Laranthel awoke later in an unfamiliar room, a healer hovering over him.

  “Ah, the boy’s stirring,” wheezed an old woman. Her hair was thin and greying, her skin wrinkly.

  It was the first time Laranthel had seen such an old Night Child, even his grandparents still looked young. And they were centuries old. He tried to sit up but found his torso still ached from the beating John had given him. He groaned and fell back onto the bed.

  “He should be alright; his wounds are healed he just needs to get over the phantom pains. I’ll be taking my leave now, call me if you need anything more.” The old woman left from Laranthel’s bedside, and he heard a door gently open and close as she departed the room.

  Laranthel turned his head and scanned his surroundings. Sitting in two chairs at the end of the room was Mythiara, as well as an unmistakable beauty that could only be the Oracle. The two were having a quiet conversation about responsibility and the future. Laranthel couldn’t quite make out what they were saying, their soft voices became garbled in his head, soothing him like a lullaby. He let out a soft groan and writhed in his bed.

  “The boy lives,” said the rich voice of the Oracle. “You’re fate was in doubt, but it seems your own luck prevailed.” She stood from her chair and walked over to Laranthel’s bedside, then began stroking his face. “How could something so clear become so muddled in such a short amount of time?”

  Mythiara took a place beside the oracle and the two women looked down at Laranthel. He coughed a few times then cleared his throat. It was dry, to the point it felt like it was going to tear open.

  “Can I get some water please,” Laranthel asked, his voice hoarse. Moments later he felt a waterskin pushed against his lips. He opened his mouth and allowed the water to be poured into his mouth. His discomfort began to ease, and his throat moistened. “Thank you.”

  “Of course, my dear,” said Mythiara softly. She looked down at Laranthel, her face worried.

  “Why so blue,” Laranthel joked. He chuckled, then doubled over as he felt his stomach cramp up. “Gods damn this pain!”

  The oracle frowned at Laranthel but remained silent.

  “Here, drink some of this.” Mythiara produced a clear glass bottle full of a pink liquid and put it to Laranthel’s lips. He opened his mouth and allowed the milky liquid to flow into his mouth.

  It was sweet and numbing. He immidealty felt the sensations all over his body start to dull, including the pain in his stomach. He sighed and sat up in his bed, finally able to do so without feeling like his stomach would explode. He woozily looked over to Mythiara and the Oracle and gave them a nod.

  “How long have I been out,” Laranthel asked.

  “Four days. We thought you were going to die.” Mythiara reached out and poked Laranthel’s stomach. His stomach seared and he doubled over again.

  “What the hells,” he groaned clutching his stomach.

  “Sorry,” she muttered.

  “You were supposed to have recovered a day after your bout. That is what was foretold, that is what I saw. And yet, here we are, days after the Solstice and only now do you decide to rise. Interesting.” The Oracle leaned in close to Laranthel, an off-putting grin on her face. She tilted her head as she examined him then leaned back, apparently satisfied. “A score of valuable sacrifices and even a communion with Nyxea herself and your fate could not be divined, could not be reached.”

  Laranthel stared back at the Oracle blankly. She was speaking nonsense, no one could really see the future, they could only make guesses. And Laranthel succumbing to the vicious wounds John had given him was not a hard guess to make. Even his own abduction wasn’t too far-fetched, his parents were wealthy and had a history of martial service. That he would be sent to school was obvious from the start, what was not obvious was how the Oracle came across his identity. Though, even that had an obvious answer, Nyxea told her about him, probably off of a whim.

  “There is something small within you, small but strong.” The Oracle studied Laranthel’s face for a moment before speaking again. “You doubt me? Well, I suppose you would, I have failed you in a sense. But it seems you never needed my help in the first place, whatever is within you has ample enough strength to protect you.”

  The Oracle touched Mythiara’s shoulder and whispered something into her ear and left the room without another word. What a strange woman, Laranthel thought.

  A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

  “What was she talking about,” Laranthel asked after he was sure the strange woman was no longer within earshot of the room.

  “Her and my mother conspired together on all of the events from the marriage ceremony to when you and I were supposed to separate for our training,” said Mythiara. “All of It is muddled now, impossible to read even for the Oracle. She said the normal stream of events Nyxea allows her to see have begun to meld together, warped in a way that is either unreadable or useless to her. Our fates are in our own hands now. Well, mine, you’re still a slave after all.”

  “Wonderful,” grumbled Laranthel coughing.

  “Wel the bad news isn’t over yet; in nine days you will be sent to the Kynotoro, and I’ll begin my training at Nicesa.”

  Laranthel sighed and leaned back against the bed’s headboard. “Well, I doubt it will get as miserable as having my stomach bashed in over and over again by a man with at least twenty pounds over you.”

  “It’s a treacherous place Laranthel, it won’t be easy,” said Mythiara.

  “None of this has been close to easy Princess, this place is abominable, you’re all savages.” Laranthel scowled and looked away from Mytrhiara. Then he turned back to her, enraged. “You think breaking bread with the animals that abducted you is easy? Do you think this pretend relationship we have is easy? It’s not! I feel like I’m losing my mind, like I’ve become a terrible person. But there isn’t anything for it, nothing to be done.” He sighed and closed his eyes. “Nothing at all...”

  Mythiara began to speak but Laranthel ignored her. She wasn’t capable of caring about how he felt, and he knew it, they both did. Laranthel would have to sort his emotions out on his own and prepare to continue along on this unforgiving path he found himself on. He had come to far to quit now, endured far too much. He had to make it through the Kynotoro and become a real Nyxean Prince, to make everything he went through worth it. To make the beating John had given him worth it.

  “Laranthel? Laranthel!” Mythiara reached out to touch the young man and he took her hand gently and forced it away. She sighed, “Speak to me! Damn you, our fates are linked! I need to know how you feel, need to understand you! We can’t go on like this, I cannot allow your hate for me to boil out of control. We need each other!”

  “You need me, I do—,” before he could finish Mythiara interrupted him.

  “Incorrect, you need me. Not as much as I need you, true. But you want to live and if you fail me, you will die and my fate will be thrown into the abyss, outcomes neither of us want.” Mythiara leaned forward until she was nose to nose with Laranthel. “You need me Laranthel. We’re in this together, as allies. Not master and servant, as partners.”

  Laranthel’s face softened and he sighed. “Fine, fine. Partners it is.”

  Mythiara nodded, pulled away from Laranthel, satisfied. “Ask me any questions you have about the Kynotoro, about anything in general. Even if it’s blasphemous or treasonous.”

  “I understand that the Kynotoro trains slave soldiers, but how and why? Doesn’t Nyxea produce enough soldiers on its own?”

  “The local Nyxean born soldiers are a House Matriarch’s power. To risk them on foreign wars is dangerous and will usually lead to a House or Clans downfall. The slaves we purchase or procure from the north and west serve as soldiers to be used in the south against foreigners.”

  “So, I’m to be a slave soldier then? Am I to understand a noble princess is to have a slave husband?”

  “You have some old royal blood in you, from the north. A powerful house that played a key role in the old despot’s reign over Nyxea when one of Daegon’s demigod children took over all of Hollsar four hundred years ago.”

  Laranthel’s mouth gaped in shock. “What?”

  “You’re royalty from your mother’s line. So even though you are an anamvos, your blood is valuable. Just as valuable as a Halana, an Orkon or an Aspasci. It gives our family legitimacy not just in Nyxea but in all of Hollsar, since much of your family still holds power in the north.”

  Laranthel’s whole world was spinning, he felt like Mythiara was talking nonsense, just like when his father was talking to him about demigod blood. “This doesn’t make any sense! You’re telling me all of this is happening to me because I’m related to a despot!”

  “Not the despot specifically but one of the leading families under him. A family known for its extremely potent sorcery. This is what the Oracle has told me and what I have discovered myself in my own research.”

  Laranthel couldn’t believe what he was hearing, all of the information Mythiara had given him was floating around in his mind unable to find a place to settle down, distracting him. He needed to find a point of clarity but couldn’t, it was all too much to hold on to.

  “I feel sick,” he said clutching at his sheets. “But I guess being royal beats being a slave.”

  Mythiara smiled. “You call me a savage but the things your family once did to this land were just as brutal and even more sinister. But I suppose you wouldn’t care to hear about any of that.”

  “Maybe you all deserved it,” replied Laranthel. “It matters little to me either way.”

  Laranthel was too focused on being the damned of today to worry about the past misdeeds of distant relatives. Though he understood the connection between his circumstances now and their actions then.

  “That’s all the questions I have for now. I’d like to know what specifically they’ll be teaching me in those slave pits, but I’ll find out soon enough.”

  Mythiara reached out and stroked Laranthel’s cheek. “Whether you wanted it or not, you have a key role to play in this place by my side. I’ll leave you to your rest, I have some responsibilities I must attend to. I’ll be back later with some food and perhaps a few books to read.”

  Laranthel nodded his head and sighed. “Alright. I guess I’ll be here.”

  Mythiara laughed at that and left the room, leaving Laranthel alone with his thoughts. From chasing dreams of being an adventurer to Nyxean royalty. What a life, he thought before closing his eyes and returning to sleep. His body still ached and the painkiller he had been giving was starting to do its job in earnest.