his fingers impatiently on the obsidian arm of his throne, staring at the far side of the room. He received word to expect an arrival, and he couldn’t help but ponder what the person had done.
When mystics were sent to Vincula, their crimes ranged anywhere from armed robbery to murder, though the murders were usually done by accident or justified.
Those who rape, abuse children, and murder for no reason other than their own entertainment skipped Vincula and were sent to hell, no questions asked. It’s a simple decision really, seeing as their souls were blacker than the Vincula night sky.
Except for Caius. Adila couldn’t leave the prison realm without a ruler, could she? Since he was a Royal, his little sister couldn’t see the color of Caius’ soul, but she felt it all the same and graciously spared him from an eternity with Orcus.
His anger welled within him, and he gripped the stone beneath his hands as images of Atarah lying on the ground in a pool of her own blood assaulted his mind. He’d never forget the look on Adila’s face as she doled out his punishment. Five-hundred years trapped in Vincula. The longest sentence in all the realms. “This is for your own good, brother.”
He bided his time until he could exact his revenge that would very well seal his fate, leaving his sister no choice but to send him to hell, anyway.
Five-hundred years was a long time, and resentment had festered within his soul. He knew he was beyond the point of salvation.
Opening her eyes, Rory scrambled backwards across the cold floor. Gone was the concrete of the judgment chambers, and in its place was a grey marble circle in the middle of a sea of black marble floors. Torches lined the walls, giving just enough light to see, but not enough to make out minor details across the room.
She looked around as she climbed to her feet. Vincula. Her awareness heightened, and she spun in a circle, searching for someone to tell her what to do. There were no chains encircling her wrists and no cell holding her captive, confusing her already muddled mind.
Rory hadn’t seen him, not at first. Not until his commanding presence drew her eyes across the room and almost knocked her to the floor again. Lounging casually on his black throne was a man who exuded such raw power, she could feel it down to her core. Something was different about him, but he wasn’t close enough for her to see him clearly in the dim lighting.
There was a walkway of light grey marble running from the throne to the circle on which she stood, and on either side, different people gathered with various degrees of curiosity. She didn’t know who they were, but she knew the man in front of her was the Umbra King.
The crowd stayed quiet as Rory stared across the massive room at the king, and something compelled her to go to him, but she held fast. Achingly slow, he rose from his throne and descended the dais as shadows rippled in his wake, making Rory’s eyes widen. He was the king of monsters among men and the villain of everyone’s nightmares.
His measured steps against the marble floor were the only sounds as they echoed through the air. She was sure no one was breathing; herself included.
He walked with a dangerous grace that would send the fiercest mystics skittering, and the shadows permeating the air around him were vicious in their own right.
He was tall and muscular, wearing a fitted black button-down shirt opened at the top, perfectly tailored black slacks, and silver rings adorning both hands. His bright golden eyes stared her down, and when he was close enough for her to see his terrifyingly beautiful face, she stepped back in horror. It couldn’t be.
As her eyes traveled the length of him, she nearly fainted from shock.
He stood out against the rest of the room, not because he was the king, but because he was in vivid color. His skin was a hue she’d never seen before. Sun-tanned beige, her soul whispered in the back of her mind, and his hair was blonde.
While seeing him in color was a shock, it wasn’t what left her speechless. She didn’t know much about the notorious Umbra King, but what she did know was ten years ago she watched him murder her sister.
The king stared at Rory, and she dug her nails into her palms as anger and disgust rippled through her. He cocked his head to the side, and she forced herself not to squirm under his scrutiny.
Without taking his eyes from hers, he held out his arm and snapped his fingers. Within seconds, an enforcer she recognized from her sentencing hurried to his side and placed a sheet of paper into his waiting hand. After the man retreated, the king scanned the document.
As he read, his face morphed from one of curiosity to one of disgust and anger. “Aurora Raven.” His voice was deep and filled with an icy calm that raised the hairs on her arms.
“Umbra King,” she spat back. Her voice lowered so only he could hear as she said, “Or should I call you Bane?”
An amused look crossed his face as he took a step forward, and shadows curled around them both. Before she knew what was happening, a shadow grabbed her chin and forced her to look at him. “You will address me as ‘Your Grace,’ or I will carve your tongue from that pretty mouth of yours.”
Blind rage filled her, and if it were not for the fact he held her sister’s soul, she would have tried to rip his head from his neck with her bare hands and bathe in his blood.
Her traitorous body reacted to the masculine sex appeal radiating from him, but no amount of attraction would dull the hatred she had for the man before her.
His face was cold and impassive. “How did you convince my sister to spare your life?” Again, she stayed silent, and the shadow released her chin as he turned his attention to the paper in his hand. “Your contract is for five-hundred years.” He circled her slowly, and she could feel his eyes raking over her in cold assessment. “Congratulations. You have been given the longest sentence of any mystic in the history of the realms.”
“I suppose she thought five-hundred years with you was worse than hell,” Rory deadpanned.
As he walked into her line of sight, he stepped close enough that she could see the different shades of gold in his eyes. “I promise, little butcher, after your time with me, you will wish she sent you to hell. My only regret is when you return to Erdikoa, you will not remember your time here.” His breath fanned over her skin, and goosebumps cascaded to her toes.
The king turned to address the crowd as he walked away from her. “It seems the worst of you has graced us with her presence.” He paused as a hush fell over the crowd. “Miss Raven has not only taken a life; she has taken thirteen.”
Gasps and murmurs moved through the crowd, and Rory straightened her spine. She knew her crimes were horrendous, but she would not allow herself to regret them.
“Some of you who have been here only a year or two may have heard of her.” The king stepped back and swept his arm toward her with fanfare. “She is otherwise known as The Butcher.”
A man standing at the edge of the crowd recoiled and turned to the woman next to him, whispering in her ear. From there, the information of who she was spread through the crowd, and the looks of curiosity soon turned to those of fear.
The smile the king directed at her was one of pure malice, and her own face twisted in disdain. He turned back to the crowd. “As you know, inmates convicted of murder are sentenced to work in the palace so the legion and I can monitor their behavior.” Shadows pushed her from behind until she was stumbling closer to him. “Miss Raven is no different.”
The announcement elicited more murmurs from the crowd, and he held up a hand to silence them. “I trust you will give her the welcome she deserves.”
He strolled down the marble walkway and exited through a door at the back of the dais without looking back. The crowd dispersed quickly, presumably returning to work, and Rory fought to hide her smile.
The king unknowingly gave her the opportunity of a lifetime. She would scour the palace until she found her sister’s soul, and then she would send the king to wait for her in hell.
A rough hand grabbed her by the arm and dragged her across the large room. She turned to shoot her best glare at whomever was handling her, but her throat dried at the powerful mystic pulling her along.
“Samyaza,” she whispered, more to herself than to him.
She thought he was a myth, a bedtime story told to children to keep them in line. He was said to be the commander of the Vincula legion, brutal beyond comprehension, and sent directly from the aether by the Seraphim themselves. The books never said what type of mystic he was, and for the first time since arriving, fear gripped her like a vise.
Her eyes tracked over him from top to bottom. His light hair hung past his shoulders, obstructing her view of his face, and the white wings protruding from his back were large, even when tucked tightly against his back.
He wore armor she’d seen in supermystic movies and old story books. Taller than the king, he was imposing, and when he finally turned his face to hers, she bit her tongue to keep from screaming.
His features were severe, and the way his eyes burned into hers, she wondered if he possessed the ability to create fire.
“Yes,” he said in the deepest voice she had ever heard. “I prefer Sam.”
Did he expect her to call him by such a casual name? She would be too busy shitting her pants in his presence to call him anything at all.
She nodded in acknowledgement and turned her eyes forward. If she stared at him too long, would she die? Probably.
“Tell me why you called the king Bane,” he said, leaving no room for argument.
Her head snapped back to him. “That is what he said it was, but I know now it was a lie.”
The commander’s eyes narrowed. “Are you drunk?”
Jackass. “Of course not. That is what he told my sister his name was, but as I said, it was a lie.”
He removed his hand from her arm but kept walking. There was no way she would stop until he told her to, and he knew it. “Is your sister here, too?”
“She had one of the brightest souls I have ever seen,” Rory said, clearing the emotion from her throat. “She would no sooner be here than the Scales of Justice herself.”
Sam was silent as they walked, and she assumed their conversation was over, but then he said, “Then it was not Caius who spoke with her. He has been locked in Vincula for almost five-hundred years. There are only a few months left in his contract.”
The king had a contract? Her mind cataloged the information for later. She’d heard he was locked in Vincula indefinitely for killing his own sister. A myth.
“I saw him with my own eyes,” she insisted. “I’m not blind.”
His cold features remained impassive. “Think what you wish.” Something nagged at her to believe him, but she knew what she saw. It was weird the king wasn’t in color all those years ago.
“Why did he say I have the longest sentence in history if his is just as long?” They were all jackasses.
Ignoring her, Sam led them down several flights of stairs before arriving in a dank hallway lined with doors. The air was thick with moisture, and the torches provided just enough light to avoid running into the walls. She would kill for a flashlight.
The behemoth stopped in front of a door labeled 21030 and swung it open. He gently pushed her inside and closed the door behind them. As she looked around, she saw they stood in a small, tidy room with a lantern, a bed, a nightstand, and a dresser. There was a door on the left wall she guessed was a bathroom.
“Welcome home,” he said, ushering her across the room, which was a total of five steps.
She turned to him. “No dungeon?”
His hard eyes stared at her, void of emotion. “There is no need for a dungeon. If anyone steps out of line, they are put to death.”
Rory recoiled. “I understand that for me, but for everyone?“ She was horrified.
Again, Sam’s face remained stone-like. “You forget, everyone here has committed some type of serious crime. They are not here for petty theft.” He pushed open the door to the left and gestured inside. “Washroom.”
The commander sounded a million years old when he spoke. She paused. Maybe he was. Inside the door was a small room with a shower, sink, and toilet. Thank the Seraphim.
“You will be measured by a seamstress. Once your uniform and night clothes are finished, they will be delivered to your room. Place your soiled clothes in the basket,” he said, pointing to a small basket by the door. “Laundry is collected twice a week.”
“Do I set the basket in the hall on those days?”
He shook his head slowly. “Why would you do that?”
“How else will they collect them?” she asked, wondering how he led an entire legion with a brain full of rocks.
His brows rose. “They open your door, pick up your basket, close your door, and leave,” he said, as if speaking to a child.
She stared at him incredulously. “What if I’m naked?”
Sam threw his head back with a booming laugh, and the sound startled her. “You no longer have privacy. Welcome to Vincula.” He turned to leave, but paused. “Someone will be by to collect you once Caius assigns you a position among the palace staff.”
Without another word, he left, leaving Rory alone in her new home for the next five-hundred years.
Rory stood in the bathroom and splashed water on her face as her brain tried to grasp the concept of being alive for multiple lifetimes. Mystics lived to be anywhere between one-hundred and two-hundred years old. But five-hundred plus another one-hundred and fifty when she was free? It was unfathomable.
The door to her room burst open, and a blur of fabric bustled in like a whirlwind. Rory straightened, prepared for a fight. It was only a matter of time before the other staff began making her life a living hell, if their reaction in the throne room was any indication. Well, more than it already was.
A short woman with dark hair cut into a long bob stood by Rory’s bed, dropping the bundle of clothes she held. She turned her wide eyes to Rory and tilted her head.
“Why does your face look like that?” she asked.
Rory’s eyes narrowed. “What is that supposed to mean?”
A laugh burst from the woman’s chest. She looked to be in her thirties with the slightest lines by her eyes, presumably from laughing. Or squinting. “I mean, you look like you ate a lemon for the first time.”
Rory crossed her arms but said nothing as the woman picked up a dress and beckoned her closer. “I’m here to measure you, not lynch you.”
Dropping her arms, Rory crossed the tiny room reluctantly. “What do you need me to do?”
“Put this on,” the woman said, picking up another dress.
Rory tugged her shirt over her head and tossed it onto the bed before grabbing the dress and wiggling it on. It was short-sleeved, black, and had three buttons at the top. It fell just below the knee, and her face slackened. “You have got to be kidding me.”
The woman shrugged and gestured to her own uniform. “We all have to wear it.” Rory glanced at the woman’s dress, noting she also wore a greyish apron with large pockets.
“I’m Bellina, by the way,” she said.
“Rory. Are you scoping me out to find the best way to torture me?” She had no time for games.
Bellina shook her head with a light laugh. “You wouldn’t be here if you were as evil as they say.” She looked at her with curiosity. “Though it is unsettling that you hung your victims on hooks.”
Rory hiked a shoulder, no longer needing to pretend she wasn’t a monster. It was freeing. “Their souls were black, and in my opinion, they were nothing but meat suits for pure evil.”
“You’re a Fey,” Bellina discerned. “I’m a Visitant.“ She moved her hair aside to show the tiny mark behind her left ear.
Rory’s brows rose. Visitants were usually peacemakers. They had the ability to control the moods of those around them. “How did you end up here?”
“I am no different from you,” she said with a tight smile.
Rory held up her arms while Bellina pinned the fabric at her sides. “You killed thirteen people and hung them on meat hooks, too?”
Bellina shook her head with a smile. “No.” Her expression turned serious. “I killed my father-in-law.” Rory tried not to show her surprise. “I discovered he beat my wife repeatedly when she was a child. Her mother died during childbirth, and he blamed her.” Her fists tightened around the fabric. “She was just a child.” Her voice was barely a whisper, and her eyes were distant. “My wife told me upfront she had issues dealing with trauma from her childhood. I thought she meant from growing up without a mother, and I never pushed the issue. I knew she would tell me when she was ready.”
“She has nightmares,” she continued. “I would find her in our room crying, and it broke my heart that I couldn’t help her, until one day, she opened up to me. She admitted she was terrified he would try to hurt her again.” Bellina lifted her gaze to Rory’s. “I would sooner die than let him touch her, and I couldn’t stand to see her living in fear. I would put a knife in his gut ten times over.”
Rory nodded. “Too bad we weren’t friends in Erdikoa. I would have done your dirty work.”
Bellina fumbled the garment she was holding before she burst out laughing. “I knew I was going to like you. Take that dress off so we can measure your pajamas. You can either wear a two-piece flannel set or a shift.”
Rory stared at the offending fabric in the seamstress’ hand. “A shift? I’m not two-thousand years old.” She tended to run hot in her sleep and knew she would sooner sleep naked than in the flannel. Sighing, she pointed at the white fabric. “The shift.”
Bellina smirked. “You get credits for ten items of clothes, five sets of undergarments, and two pairs of shoes a month to spend in town. The clothes there are normal.”
“We’re allowed to leave?” Rory asked, surprised. “And we get credits?”
Bellina nodded. “You also get credits to spend on extra non-necessity items like beer, pastries, and games. This realm is nothing like the nightmare we were told. In some ways, it’s better than Erdikoa.” She paused. “Except for the no sunlight thing.”
According to Rory’s history classes in school, Vincula’s days were the equivalent of dusk in Erdikoa, and the nights were pitch black with no stars or moon except once a month when the moon was full in Erdikoa. When this happened, in Vincula, the moon and stars made an appearance for the inmates to enjoy. It was called the Plenilune. She tried not to slump at the knowledge that she wouldn’t feel sunshine on her face for a very long time.
On her mother’s good days, they would sometimes meet her father at the park for a walk or picnic, something she would never do again.
Tears pricked her eyes, and she turned away. She could only hope Dume and her father would make sure her mother was taken care of.
The enforcers would have notified her father of her incarceration. At least she hoped they did. She knew he would never leave her mother alone, but sometimes it hurt Lenora to see her ex-husband on her good days. It would be better if Dume lived with her instead.
Pain squeezed her chest at the thought of never seeing her again. By the time her contract was over, her mother would be long dead, as would her father and her friends.
A finger tapped her forehead. “I know that look,” Bellina said softly. “Get out of your head. If I had my abilities down here, I would help, but you’ll have to calm down on your own.”
The shift fell over her shoulders, and Rory looked down. The straps were small, the front met in a V just above her bust, and the bottom hit about mid-thigh. It was made of a soft, white silk and was basically a nightie instead of the dreadful smock she was expecting.
“How long are you here for?” Rory asked.
Bellina motioned for her to turn and began adding more pins. “One-hundred years. I’ve been here for two.”
“That isn’t so bad. There’s still a chance you can see your wife again.” Rory peeked at Bellina over her shoulder, and the Visitant’s eyes met hers.
“That is what keeps me going. Lexa was only twenty-nine and a Fey.”
Rory nodded in understanding. Fey’s lives were on the longer end of the spectrum.
“We’re done,” Bellina announced and motioned for Rory to remove the garment. “What is your shoe size?”
“Twenty-four and a half,” Rory responded, wondering what type of shoes she had to wear while working.
Bellina packed away her supplies as she spoke. “Your new clothes will be here by this evening.”
“That fast?” Rory thought sewing took longer, but then again, she’d never sewn a day in her life.
The woman nodded as she gathered the dresses. “There should already be uniforms and shifts in your size. If not, it doesn’t take long to resize them.”
“How many seamstresses are there?” Rory inquired as she wondered if the Vincula palace was as large as the Erdikoa one.
Bellina opened the door and as she left, called over her shoulder, “A lot. Welcome to Vincula.”
