Page 3 of Realms of Shadow and Sun (A World of Sun and Shadow #3)

For the third consecutive day, Sion found himself contemplating whether or not he should just kill Brandle in his sleep. The allure of making it look like an accident was tempting. He could push him off a cliff, bury him alive in an avalanche...the list of potential punishments and methods of death seemed endless, each more satisfying than the last in Sion's mind. But as gratifying as orchestrating Brandle's demise might be, he knew Grayden was still relying on him to play his part at Cressida's court. The weight of his responsibility sat heavy on his shoulders, a constant reminder of the delicate game he was forced to play.

Sion sat by the flickering fire, its warmth barely penetrating the chill of the Snow Lands. The crackling flames cast dancing shadows across the pristine white landscape, creating a strange, ever-shifting view. He listened to Brandle's thunderous snores emanating from the nearby tent, the sound grating on his already frayed nerves. It surprised him that Brandle trusted him enough to sleep so soundly, leaving Sion to keep watch. For his part, Sion rarely closed his eyes for more than a few minutes at a time, his fingers perpetually curled around the hilt of his dagger, ready to spring into action at a moment's notice. He didn't trust the queen's cousin for a heartbeat, and he wasn't about to let his guard down now.

A muffled cough drew Sion's attention to the old man bound to a nearby tree. The sight of the elderly prisoner, forced to sleep upright in the biting cold, with nothing but the frozen ground beneath his thin, strange garb, made Sion's stomach churn with guilt. He rose from his position by the fire, snow packing beneath his boots as he approached the captive.

Sion studied the man, taking in his torn shirt and peculiar footwear. The shoes were black with laces, but they were low-cut, entirely unsuitable for the harsh conditions of the Snow Lands. His glasses hung askew on his face, one edge dangling lower than the other, a testament to the rough treatment he'd endured. Despite his disheveled appearance, the man's eyes were a piercing, crystalline blue that seemed to bore right through Sion.

Sion couldn't fathom why this seemingly unremarkable human was so important to the Shadow Queen. Perhaps he had been banished to the human realm? The memory of their initial encounter flooded back to Sion. When he and Brandle had stepped through the portal and found the man bent over a long row of books, he had offered no resistance. It was almost as if he had been expecting them, his cerulean eyes twinkling with amusement before Brandle's magic froze him in place and then forcibly dragged him into their world.

The old man rubbed his hands together vigorously, blowing on them in a futile attempt to generate warmth. The golden buttons securing his sleeves glinted in the firelight, a touch of elegance in their desolate surroundings. Sion glanced back towards Brandle's tent, confirming that the snoring continued on, before he spoke in a hushed tone.

"I'm sorry about this,"

he murmured, genuine regret coloring his words. "I wish I could let you go and return you to your world."

The old man's gaze settled on Sion, his mouth twitching as if he possessed a secret that Sion couldn't possibly comprehend. "Trust me,"

he replied, his voice surprisingly steady despite the cold. "I'm right where I want to be."

He studied Sion intently, silver hair damp against his scalp, snowflakes melting and tracing icy paths down his weathered face.

Sion sighed heavily, the weight of his conflicting loyalties pressing down on him. He reached into the leather satchel slung across his shoulder and produced a handful of dense, nutrient-rich traveling cakes. Kneeling down, he pressed them into the old man's cold-numbed hands. The prisoner grasped them eagerly, shoveling the food into his mouth with surprising speed.

"Do you have a name?"

Sion asked, curiosity getting the better of him.

The man swallowed hard, then offered another enigmatic grin. "Cyrus,"

he replied simply.

Sion rocked back on his heels before standing and moving back to the fire. He grabbed a battered pot and began filling it with fresh snow and a blend of aromatic herbs. The familiar motions of preparing tea provided a moment of normalcy in the surreal situation.

"Well, Cyrus,"

Sion began, his tone casual but his mind racing, "what does the Shadow Queen want with you? What importance do you hold for her that she sent us all the way to the human realm to retrieve you?"

Cyrus's eyes glinted in the firelight, a hint of mischief in their depths. "Oh, trust me, I'm important to her,"

he said, his voice laden with unspoken meaning. "At one time, I was the most important person to her."

Sion snorted, finding the claim hard to believe. And yet...it was a strange request, traveling through the portal to kidnap an aging human male. There had to be some kind of connection there, as impossible as it seemed.

Cyrus began coughing again, a dry rattle that seemed to emanate from deep within his lungs. Sion turned his attention back to the pot he had placed in the fire. As the mixture heated, a soft citrus aroma wafted through the air, eliciting a contented sigh from the old man.

"I haven't smelled crimling tea in almost twenty-five years,"

Cyrus murmured, his eyes closed as he savored the familiar scent.

Sion's suspicions crystallized in that moment. This man wasn't just a human. He was fae, glamoured like Renya had been. For whatever reason, he had either been banished or had chosen to hide in the human realm.

Carefully, Sion removed the pot from the fire and poured its steaming contents into a tarnished silver mug. He brought it over to his prisoner, watching as Cyrus's blue eyes sparkled with knowing gratitude.

"You're not really hers, are you?"

Cyrus asked softly, his gaze penetrating.

Sion fought to keep his face neutral, his heart hammering in his chest. How could this man guess his duplicity so easily?

A slight chuckle escaped the elderly man. "You're a Ruffio, aren't you? From the Snow Lands?"

Sion's eyes widened, and he felt a bead of sweat trickle down his neck despite the frigid air. He glanced nervously towards Brandle's tent, silently praying to the Gods that the man's snores continued. To his relief, the rhythmic sound still emanated from the canvas structure.

"I guessed right, didn't I?"

Cyrus pressed, a hint of triumph in his voice. "I knew your father a bit. You look exactly like him. Anyone from the Snow Lands and a descendant of Markus Ruffio would never betray their own."

Sion didn't dare speak of his double role, but he made no move to argue with this perceptive stranger either. He let the silence stretch between them as Cyrus finished his tea, the only sounds the crackling of the fire and the whisper of the wind through the snow-laden trees.

"How is King Efferon?"

Cyrus asked suddenly, his tone so casual that it caught Sion off guard. It was jarring to hear this man, whom they had found organizing books in another realm, speak of the late king with such familiarity.

"He passed away about five years ago,"

Sion replied, unable to keep the sadness from his voice. "The queen as well."

Grayden's parents had always been kind to him and his family. King Efferon had even been his godfather.

"Both?"

Cyrus's brow crinkled with concern. "What happened?"

"A sickness,"

Sion explained, the memories of that dark time flooding back. "None such as had ever been seen before. Healers were called from every corner of our world, but none could save them."

Cyrus frowned, his eyes narrowing. "A sickness, you say? Did anyone else become ill?"

Sion's own frown deepened as he considered the question. No, no one else had fallen ill. The Snowden children had been kept away as a precaution, but even the healers and servants who had tended to the royal couple had remained healthy.

"Not a sickness, my boy,"

Cyrus said quietly, his voice heavy with implication. "I'd wager they were poisoned."

The words hit Sion like a physical blow. He felt suddenly dizzy, blood rushing to his head and then pooling in his cheeks. Fates, murdered. Why hadn't anyone considered this possibility? His mind raced back to those bleak days following the king and queen's deaths, when he had struggled to keep Grayden from falling apart completely. He remembered dunking his friend's head in the horse's water trough, desperate to sober him up enough to attend the funeral. Grayden had taken the loss of both parents incredibly hard, and being thrust into the role of ruler had only added to the crushing weight on his shoulders.

In the chaos of those days, with Tumwalt and Almory bustling about, trying to prepare Grayden and plan for the uncertain future, was it possible they had overlooked the true cause of the royal couple's demise?

Cyrus regarded Sion with sympathy, his eyes full of understanding as the young man grappled with this earth-shattering revelation.

"Who is ruling the Snow Lands now?"

Cyrus inquired gently, steering the conversation to slightly less treacherous waters. "If I recall correctly, the eldest Snowden child had no magic. The other was practically a babe in leading strings."

"Phillippe, the eldest, possesses no magic,"

Sion confirmed, struggling to keep his voice neutral. "The younger, Grayden, now leads the lands."

Despite his best efforts, a note of pride crept into his tone as he spoke of his best friend.

"And it's him you serve, isn't it?"

Cyrus pressed, his eyes knowing.

Sion nodded, just the quickest jerk of his head, but it was enough.

"Ah, I see,"

Cyrus mused. "Tell me, what has Cressida been up to? Besides her plans for total domination, that is."

"She's managed to bring dragons into this world,"

Sion replied, unable to keep the note of fear from his voice.

It was Cyrus's turn to look shaken. "She didn't?"

he breathed, disbelief etched across his features.

"I'm afraid so. Three, soon to be four,"

Sion confirmed grimly. "She's practically unstoppable."

He glanced towards the horizon, where the first sliver of sun was beginning to climb into the sky, painting the snow-covered landscape in hues of pink and gold.

"Four dragons?"

Cyrus shook his head in amazement. "I just—I can't believe she would go that far."

"You have no idea how far her depravity goes,"

Sion retorted bitterly, his hand unconsciously moving to his shoulder where the phantom pain of Cressida's bite marks still lingered.

Cyrus opened his mouth to respond but stopped abruptly as the sound of rustling emerged from Brandle's tent. Sion quickly moved away from Cyrus, returning to his position by the fire, his heart racing with the fear of discovery.

Brandle crawled out of the tent, his usually neat beard disheveled and his robes wrinkled. He looked thoroughly annoyed, his eyes narrowed as he surveyed the camp.

"Sleep well, Brandle?"

Sion couldn't quite keep the smirk from his voice. It was oddly satisfying to see how poorly the pampered courtier was handling the rigors of outdoor travel.

Brandle scowled at Sion, then cast a suspicious glance at Cyrus. "Sion, get him up,"

he barked. "I want to be back at the Shadow Realm by this evening. I refuse to spend another night in that accursed tent."

Sion ignored Brandle's imperious tone, taking his time as he packed up his tent and supplies before securing them to his horse. While they were able to use magic to transport themselves for some of the journey, neither possessed enough power to transport their prisoner back to the cliff high above the Shadow Realm valley.

Snow crunched underfoot as Sion approached Cyrus once more. He cut through the ropes binding the old man to the tree, guilt washing over him as Cyrus struggled to his feet, his legs stiff from the cold. Sion moved to help him onto the horse, steadying him as he settled into the saddle. Brandle approached from behind, securing Cyrus to the saddle with fresh ropes. Sion tied the prisoner's horse to his own mount, then watched as Brandle extinguished the fire with a flick of his dark tendril of magic before climbing onto his own horse.

Despite his predicament, Cyrus sat regally atop his mount, as if he had been riding all his life. There was a quiet dignity about him that Sion couldn't help but admire.

As they set off, Sion felt a growing sense of dread settling in his chest. Every step of the horses' hooves brought him closer to Cressida's clutches, to her bed. The thought made his skin crawl. As the snow began to thin, he knew it was only a matter of time before she could sink her teeth into him once more, both literally and figuratively.

They left the icy brightness of the Snow Lands behind, entering the oppressive gloom of the Shadow Realm's forest. Though Sion had ridden through these woods many times, the dead and decaying trees always left him with the unsettling feeling of being watched. Every crackle of a branch made him turn, every rustling leaf set his heart racing.

At last, they emerged from the forest, standing at the base of the imposing cliff that housed Cressida's stronghold. Sion glanced back at Cyrus, surprised to see steady resolve in the old man's expression.

Brandle surveyed their little group with disdain. "I'm going to use magic,"

he announced haughtily. "You can use the spiral staircase with the human."

Without another word, he let the black mist envelop his body before funneling upward and disappearing.

Sion couldn't help but sigh in relief. For the first time in days, he was free of Brandle's stares and insults. The man's oily presence had tainted every moment of their journey, his constant complaints about every snow drift and gust of wind getting on Sion's last nerve.

Dismounting smoothly, Sion untied Cyrus from the saddle. Two men, clad in the same golden garb Sion wore, emerged from the shadows to take charge of the horses. As Sion led Cyrus towards the entry to the spiral staircase, he felt physically ill with dread. Beside him, Cyrus stretched and grunted, his muscles clearly aching from the long journey.

Glancing around to ensure they were alone, Sion made a split-second decision. He quickly untied the older man's bonds, ignoring the look of surprise that flashed across Cyrus's face.

"Go,"

Sion urged in a fierce whisper. "Quickly. Back to the Snow Lands. Our people will take you in."

But Cyrus remained rooted to the spot, making no move to flee.

"Did you hear me?"

Sion hissed, anxiety coloring his tone. "You need to move fast!"

A small, mysterious smile played at the corners of Cyrus's mouth. "I'm right where I want to be, trust me, my boy,"

he said calmly. "Now that I'm here, I can almost feel her. This is a reunion I'm looking forward to."

Sion's jaw went slack as he struggled to process the man's words. What person in their right mind would willingly face Cressida? Sion would have given anything to be free of her clutches, to live his own life away from her toxic influence.

"If I can't convince you to go, I have no choice but to bring you before the queen,"

Sion said, his voice heavy with resignation. "I don't know why she desires you so, but the fact that she made us cross into the human realm to find you means you are instrumental to her schemes. She won't let you live. Once she gets what she wants, she'll discard you."

His fists clenched unconsciously, nails digging into his palms.

"Don't concern yourself with my welfare,"

Cyrus replied, his tone maddeningly calm. "I can look out for myself."

He rolled his stiff shoulders and neck, wincing slightly. "Just bring me to her."

Sion stood at the base of the turret that led to the palace, its imposing structure perched precariously on the mountainside. Drawing upon the meager magic Cressida afforded him, he sent out a tendril of black mist. It twisted and twirled in the air, an otherworldly serpent dancing to an unheard melody, before turning into the shape of a door on the side of the turret.

Reaching out with the borrowed magic, Sion pushed against the ancient bricks. They groaned and shifted, sliding back to reveal a hidden passageway. As the entrance appeared, Sion sighed heavily, the dread in his stomach churning like the rough sea.

If the sudden appearance of the doorway surprised Cyrus, he didn't show it. Instead, he marched ahead of Sion, his loosened bindings trailing behind him.

The smell of moss and damp earth assaulted Sion's nostrils as they entered the passage. What had once been a comforting scent, reminiscent of the forest after a cleansing rain, now turned his stomach. It was as if the very air of the Shadow Realm had been tainted by Cressida's malevolence.

Standing in the center of the circular chamber, Sion channeled a bit more magic. The torches lining the wet walls sputtered to life, their dull glow matching the look of resignation in Sion's eyes. Cyrus glanced around, his expression one of quiet reminiscence, as if these gloomy halls held memories from a distant past.

Before Sion could inquire about Cyrus's apparent familiarity with the place, the old man moved towards the first stone slab step, his shiny shoes clacking against the weathered rock.

"Up we go,"

Cyrus said, a hint of anticipation in his voice that Sion couldn't quite fathom.

Sion followed behind, marveling at the agility of the older man. Despite his age, Cyrus seemed to be in remarkably good shape, tackling the endless spiral staircase with determination. Even Sion found himself huffing towards the end, while Cyrus merely paused a few times to catch his breath.

At last, they reached the landing. The passageway opened up into a dome-shaped space, with open-air windows near the top allowing slivers of the perpetually gloomy sky to peek through. Cyrus's expression was one of grim resolve as Sion pressed open the ornate marble door leading into the palace.

They crossed the threshold, their footsteps echoing on the polished marble tiles. Towering ivory pillars flanked their path, offering no protection from the abyss of the valley far below. Every walkway was exposed to the elements, with no walls to break the constant, treacherous wind.

As they navigated the twisting labyrinth of sky bridges, Sion felt as if he were walking a tightrope, his position in the air as precarious as his standing in Cressida's court. One misstep, one wrong word, and he would plummet into the darkness below.

Finally, they reached the last sky bridge leading to the throne room. Sion's heart hammered in his chest as he grabbed the ropes binding Cyrus and tightened them, forcing the old man behind him to maintain the illusion of a captive and captor. They crossed the threshold into the throne room, where Brandle stood regally, as if he were the rightful occupant of the black mist throne rather than a mere servant.

Sion moved towards the center of the cavernous chamber, the ever-present wind teasing his hair. He longed to shed his thick fur cloak, but he remained stoic, awaiting the arrival of the Shadow Queen. Suddenly, the air in the room seemed to thicken, funneling towards the throne. Dark tendrils of mist writhed and twisted, gradually taking on a human form.

As the mist dissipated, Cressida materialized before them, a triumphant smirk playing on her lips. She was an imposing figure in a long hunter-green dress that pooled around her feet like a liquid shadow. An intricately embroidered serpent with glittering jeweled eyes wrapped around her torso, its scaled body serving as a macabre belt. Her eyelids were painted a matching verdant hue, and large, gold cobra-shaped earrings dangled from her lobes, catching the dim light as she moved. She twisted in place, her high heels clicking ominously on the polished floor.

Sion bowed his head, reluctant to meet her cruel gaze. But from the corner of his eye, he detected movement as Cyrus straightened, standing taller and more defiant than before.

"So...it's been a long time,"

Cyrus said, his voice steady as he stared down the Shadow Queen.

Cressida's lips pursed into a thin line as she descended from the dais circling her throne. She stood before Cyrus, malice radiating from her in waves. The tension in the room was thick enough to cut with a knife as silence stretched between them.

Finally, she spoke, her voice dripping with disdain. "Hiding in the human realm? I should have guessed it before. You always had a soft spot for those weaklings."

Cyrus shrugged, his bound arms doing little to diminish his air of nonchalance. "It was better than being in the same world as you."

Cressida hissed, her hand lashing out in a vicious backhand that caught Cyrus across the face. The sound of the impact echoed through the chamber, but Cyrus merely turned his head with the blow, making no sound. When he faced forward again, his expression remained calm, a stark contrast to the storm of emotions playing across Cressida's features.

"Brandle,"

she snapped, her voice as sharp as a knife. "Take him away. See that he's placed in the south wing, farthest from my chambers. I don't want him anywhere near me. Bind him, with both ropes and magic."

Her eyes narrowed dangerously. "And if he fights...well, feel free to get creative. Just don't kill him. That pleasure will be mine alone."

Brandle nodded, a cruel smile twisting his lips. Dark tendrils of magic enveloped both him and Cyrus, and in the blink of an eye, they vanished from the throne room.

Cressida stepped down from the dais, brushing past Sion as if he were nothing more than a piece of furniture. He was just about to let out a sigh of relief when she turned back, fixing him with a penetrating stare that froze the breath in his lungs.

"You are no longer permitted to leave the palace, for any reason,"

she declared, her tone rough. "Your sole purpose in this realm is to serve me."

As she swept from the room, the full weight of her words crashed down upon Sion. Bile rose in his throat, and for the thousandth time since he had infiltrated her court, he found himself wishing the Fates would grant him the sweet release of death.