Page 2 of Rook of Ruin
She rolls her eyes. “Fuck you.”
“I need to be wooed first,” I throw back. She stares at me and then laughs, knowing full well she isn’t my type. I’ve worked with her for a while, but I still haven’t bothered to ask her name. It doesn’t matter. She will be gone on a mission soon anyway. Most Rooks go on missions, but not me. No, I’ll never leave the Locker.
I follow Matron at a clipped pace out of the long cell block, up a set of stairs, and through the thick, metal doors. We pass Rooks and Crows running errands, then walk through a wooden door that holds the winding staircase to freedom. We take the stairs two at a time until she pushes open another set of doors and we take a collective breath of fresh air. The thin woman practically runs past the large training yard, and I’m surprised when we turn east to the Hall of Rites.
Damn.This is serious if we’re coming here. This is where the magnificent Warriors of Old met before the Great Battle against mighty beasts. Matron opens the large oak door for me, and I step through. The sacred hall full, of dark mahogany and filledwith colors of the kingdom of Acros—blue and ivory—show off a small part of the castle’s splendor. The smell of wet stone and wood polish surrounds us. The last time I was here was my final day as a Recruit, when I received my embroidered black wings on brown fighting leathers and a vambrace—or as lazy Rooks call it, a “brace”—signaling my ascension into the title of Rook.
The Hall of Rites is unusually empty. Steeling herself before motioning for me to sit, Matron sighs deeply. I move my short, muscular body into the shadows, quietly slipping into the very last pew. I wait patiently as the leader of the Grey Sisters paces down the large aisle. Her nervous movement is curious. Usually, Grey Sisters are calm and magnificent in their work—they are as silent as the dead they serve.
Not today, at least, not Matron.
She flexes her fingers against her grey dress and walks back to me. “Rook, I need your help.”
“Of course, Matron.”
Perhaps she needs something from another kingdom? I try not to get too excited at the possibility of leaving the castle grounds, maybe even leaving the whole kingdom of Acros for the first time ever.
The symbiotic nature of the Grey Sisters allows them to be in every kingdom, every branch of service, and used by every civilian. Grey Sisters take memories from those who are dying, turning memories to stone. They call it the Death Rites. I call it fucking creepy.
But it’s the barbaric ritual—the Rites of Passage—that the Grey Sisters perform which really churns my stomach. Once a loved one has passed, a family member is chosen to show solidarity with their dead. The Grey Sisters create magical runes on the chosen one’s body—discouraging them from touching another until the mourning is complete. For with the simplest touch,their soul would be bound to the one who touched them for all of eternity. They’re calledUntouchables.
I believe the ritual itself is unnecessarily cruel to those who mourn loved ones. I don’t hold it against Matron though, since her primary position is in the Locker.
I dip my head, observing her. Her kind, wrinkled face is pale, and her fingers are clasped together as if in silent prayer. A pang of guilt hits me. Perhaps I’m not giving the Grey Sisters enough credit. They are . . . interesting creatures. Each Grey Sister is required to take a binding rite to ensure that if one Sister strays from the path, they all suffer the consequences. Yet what defines them is their duty and sacrifice to give us peace. Once feared due to their ability to collect memories, they have risen to be accepted and cherished.
During times of war, the Grey Sisters walk through battles, extracting memories from the wounded as they approach and accept death. They cross battlefields to ensure every warrior receives the Death Rites, regardless of the kingdom they serve. It’s the same in the Locker. The Grey Sisters are only used to gather memories—never to assist, never to suggest, never to help. Their only job is obtaining the memories of those who have accepted death. More often than not, Rooks use memory stones obtained through methods of madness—torture—to gain information. A necessary evil to keep our kingdom safe. I shake my head, concentrating on the woman nervously pacing.
“There is a problem in the Locker.” She stops and inhales deeply. Her thin eyebrows shoot up. “I believe there are . . .” Her lips purse for a moment, and then, as if unable to contain herself any longer, all the horrific words come tumbling out.
Thick, corrosive acid coats my throat, and I have to force myself to breathe. I take a moment. I take a breath.
Our trusted Matron begins explaining everything to me again, slower, calmer. I sink deeper into the hard, wooden pew. Whenshe finishes, I try not to panic. Instead, I try to fucking deny it. But the truth is there in her eyes.
Fear—deep, unrelenting fear fills my veins, and I suggest something I never thought in my life I would. Seven letters that form a dark and dangerous word.
Treason.
The light of the setting sun creates eerie shadows outside of the Hall of Rites. Sweat beads trickle down my back, my hands begin to shake, and I heave my body towards the barracks, almost in a trance. Matron’s soft voice rings out in my head,“I believe there are . . . no. Iknowthere are innocents in the Locker. One is only a child, not old enough to have committed—”
“Rook Verlan!” Skidding to a halt, my heart pounds, and the baritone voice continues, “Did you not hear me? Get your ass in the cart—we need a healer.”
My tongue swipes across my teeth, and I peer up at Zane, who is waiting patiently with a group of Rooks in a rickety horse-drawn cart. The thick promise of violence surrounds them. With a smug look on his face, he tucks a stray piece of flaming red hair back into his low bun.
“I don’t have permission from—”
“Technically, I’m your superior officer now, and we’re only going into Marrith. Get in.”
Marrith, the castle city outside the main gate, and the only reason they stopped for me—a pity mission. Zane was just promoted last week, and the power is already going to his head. Any other time, I would have leapt at the offer, but right now, I feel as though I’m going to vomit. However, I won’t declinemy first mission. Slowly forcing myself up and over the cart, I crouch next to Zane. He shoves a black silk mask into my hands.
“Cover your face, O.” Placing the mask on my face, I gaze at Zane’s bright blue eyes, his roguish features concealed under the black mask. Two Rooks pull a black cover over all of us, and I stiffen. Zane chuckles low as the cart lurches forward. “Heard you had an interesting day.”
Swallowing my panic, I reply, “Sure did.” Fucking terrifying.
Sweet-smelling smoke billows out of Zane’s mouth as he takes a hit of ink, a caffeine jumper for Rooks. It’s like drinking six cups of coffee at once. The dark leaves of the inkillo plant are dried and crushed, then Rooks sprinkle it onto rolled paper or put in pipes to smoke. Some are brave enough to chew or swallow, although too much will give you the shits. Zane’s wooden pipe turns a dark red as he places it into his mouth again, sucking in the sweet, smoky flavor. He offers it to me, but I refuse. My heartbeat is so fast, I could pass out. I try to control my emotions, try to behave as I normally would. I should be excited to be anywhere outside of the castle gates, but tonight is the worst time for this to happen.
“I swear to you, Orlaith, Acros will be damned and everyone you have ever loved will be sacrificed. It is written in blood and stone on these very walls, ‘darkness will rise to destroy the light.’ They must be saved.”
The conversation around me pulls me out of my memory. “I wish I would have been there when you received the party invitation . . . a full-on choir singing to you. If you want to go with someone, you could take Paul. He loves a good hobnob,” Zane says casually to the Rooks across from him as I try to focus, try not to think of death, dread, doom—
