Jorren's hand swung west, "Stonevale Fold sits low in the green dips."
Then, without thinking, he added, "And that way" he thumbed behind Dracye "leads to the Blackridge Hold. Most folk think it's up in the cliffs," he said with a low chuckle. "Fools! All of 'em, fools!"
"'Ells, if only they knew" he muttered as his old memory stirred beneath the jest. "Some mornin's, I swear the continuous chill an' damp o' that place still clings t' me bones."
"Not that you need be goin' there. Not unless you're lookin' to get yourself arrested."
Darcye nodded slowly like a man sipping something fine. "Your ale's dangerous, sure but your mind's sharper, my friend. I tell ya, you're wasted runnin' a tavern, Jorren. Ye should be the Kingdom's Minister o' Secrets."
Jorren grinned wide hearing this. "Ahh, go on. You're butterin' me up 'cause I ain't poisoned your supper."
Darcye slid a few coins onto the table. "Best silver I've spent all week."
He rose setting his cloak across his shoulders then adjusting his long braided hair and offered one last easy smile. "Keep your ladle sharp, friend. The kingdom sleeps easier with you standin' watch."
He patted Jorren's back who staggered with the impact. "My bad", he apologized with a polite smile on his face.
And just like that he turned to leave so casually into the late morning with the hint to the Hold burned clear as a map in his mind.
***
It was a quite day, one where the flying birds songs can be heard clearly across the sky and daylight danced on the lake's calm surface. At its center of it stood the ruins, tall and jagged, their ancient stone walls rising proudly and draped in ivy and forest growth symbolizing last proud remnant of some forgotten age. A narrow bridge of cracked, mossy stone reached all the way from the shore of lake to ancient structure.
Dracye knelt somewhere within the ruin's, his one ear was now pressed to the cold earth and eyes were closed to focus. How handsome this supposed cloth merchant was; the sunlight slipping through the cracks and laying soft over his face and with his eyes closed in stillness made him seem carved from some ancient stone. Then suddenly, he snapped open his eyes as he heard something unusual coming from beneath.
Having one side of his lips pulled up, "Clever bastards," he muttered.
And then, he rose stepping into the crumbled edge of the ruins then without hesitation he plunged himself into the lake.
Beneath the surface he cut through the cold water with smooth, powerful strokes. He swam near the ruins and with his eyes he was constantly scanning the submerged stones and structures that ringed the ruin's base. Stray weeds brushed against his arms as he swam in the cold waters searching for something.
He broke the surface for a quick breath with his slick hair clinging to his temples then he slipped beneath again continuing his searching.
From the whispers his sparrows gathered and the directions the innkeeper had let slip, Dracye had narrowed his search to this very forest. He was certain, that this was where Blackridge Hold lay hidden. His suspicions only deepened when he'd spotted guards in plain clothes scattered through the woods and along its edges posing as hunters and travelers, from whom he slipped away with practiced ease.
But searching the whole forest in a single day would've been impossible, until Jorren's words echoed faintly in his mind. Even in the height of summer, only a water body could cradle a chill that clung so deep to the bones.
He broke the surface once again, drawing in a sharp breath before diving once more into the cold water.
Who would've thought a prison could be hidden beneath a lake? Without Jorren's careless remark, even Dracye might've dismissed the ruins entirely as another forgotten relic and never would have guessed that the Hold slept right beneath his feet.
Finally, he caught sight of a narrow opening half-hidden in the ruin's submerged wall. He didn't rush in, instead, he surfaced once more, drawing a long, steady breath before diving back down and cutting through the water towards it.
After nearly three minutes of swimming through what felt like an endless tunnel, he broke the surface in silence, rising just enough for his eyes to scan the surrounding searching for any hint of danger.
No one was there. The water opened into what seemed like an entrance descending into the earth's core. Two torches burned on either side of a heavy stone doorway, their flames wavering faintly in the damp air. Dracye slipped out from the water soundlessly, and pressed himself flat against the same wall that held the stone doorway, in the shadows beyond the torchlight's reach, and waited.
A few minutes later, a measured crunch of boots echoed breaking the quite. A soldier appeared, he moved with the ease of routine patrolling a place too familiar to him. Without so much as a glance he re-entered the doorway from which he had emerged earlier, failing to notice the pair of sharp eyes watching him from the dark.
Dracye let him come and go a few times, checking the time between his returns. But on the fourth pass, the moment the soldier turned his back to head inside again, Dracye was already moving. He came behind the guard in a second and with a swift motion, his hand clamped over the man's mouth, the other one gripped his head and twisted it hard. A sharp crack split the silence with the body staggering instantly, lifeless, and Dracye let it fell near his feet on the ground.
He started to drag the body into the dark corner that had hidden him until now. After a few minutes a splash echoed in the cave, and followed with the crunch of boots, was it another guard? No; it was Dracye, now cloaked in the dead man's armor with his chin tucked, stride easy, he perfected the picture of a bored, tired prison sentry going through his daily motions. He passed through the stone gate without a glance, and just like that he was inside.
***
Evening had settled softly over the palace by the time Elinessa returned to her chambers. Her parasol lay folded on the table.
She laid on her back on her bed, parallel to the pillows, her silky golden hair strands spilled freely across the bed's edge catching stray glimmers of the setting sun, like woven golden threads. Her golden eyelashes were long enough to cast their own shadows, too.
Eli looked up at herself in the ceiling which was a mosaic of gold shards and mirror, reflecting back her image in broken pieces. With her lips pressed against each other and one arm resting lightly on her stomach, Eli laid still. Her eyes were wide open, fixed on the reflection above. She was tired but wide awake.
She wanted to sleep, but the continuous thoughts pouring into her mind refused to let her. Her mind was full of thoughts from the past few days, tumbling over one another and weaving moments one after another from the last few days.
She wondered, who would have guessed that a foolish remark made in passing would become the talk of the entire court? Thank the stars Talia had other things to do and I am spared from her relentless questioning, for now. She sighed, How would I even begin to explain that man to her?
She could already picture it: Talia standing there with arms crossed her brow arched, demanding every detail. "Who was he, Your Highness? "How did you end up being the talk of the town by dancing with a stranger in black?"
Eli groaned softly and covered her eyes with the back of her hand. Even imagining it was mortifying.
Then immediately, she removed her hand in a fast motion and her face held a tinge of irritation. "What was so great about him that everyone was so mesmerized?" she muttered to herself lifting her eyes once more to her reflection above.
She was thinking about him again. Strangely, she couldn't stop. Was it because of his unique eyes? Probably not. Maybe it was because of all the talks she heard today? She scowled faintly. "No one even saw his face."
Her gaze drifted to one shard above, where her own emerald eyes stared back at her. Her eyes were having a turmoil of emotions that was moving in waves right now. It drew her back to that lantern-lit night, to the moment when another pair of eyes had met hers across the fire and mist. Golden, which were impossible to forget.
Who was he?
Why couldn't she stop seeing those eyes, even now?
All she saw in place of his face was a translucent apparition. Like a dream she couldn't quite recall it, yet a few sharp lines lingered in her mind from that day onwards, refusing to fade. The way he had looked at her, as though trying to memorize her, hovered in her thoughts.
Wait—GOLDEN!?