Hands fell heavy on Cyrene’s shoulders, ripping her out of her sleep. Her eyes opened wide with terror. A forceful scream escaped out of her lungs. Adrenaline coursed through her body, and she pelted out another ear-shattering shriek.
A hand clamped down over her mouth, smothering her shouts. Cyrene struggled against her assailant in the pitch-black room. Another pair of hands pushed her out of her bed, but Cyrene clawed at the hands and kicked out. Her foot connected with something hard, and a person cried out. The hand covering her mouth wavered, and Cyrene took the liberty to bite down hard.
Her captor yelped and withdrew the hand from her mouth. Cyrene hopped out of bed and made a break for the door. Before she could even make it out of her bedchamber, hands latched on to her on both sides. Another scream was cut off mid-cry as a hand slapped her across the face, hard enough to turn her head.
Cyrene gasped in shock as her vision blurred. She had never, ever been hit before, and she was glad for that because the whole side of her face stung like nothing she had ever experienced.
“Move along,” someone said gruffly, pushing her through the door.
Cyrene jostled out of her room. Her feet were bare, and she was wearing nothing but her thin white shift. Her hands fisted in the material. She hated that anyone could see her so exposed.
She was pressed forward into the hallway of the Vines, and she received her first view of the captors. They wore oversized masks shaped like grotesque animals and mythological creatures. It was as if she were at a disturbing re-creation of a masked ball. She hadn’t been to one since she was a girl, but even then, people had worn beautifully constructed masks to shape their faces with glitter, feathers, and painted designs. The captors’ masks were nothing of the sort.
A giant spotted hyena’s face appeared next to her. The wearer shoved her down the hallway, and she collided into another person, who turned around and snatched up her hands. Staring back at her was an otherworldly snarling Indres with a fake like a wolf with large fangs protruding over out of its mouth.
“Watch where you’re going!” the Indres screeched.
“What are you doing to me?” Cyrene demanded, hysteria taking over.
“You will speak when spoken to,” another voice growled. It belonged to a Leif-masked figure, standing nearly the same height as Cyrene. Strawberry-blonde locks fell out of one side of the mask that was all glittering smooth skin with high-pointed ears. The Leif was a deceptively beautiful creature prone to stealing children in the middle of the night.
“No! You will answer me immediately! I am a Queen’s Affiliate,” she said, brandishing the title like a weapon. “You will stop this at once.”
Laughter filled the corridor.
“Be quiet, little girl.”
Something sharp jabbed her in the back. Her feet stilled as the knife punctured her skin. She sucked in a harsh breath at the pain shooting through her body.
“Keep your feet moving, or I’ll use this on your throat.” The hyena cackled in her ear.
Terrified, Cyrene clamped her mouth shut and followed the strange masked troupe. The torches along the hallway had been extinguished, and Cyrene couldn’t make out the route they were taking through the Vines.
Suddenly, the Leif came to an abrupt halt, and Cyrene barely kept from running headlong into the person. The Leif pressed against a nearly invisible door in the pitch-black hallway, and it creaked open. Cyrene bit her lip, trying to rein in the fear threatening to burst out of her.
Her captors shoved her through the pitch black entranceway. Cyrene helplessly stumbled forward and went down a few stairs. At the last second, she latched on to a railing and saved her body from smashing on the hard stone steps.
The group huddled together and descended the steep flight of damp stairs. They seemed to drop farther and farther beneath the castle, spiraling endlessly, and she became dizzy from the descent.
An eerie glow appeared around the next bend. Cyrene’s legs shook with the effort, and she was thankful to finally leave the stairs behind even if it meant they were that much closer to wherever her kidnappers were taking her.
Once they reached the bottom step, someone nudged her to keep moving. Through her terror, she put one foot in front of the other. They traveled through a maze of corridors before entering a room.
Upon closer examination, Cyrene realized it was actually a monstrous cave with ruby-red stalactites dripping dangerously from the ceiling and crystallized stalagmites precipitously shooting up from the floor. From her location on a raised stone platform, a flat black lake stretched out before her across the cave. As Cyrene’s eyes adjusted to the darkness, she noticed several large boats docked at a distance, and a few smaller skiffs were tied near her. The lake must empty out of the castle on the Keylani River, which ran along the city’s perimeter.
She turned away from the lake to the matter at hand and steeled herself for whatever was about to come.
Two rows of fiercely masked faces in high-backed black chairs sat before her. They were absolutely still, staring at her and quietly waiting.
But for what?
Suddenly, ice-cold water cascaded down on her head. The water drenched her hair, matting it to her face, and soaked through her thin shift. As the frigid water hit her skin, Cyrene cried out in shock. She brushed her hands over her eyes to dispel the water. Almost at once, another assault crashed onto her, soaking her to the bone. She had just enough time to close her eyes and mouth before more water rained down.
“What in the name of the Creator is going on?” she screamed through her chattering teeth.
Someone jabbed her in the ribs with a knife blade, and Cyrene flinched from the touch.
“You will speak when spoken to,” the person said, repeating the Leif’s mantra.
“How dare you!” She held her arms around her body to try to retain a semblance of modesty.
A fourth torrent of water poured on top of her head, and she doubled over in an effort to block herself from the frigid water. Her whole body trembled, and her fingers and toes curled in on themselves. Her white shift did nothing to cover her body, but the cold was so all-encompassing that she almost didn’t care.
Cyrene waited for more water to fall, and when it didn’t immediately come, she took a moment to brush her hair back. She stood as regally as she could muster. Staring her captors down, she defiantly tilted up her chin. She didn’t know who these people were or what was going on, but she would not be broken.
“Do what you will.”
“Little girl, you will learn your manners,” a person said from behind her.
A gloved hand shot up in the air, staving off the next surge of water.
“That will quite do.” The man was wearing a terrifying depiction of a Dragon, the fearsome warriors in the Age of the Doma. “Do you think yourself worthy to wear the climbing-vine pin of an Affiliate?”
There. She had been spoken to.
“Of course!”
“Then, you must prove it,” a squat, short individual with a rather fitting dwarf mask said.
“I do not have to prove my worth to anyone. I am an Affiliate. I was selected into receivership to Queen Kaliana. There is no going back.”
“There is if you’re dead,” a peacock-masked individual trilled.
Cyrene blanched. Were they here to kill her? Had they dragged her to this place to send her remains down the Keylani River?
“Enough,” the Dragon rumbled.
Cyrene shivered. She had always feared the tales and fables that included the fire-breathing creature that could level a town with a swish of its tail.
After a short pause, a dreadfully emaciated individual wearing a terrifying Braj mask spoke up.
Braj were even more horrifying to her than dragons. They were vicious killers, who were all but invisible in the shadows. It was said that if a person ever saw the true face of a Braj, it would be the last thing they would ever see. The monsters would carve off the faces of their victims and wear them as a prize.
“Did you know that Affiliates and High Order were once warriors?” the high-pitched voice asked.
“Warriors?” she asked. She had not heard such a thing before.
“Oh yes.”
“That’s not right. After Viktor Dremylon destroyed the Doma, he created Affiliates and High Order for the restoration of Byern. He wanted the country to flourish, and he used the Class system with his new Affiliates and High Order at its head to bring about the peace the citizens all so desperately desired,” Cyrene told them.
“Yet what exactly were they restoring?” a man in a fierce lion mask asked.
“They were restoring the lands for the prosperity of Byern,” she said tentatively. “They were restoring education and knowledge for the people. They were restoring order to the world that they now ruled.”
What else would they have been restoring? The Doma had ruled for too long. They hadn’t seen the plight of the everyday people. Viktor Dremylon had saved Byern.
“And how do you best restore order?” the Braj-masked woman asked.
Cyrene blankly stared forward. It took her a second to piece together what the Braj had meant. After Viktor had pushed the Doma out of Byern, he’d had to restore order and implement his Class system. She had never thought to question how he’d done it. And now that she was, it dawned on her.
Oh Creator! She had been backed into a corner.
The best way to restore order after rebellion was surely through…force.
“He used his warriors to restore order,” she said, understanding it for the first time. “The first generation of Affiliates and High Order were people he could trust through and through. They were Viktor Dremylon’s…warriors.”
The Dragon laughed. “Yes, it is true, and now, you know it. The answer we must know is whether or not you are a warrior.”
“You want to know if I’m a warrior?”
“Yes, and you must prove it to us now,” the dwarf squeaked out, “as we do not believe you belong among us.”
“How can I—”
“You will prove it!” the Dragon called out. “You will prove that you are worthy of such a title.”
“We will leave in a moment and lock the door behind us,” the peacock interrupted. “You must find a way to exit this cave and return to your quarters. If you make it, speak of this to no one. If you make it, then you can consider yourself a warrior, an Affiliate, in truth.”
“Be warned. You are not the only thing in the room.” The Braj giggled.
Cyrene stared at them in utter shock. She was supposed to escape this cave, wearing only her shift, in the dead of night with something else in here. Are they absolutely mad?
“What if I choose not to?”
“Then, you will die,” the peacock said with bloodlust in her voice.