingling. “What was it about, then?”
“It was about you, yes… but not for the reason we thought. The emperor was inquiring about your relationship with Lady Gianna. I believe he wanted to sabotage it,” Uncle Bai murmured, his voice tinged with fearful contemplation. “He even threatened Lord Zacharia.”
I shrugged off his concern with a dismissive toss of my head. “Well, that’s good. At least Gianna won’t have any silly thoughts about us in the future.”
“No, Damien, it’snotgood,” Uncle Bai countered softly, his gaze locking onto mine with an intensity that made me pause. “It’s not good at all.”
I raised an eyebrow, perplexed. “I’ve already cut ties with the Ryder family. I don’t need them to—”
“Yes you do!” Uncle Bai’s voice rose sharply, a rare break in his usually composed demeanor. “You needArya!”
I recoiled slightly, taken aback. “Excuse me?”
He nervously licked his lips and reached out a trembling hand to grip my shoulder. “Damien… she has the mark.”
My confusion deepened. “Uncle, what are you talking about?”
“The mark, Damien! She has it!” he exclaimed. His desperation was palpable as he seized my forearm and yanked up the sleeve to expose the twin flame mark. “Her mark is identical to yours!”
My response was immediate and dismissive, almost embarrassed by the direction of the conversation. “Uncle, you’re mistaken.” I shook my head, aware of my pink-tinged cheeks as I remembered the embarrassment of waking with my body entwined with Arya’s this morning. I pulled my sleeve back down to cover my mark. “I’ve seen Arya’s mark, and it’s not the same. She has a mark, but it’s a butterfly on her lower back—nothing like this.” I saw it this morning. She was in a state of undress. I hadn’t meant to see it… but I did.
Uncle Bai stopped pacing and looked at me with an expression of frustration mingled with pity. He took a deep breath, his voice steady despite the urgency behind his words. “Damien, have you seen the one on her arm?”
His question caught me off guard. “Her arm?” I echoed, my confusion clear. The thought that Arya might have another mark, one that mirrored mine, hadn't crossed my mind. It seemed improbable, almost too convenient given thecircumstances, and yet the seriousness in Uncle Bai’s eyes made it hard to dismiss outright.
