Chapter 1

A terrified cry echoed in the large room, and at first, I was confused. Who the hell was screaming? It took a while before I realized that the horrified scream was coming from me. It was me who cried straight out. I closed my open mouth and fell silent. When the calm finally settled in the cell, I noticed that I was not alone. Neil squatted in front of me and held out a tin cup. As I parted my dry, cracked lips, the cup was brought forward, and I drank greedily. The water was cold and comfortable for my sore throat, and I savoured it. Again, I had screamed my self hoarse, and the water temporarily relieved the pain.

"Thank you," I said as the mug was removed from my mouth and looked at the man sitting in front of me.

As usual, the long sergeant didn't meet my gaze. He was as always careful never to look me in the eyes. Neil got up and turned around to leave.

I don't really know what came over me, but I needed to talk. I needed to tell someone, anyone about the dream.

"I dreamed it was night time. Well, it's always at night in my dreams, but now it was raining, and it was so cold that I thought I would freeze to death."

Neil stopped walking, but he didn't turn around. The tall man showed no other sign that he was listening to me, but Neil stood still as if he was waiting, and I continued.

"I remember sitting on a wooden chair in the middle of the Throne Hall, and in front of me stood the four glass thrones. They were empty, just like the rest of the hall, and the only sound I could hear was the rain hitting the big windows and thunder that rumbled. It sounded like a storm was raging outside the castle. But inside the great hall, it was utterly silent, as quiet as in a burial chamber. I couldn't even hear my own breathing. So there I sat, completely still, with my arms hanging lifeless along my body and my eyes turned to the thrones. You should have seen them, Neil. Something so beautifully could never be made by human hands. No, the younger breed, your breed, is better at producing vulgar war machines than beautiful things. The thrones are made of the thinnest glass but are still stronger than the hardest metal. They were created by a race that you have never even heard of, forgotten after thousands of years. But the thrones, they will remain there in that hall until the end of time," I said as I licked my dry lips and gazed at the man before I continued.

"So, there I sat on the chair, staring at the thrones. Not because I wanted to, but I couldn't tear my eyes away from them. The thrones forced me to it. They demanded submission and accepted nothing but my full devotion, so I stared as I felt dread grow in my chest. I was so bloody scared. Then, very, very slowly, the hall began to be filled with voices. At first, there were only a few, calm and gently whispers. But rapidly, the whispers changed and got louder and increased in numbers, until there were thousands of malevolent screams that revealed their feelings for me. The sound was deafening. It hit the walls and thundered in my head. I wanted to scream Neil, to put my hands over my aching ears, but I couldn't do anything. I couldn't get up and seek shelter. I couldn't even raise my arms. I was trapped, and I had no control over my body. And suddenly, bang! Pain exploded in my head. I felt the blood flow down the sides of my face from my ears. The thousand of voices continued to call their hatred, their contempt, and their fear of me. Another thousand cried, and I could only sit in silence and listen to them for hours. The pain in my head was so intense that I barely managed to take another breath. I stared at those bloody four thrones of glass and suffocated by the pain that tore and destroyed everything like a maul that crushes skulls. I tried to get the blood out of my eyes by blinking. There wasn't much else I could do. I spat the blood out of my mouth, that came up from my dying organs. It tasted iron, thick and hot. Hell, from all my openings, blood came because my insides were broken like I swallowed glass. The thousand of voices tore my body apart. I felt how the skin began to crack, breaking like the ice on a frozen lake. Then how the muscles and even the joints were torn apart. I sat there on the chair in the Throne Hall, staring at those damned glass thrones while my body tore into pieces of something I couldn't see. The pain was so intense that I should have collapsed, but the thrones didn't allow it. I should look at them. I should worship only them. That was the last thing I remember before I woke up screaming, and then I saw you."

I finished my story and looked at Neil. It felt great that someone had finally heard about my nightmares. And the man stood still for a good while but then without uttering a word, he walked toward the door, opened it, and left.

"Thank you for listening, Neil. Next time you can tell me about your dreams. Preferably if they are a little sexy," I called out to him and grinned to myself.

This year Neil had been stationed here for twenty years, but I had never even heard his voice or met his gaze. Neil wasn't allowed to talk to me, and he avoided me, they all did. Our conversations were always one-sided because so were the rules for all my prison guards, except for Colter. Still, I knew that everything would be reported to his commander immediately after he left the cell. Colter would hear everything about my dream, about the screams and my horror.

I sighed as I lowered my eyes to my dirty, cold feet. The sweat that covered my filthy body under the thin black dress made me cold, and I shivered.

I really hated that fucking dream. It wasn't unusual for me to have nightmares. I had them for many years now, and some so terrible that I had cried for hours after waking up. But never had the dreams been like this before. The pain was so real. My body still hurt, and the headache I had, it was worse than after days of intense drinking. Why, after all these years, did I start dreaming about the Throne Hall? A place I hadn't visited in so many years. A place I was desperately trying to forget.

My thoughts were abruptly interrupted when I heard the sound of boots approaching the cell, and I realized that the door never closed after Neil left. Instead, the heavy steps were heard from Colter getting closer, and the door shut and was locked behind him. My gaze was still directed at my feet, but I knew right away that it was Colter.

Everyone smelled different. Neil reeked of the bitter cigarettes he smoked, and Colter smelled of the tea he drank every morning. So now, a soothing scent of citrus spread throughout the cell, and I couldn't help but shiver with delight.

It wasn't until I saw the black boots on the floor in front of me that I lifted my head and met the tall man's gaze. The chain around my neck and waist rattled as I leaned back against the cold wall, but fell silent just as quickly as I became still. The man in front of me, who was wearing a black commander's uniform, was the only one who had talked to me for over five years. Before him, it was his father, grandfather, and so it continued back to the day I was placed in this prison cell. But none of his kinsmen had spoken to me as Captain Colter Dale did. To him, I was more than just an animal that was to be mocked, beaten, and hated. He talked to me with something that actually reminded me of acceptance. It made me suspicious at first, what could he have for motives, what did his king want to get out of it? But as time went by and his calm, respectful attitude towards me never changed, I became accustomed to it. It became natural.

The Captain looked at me for a long time before he nodded as a greeting and sat down on the stool he had brought with him. His hazelnut brown eyes never let go of mine.

"I heard you had a troublesome night again. Neil told me that you were as if possessed by something. You were close to strangling yourself in the chains," Colter's dark, calm voice was stern.

"Oh, but you would have liked that. Right, Captain? Then you and your men could finally leave this place and return to civilization. Wouldn't that make you happy?"

I forced myself to grin at Colter mockingly. I didn't feel like laughing tough, my head continued to hurt as if it was going to crack like an overripe fruit, but I was suppressing the pain. It could be taken care of later. Not now, not in front of him. However, the smile never reached my tired, stinging eyes. I felt like crying.

"Maybe you would be placed in Hander or on one of the tropical islands. Spend your days guarding some meaningless border and have pleasant moments with the locals. Wouldn't that be wonderful, Captain."

Colter looked at me with his firm gaze and shook his head. He looked like a displeased father, whose disapproving glare made me feel like a whining little child. I got an uncomfortable lump in my stomach.

'Don't look at me like that!' I thought and I looked down at the floor again.

"You know very well that if you die under my command, not only I but all my men will be executed for our failure. Your life Cadhla is worth more than any of ours."

My forced smile quickly disappeared when he said that name, and I felt cold like someone poured a bucket of ice-cold water over me.

"Didn't I tell you not to say that damn name," I spit out the words and bare my teeth in a snake-like hiss.

To my surprise, Colter actually looked remorseful and took off his cap.

"You are right. I apologize for my mistake," the man said, bowing his head in apology, the cap pressed against his chest.

I couldn't help it, but I burst out laughing. The situation was so bizarre and my anger quickly vanished.

My prison guard was actually apologizing to me. Had Colter's father seen this, Colter would have been executed immediately. A father and a son couldn't have been more different than those two.

"Oh, how I have missed you, Captain! The days are so painfully dull when you're away. Tell me, did the recruitment go well?"

Colter nodded, straightened his back, and he put his cap in his lap.

"We got four new soldiers. Sure, they are young and inexperienced, but the training went well. They will be up to the task in no time," Colter said and went silent.

He looked at me for a long time. He seemed to ponder over something.

"One of the soldiers will be stationed as a prison guard, and you will not attempt to communicate with him. Can you at least try to do as I say this time?"

It almost sounded like he was pleading, but I just giggled.

"I can't promise anything, Captain. I mean, I have to have something to amuse myself with while I'm stuck in here. Right?" I teased.

Of course, I would have some fun with the new soldier. As always, I would do anything to get a reaction from him. Because the worst thing about being locked up in this damn cell was the lack of emotions, I was the only one that showed them. The soldiers would give me food and water, pour a bucket of hot water over me once a week, which was my bath. And stand outside the door, for every hour of the day, every day, all year round. Year after year after year. They weren't allowed to touch or talk to me, so they avoided me as best they could.

I did my very best with all the soldiers that guarded me throughout the many years that I've been a prisoner. I had provoked them in every way I could. I tried to get them angry, sad, attracted to me, and with a few, I had succeeded. One soldier hit me bloody with a soup bowl. Another started to cry like a toddler. And once a young soldier, sixty years ago, went so far that he even caressed the inside of my thighs. Unfortunately, he couldn't do anything more than that. He was caught red-handed by the Captain at the time and was immediately executed. It was still something I remembered with warmth, his hot hand against my skin. The desires in his face. I didn't know what his name had been. I no longer remembered what he looked like. But it didn't matter anyway. At least I had managed to get a reaction, and that was all that mattered. I almost always failed, but still, I had to try. What else was there to have fun with, here in this cell, after so many years.

Colter looked at me and shook his head. Was it pity I glimpsed in his otherwise so restrained face?

"I wish you would stop. You only make it harder on yourself, and you know that."

The soft tone of his voice when he said that made me stop smiling. Yes, of course, I knew he was right. I would just get frustrated, sad, and then revert into myself even more, as always.

The soldiers were well-disciplined, and I had become a shadow of my former self, someone not even worthy of anybody's attention. I was a nobody—just a miserable, pathetic piece of shit.

Colter's word of truth made me feel so miserable and I didn't want to talk anymore. I was content with just looking at him, as Colter shared my silence.

We sat there for a while on the hard stone floor and looked at each other. I was a prisoner and Colter, my guard.

His eyes rarely revealed anything, nor did his facial expressions. Colter controlled his every movement with perfection, all the way out to his fingertips. I wished so strongly that I could know Colter's thoughts when he looked at me. Did he hate me? Was the Captain disgusted, or maybe did he actually feel a little sympathy for me. With his predecessors I had known, they never tried to hide their hatred and disgust for me. Some had gone so far as to show it to me daily, like Colter's father, Bern. He always began his mornings by pissing on the floor around me. It splattered all over me, and the stench of urine remained on my skin long after he died. It could be days before I got something to eat, and I will never forget his favourite past time activity. He loved to beat me bloody with his horsewhip. I will always remember the happiness I felt when I heard that Bern had been drinking so hard one night that he suffocated on his vomit. It was perhaps one of the best moments of my life. That and when Colter spoke to me for the first time, the same day he took over his father's service. He had been younger, after all, it had been almost five years ago, but otherwise, Colter looked nearly the same as now. We were the same height, so he was taller than most of his kind. His physique was still well built, his predecessors all had become fat and lazy after only a few years here while Colter still was in good shape. He was a proud and proper soldier, shaved himself every morning, his hair was always well-combed, and the uniform he wore was without the slightest wrinkle. No, Colter showed no signs of walking the same pathetic path as his father, but his way of treating me as if I was worth something still made me confused.

"I learned something in Lorean that you will find interesting. Dragons have been sighted."

My thoughts were abruptly interrupted by Colter's words, and I became tense. He was right. It got my interest.

My mother's kin was usually never sighted by humans. And it could only mean one thing. Something must have provoked them.