Author: Divanora PM
Set in the same world as Silver Eyes, a young Darcan flees the wrath of the King, only to end up in an even worse situation. Preview onlyRated: Fiction M - English - Fantasy/Tragedy - Chapters: 2 - Words: 1,317 - Reviews: 8 - Favs: 17 - Follows: 12 - Updated: 06-06-12 - Published: 11-22-09 - id: 2743874
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I woke up with a groan, my head pounding. Bringing a hand to my head, I tried to figure out what I had done the previous day to warrant such a headache. Slowly, I remembered we were supposed to be on a ship, but I didn't feel any motion. I'd be able to feel the boat rocking a bit even if we were in port.
We had had to flee Catonia a few weeks ago. The new king apparently still held a grudge from the war that had ended with his father's death, and all non-humans were being killed on sight. When I had found out I had to leave my home and all my friends I raged at my parents, yelling at them to stand up for themselves, that if everyone got together we could fight back. After all, most of our friends and neighbours were human, they would stick up for us. But we left, and on the deck of the ship we found I was glad we had a King's messenger as a friend. He had come to us last night, before going to the city council, and told us of the King's decree, and that we needed to get on a ship and be gone by morning. A few hours, some heated words, and a whirlwind of packing and we were leaving the only home I had ever known. My family wasn't nobility, but we were fairly well off, my father was a trader and was well known, and my mother was the best baker in the city. My eldest sister was a professional dancer, and her and her husband lived in the capital city. I hope they got out okay; the last message from her said she was expecting their first child.
The ship had left port at first light, and now, with the city fading into the background, we could still hear the screams and the alarm as the army posted in the city methodically went through 'cleansing' it of non-humans. Most of the winged ones were taking to the sky, but too many were being shot down. The city was on a plain; there was no where for them to go, which is why we had chosen a ship. My father was holding both of us, who were unabashedly crying for the lives lost and the friends we hadn't been able to warn, but even his eyes looked suspiciously wet. The sailors gave us space; for the next few weeks they spoke very little to us, respecting our grief, My parents had clipped a horn each, and even though mine weren't fully formed yet I had done the same - a Drake symbol of mourning. Two would mean immediate family, but I think my parents were hoping that Lesa got away. If they took to the sky, there were enough woods and further out mountains that they might be able to make it to a neighbouring country. But there was very little chance we'd ever see them, or ever find out what happened to them.
We had chosen Phyla as a destination; both because it was one of the first ships out of the dock, and because we had heard that they were primarily non-human so we wouldn't have to worry about being chased out of a second home. I just hoped they welcomed refugees. God, refugee, I never thought I'd be using that word in relation to myself. The journey would take a month, so I don't know why I'm no longer on the ship.
My headache ebbed slightly, and I was able to get a better idea of where I was. Inside, that's for sure, and apparently lying on a floor. Or a really, really uncomfortable bed. It was also very cold, which brought to my attention my lack of clothing. Now I was getting nervous. Had we ended up back in Catonia? Were we waiting to be executed? I couldn't hear or smell anyone else in the room, although I had yet to open my eyes. My head was feeling better, but still not good. But at this point I had no choice. I blinked a few times, but there was very little light to hurt my eyes. Thankfully I don't need much light. My pupils dilated - eventually - and I saw I was in a very small room, all stone, with no windows. The only light came from the cracks around the door. So I really was in a dungeon. Hell, to make it even more authentic, they had put a chain around my ankle. Like I could go anywhere. Wings or not I can't fly through solid rock.
Attempting to stand I realized a few more disturbing details. My balance was off, because my wings had been bound. I had only heard of doing that in one of my classes; that people used to do that to have impressive looking guards, but to keep them captive they would bind their wings. Since they can't be clipped like an avian's wing, there was an iron band around the outside wingbone, connected by a long chain to the same place on the other wing. I would still be able to flex my wings, and have nearly full movement, but I wouldn't be able to fly as they wouldn't extend fully. I still tried though, and as I thought I only to three quarters of the way extended before the chain pulled taut. They hurt, so I pulled them back in carefully. The other thing I noticed was the collar around my neck. I didn't understand - if they were going to execute me, I can understand the need to keep my wings bound - it would be pretty embarrassing to have me fly away in the middle of it of course. But there's no reason for the collar. Now that I had my attention on it, I could feel it draining away my energy. It was probably part of the reason I felt so horrible - my energy levels were so low, and as it replenished it was being drawn off. I wasn't even the best mage, but I probably could have cracked these stones and gotten out of here. Now though, there was not enough energy left in my body for even the simplest tasks. If I pulled any more than the collar was taking, I would collapse. Can't really escape when you're passed out. So what was the point? Yea, if I was captured and about to be executed, they could just have the royal wizard, or any wizard really, drain me of my energy and keep a binding on me until the execution.
I sat back down and tried to keep from crying. If I was caught that means my parents are captured or dead as well. Running my hands through my hair, I have yet another discovery. My horns as cut - not clipped - and bound. They are still long, but don't go past the second curve. And with them being bound, they won't grow back. Ever. Even if I get out of here I'll have to wear that shame for the rest of my life. With that I lose my battle against tears and sob, unable to even curl my wings around my for warmth.