James Islington - The Shadow Of What Was Lost

The black metal turned to liquid, slithering and moulding itself to his skin. The world immediately seemed duller, more grey, as if some of the colour had been leeched out of it. Caeden sighed, then smoothed down his sleeve again.

Karaliene paused, then gave a satisfied nod. "I can feel the link."

Then she turned back to Taeris, evidently done with Caeden. "You may stay here too, if you wish - there are few enough Administrators around, so it’s as safe a place for you as any. You should both be able to pass as servants; I’ll have someone organise quarters and some appropriate clothes. Use the servants' entrance if you want to come and go without attracting too much attention. Just don’t wander too far into the main parts of the palace, and try to keep your excursions to the evenings, when there are fewer people about. If an Administrator does happen to recognise you, there will be nothing more I can do to help you."

"Understood. Thank-you, Your Highness," said Taeris.

Karaliene inclined her head and then glanced across at Aelric, who was still scowling at Caeden. "Aelric. Can you please show these two to the east wing, and have Bacira make up some quarters there - maybe use the rooms near the gardens that 'Zia and I sometimes use for study? They’re near enough to the other servants to not arouse suspicion, but isolated enough that no-one should really notice that they are being occupied."

Aelric finally tore his gaze from Caeden, bowing to the princess. "Of course, Your Highness."

Karaliene rose, and the three men stood in deference. The princess' eyes again met Caeden’s for an instant, and again his stomach fluttered. He looked to the side straight away this time, inwardly cursing himself. Reactions like that could only land him in trouble here.

Oblivious to Caeden’s thoughts, Karaliene gave them all a tight nod.

"I’ll set things in motion," she said to Taeris. She slipped out the door.

There was silence for a moment, and then Aelric gestured to the hallway. "We should get moving. The quicker we get to the servants' wing, the less likely you are to be spotted," he said, eyes hardening a little when he looked at Caeden.

Caeden flushed again, but nodded. He and Taeris exchanged relieved glances that things had gone so smoothly, and then they trailed after Aelric.

Caeden lay on his new bed, staring at the ceiling.

He’d been trying to sleep for hours now, battling both the warm evening and his own frustrations in search of rest. A breeze sighed through the open window, providing momentary relief from the heat and accompanied by the distant murmuring of the city below. It was well past midnight by his reckoning, but from the sounds of it, Ilin Illan was far from asleep too.

Despite it being only his first night at the palace, this new situation was already beginning to chafe at him. It would take time for Karaliene’s political machinations to achieve anything at the Tol, and Caeden accepted that. But that didn’t mean he should be sitting idle. He felt sure he could be doing something – anything other than just lying around, hoping that either Taeris or the princess could eventually convince the Council to help him.

He stared out the window and pondered again how best to contact Havran Das, the merchant Alaris had talked about. He’d ventured outside his room earlier for some fresh air and taken careful note of the guards' routine patrols, even spotting a small supply gate he thought would be unattended at night. The only other brief excursion from his quarters had been to the library, where, much to his delight, he’d found more detailed maps of Ilin Illan than he’d had time to look over.

Havran Das’ store had been easy to locate - it was clearly marked, large and in the upper city, quite close to the palace itself. An influential and successful man, then. Caeden didn’t know whether that made him feel better or more nervous…. but for the moment, it barely mattered. All the information he’d gathered was useless if he couldn’t find a way to slip his Shackle.

He sighed, staring resentfully at the black metal sitting snug around his arm, a constant reminder that Karaliene could pinpoint his location at any time. For all the finery around him, he was effectively just a prisoner once more.

He gave the Shackle a gentle tap, wondering if there was any way to remove it. Nothing happened except for a slight metallic ring. He closed his eyes, concentrating, trying to will it to fall off. He wanted it gone, needed it gone, so he could find out who he really was.

Still nothing. He grimaced, opening his eyes again and gazing morosely at the ceiling. Travelling here, he’d felt like he had a greater purpose; the blazing light of his tattoo and the sense of urgency Taeris had lent their journey had done little to dampen that. But he was isolated here in his room, the time already beginning to drag - and with the Vessel now secured in Tol Athian, his tattoo gave off only a dull, flickering glow. It all combined to make him feel cast adrift, like his opportunity to get answers was starting to slip away.

The need to take action settled in his stomach, almost painful. He was tired; he should just try to sleep. Everything would seem less upsetting come morning.

But the knowledge remained that even if he felt better then, he would still be no closer to understanding who he was. What his purpose was in all of this. He gritted his teeth as the frustration built in his chest, intense and hard.

The Shackle retracted, dropping noiselessly from his arm and onto the quilt.

Caeden stared at it, stunned, for a few moments. It had come off. He’d done it, though he had no idea how.

Then he felt a flash of panic. Karaliene would know. Wouldn’t she? The princess was most probably asleep at this hour; perhaps it would go unnoticed, at least for a time.

He waited in the darkness, frozen to the spot for several minutes, listening for the sound of soldiers rushing to his door. No-one came. Gradually he relaxed, sitting up on the bed and staring at the Shackle. He could try putting it back on, but he had no idea when – if ever – he’d be able to take it off again.

And even if he was able to reactivate it, he doubted it would still be linked to Karaliene. This might be his only opportunity to act before his newest custodian realised something was amiss.

Heart pounding, he fumbled around in the darkness for his clothes. Once dressed he slipped out into the corridor, nerves taut as he strained for any sign of discovery.

The hallways were all but empty at this hour and he made quick time, soon locating an exit to the palace grounds that he thought would be unguarded. Holding his breath, he cracked the door open, waiting for a shout to indicate he’d been mistaken.

There was only silence, with the occasional snatch of city noise in the background. He slipped through and gently shut the door behind him.

The thick shrubbery and moonless night made staying out of sight relatively easy, much to his relief. He secreted himself behind some bushes, keeping his breathing calm and steady, straining for the sound of the next patrol. Once, he thought he heard a noise behind him – the crunch of leaves underfoot, perhaps – but when he spun, there was no-one there, and he put it down to his imagination.

Minutes passed, and finally the orange flame of a torch began bobbing towards him. He held his breath as two guards walked past his hiding spot, both looking alert but neither showing signs of having spotted anything unusual.

Then they were past. Forcing his legs to move he dashed forward, staying low and ready to dive into cover at the first sign of another patrol. He arrived at the supply gate to find that it was much as he’d hoped, secured from the inside with a solid latch but without needing a key.