The room was cold with desperation, but had some beauty about it. It was the same as she remembered. The staircase that curved around the archway. The single chandelier that hung from the ceiling. Zooey noticed a distinct dent in the wall. A dent that her brothers had created years ago, when destruction of property was merely a youthful indiscretion.

She walked up the staircase. Noticing every detail, mainly because she hadn’t before. Too many years spent roaming the halls chasing Orson and Holden and not paying attention to the marble fixtures. You really couldn’t expect a seven-year-old to do that, but her father never missed an opportunity to lecture about Old World architecture.

That’s why they came here in the first place. For the history, and not the riveting hide-and-seek opportunities. But now, those were just memories, and Zooey continued walking up the stairs to nowhere in particular.

As her hand gently guided her through the dim light, she thought she saw two shadows in the darkness. But they were gone in an instant, making her doubt that she even saw them at all. The stair rail was cool beneath her fingers. Suddenly it became warm. She brought her hand up to her face and saw the color. Red. And it dripped downwards, creating soft riffs on the marble floor.    

Then a scream. So shrill and so familiar that Zooey turned suddenly and saw that the whole staircase was now flooded with blood. Following the scream was an echoing roar of a beast, and a fight that had not yet begun.

And what was left of the light went out.

__________________________________

Zooey awoke with a violent start. Getting kicked in the face by a raging prison guard can do that to a girl.

“Morning, your Highness.”

Zooey shifted uncomfortably off the ground to an upright position and massaged her burning wrist. Her Twin Mark had a bright glow to it that was unusual, and she stared at it, captivated. Trying to understand what it meant. With another kick, she was jolted back to reality, and if her shackled legs and tight, cramped cell weren’t enough to convince her of her current predicament, her idiotic captor was.

“Bad dream?”

“Oh, Stiles, you know how I would love to discuss dream therapy with you, but I’m starving, and I see you’ve brought me a lovely bowl of gruel. How thoughtful.”

He glared maliciously at her and dropped the bowl at her feet. Spilling half of its contents onto the ground.

“What a shame.” Zooey cocked her head to the side and gave him a smile. “Now you’ll have to get me some more.”

He violently grabbed her face with one hand and brought it an inch away from his own.

Stiles had a somewhat unorthodox flair for the dramatic. There was even talk throughout the prison that he had once killed a man with just his strength and an Old World copy of Two Gentlemen of Verona. 

“Say one more word, and I’ll cut out your tongue.”

“But then who would provide all this comedy?”

He slapped her so hard across the face that she slammed into the wall of the cell.

Don’t encourage him.

Zooey stood up gingerly and wiped the blood off her chin. “But it’s just so easy.”

“Who are you talking to?” Stiles looked at her with angry, vacant eyes.

“Don’t worry, it’s only the voices.”

Cute. He’s probably going to beat you to death.

“He couldn’t if he tried.” Zooey turned her attention back to Stiles. “This.” She pointed to her bruised face. “Is very good for my complexion. So really, the joke is on you.”

“You’re lucky I can’t kill you,” Stiles threatened.

“I love when men tell me that.”

He walked over to the small window in the room and pointed out. “That is a 300-foot drop. When I get the order, your Highness, I will relish throwing you off this cliff and watching you drown. Enjoy the gruel.” And with that, he slammed the door shut with the key to her freedom dangling from his belt.

Taken to this island prison nearly twelve months ago, Zooey had been living on gruel and threats for ten. She was five foot four inches, to be exact, with straight blonde hair and lively aqua eyes. Her eyes were her best feature, but they had grown so hardened since Aquas Tocque’s Great Purge that she feared they would never gain back the life they once had. Physically, Zooey knew that she could not take Stiles in a fight, but she was cunning and smart with a terribly volatile temper.

Are you ready? 

“Yes,” Zooey stated firmly as she went over to the window in the corner of her cell and looked out at the drop Stiles so delicately described.

The Rock was an Old World prison that she had read about in history books but had never once visited. It had been abandoned and never used in her time, but after the Great Purge, it was brought back for rebels, martyrs, and apparently unruly royals.

Zooey peered out over the deep blue water at her broken kingdom. Noticing how effortlessly the West Castle rose over the New World land of Nosto. This had once been a place that Old World people would come to visit. A landmark in their time. Zooey’s people had remade it into a more substantial fishing town. All of the glitz and glamour gone. But the Golden Bridge still stood above the rest with its history intact. It was of the Old World, but the Rogue Dragons that perched on each tower and blew fire in the mist were of hers.

__________________________________

Stiles had a pattern. Every morning, he would wake Zooey with abuse and banter and casually throw some food at her. That would be the only human contact she would have for the rest of the day until dusk, when he would repeat it all again.

This was a high-quality prison, so somehow it was found in their generous hearts to muster up two bowls of gruel a day. It was Zooey’s luck that her personal guard was specifically designated to watch over the more problematic prisoners. Not because he was particularly intelligent, but because of his massive size.

This was their first mistake.

“Sleeping, are we?” Stiles asked with a quick kick to Zooey’s shins. “But you haven’t even had your dinner yet.” He threw the bowl at her feet as usual, but Zooey made sure to ignore it.

“What’s wrong with you?” Stiles asked. Kicking her again, just in case she forgot the first time.

Zooey moaned and tried to open her eyes, but could only manage a dramatic flutter. She crossed her arms over her stomach and curled up into a ball with her legs tucked closely to her face.

In her travels, Zooey had picked up some excellent pointers from an Old World book titled The Actor At Work and found that physical theatricality was definitely her niche.

“I’m dying, Stiles.”

Then again, she had never performed professionally.

“Get off the floor,” he muttered.

“I can’t.” Zooey coughed and sputtered. “I need to go to the infirmary.”

To ensure that Stiles understood the exact severity of the situation, Zooey added a few extra convulses for good measure. That seemed to really get through to him.

“Fine.” Stiles picked Zooey up off the ground with one hand and went to grab the key from his belt. He unlocked the dragon scale shackles from her feet and held both of her hands behind her back. Stiles had specific instructions not to bind Zooey’s right wrist with any kind of restraint. It was not proven that this could damage her Twin Mark, but they couldn’t afford to take any chances. He was also given specific instructions to keep her alive at whatever cost necessary.

Mistake number two.

Zooey walked down the hallway with Stiles pushing behind her. He kept a firm grip on her wrists at all times, so she knew that even though she was out of her cell, she was not free. Zooey had planned this part perfectly. She had made sure that she frequented the infirmary over the past six months to gain information about the layout of the prison. Stiles’ personal office was down the hall from the infirmary, and before he dropped Zooey off with the doctor, he would first visit his office. This seemed like an errant task to her, but Zooey realized that Stiles did this to promote his vanity. He received great pleasure from watching Zooey stare at her most prized possession hanging on the wall behind his desk like a hunting trophy.

This trophy was Zooey’s custom handmade belt holding two perfectly sized dragon scale daggers, and it was her only means of self-protection. Zooey kept this in mind, as well as the fact that her darling Stiles had just been recently promoted. He had been doing such a fine job torturing prisoners that they had felt it necessary to reward him with a master key. A master key that opened any door and any lock in the prison. A key that he had used just moments before when releasing Zooey from her less-than-ideal restraints. Stiles never gave Zooey’s strength a second thought. To him, she was just a small girl that couldn’t possibly defeat him. He boastfully gave up this pivotal information after a night of too much gambling and drinking with the warden.

Mistake number three.

Stiles led Zooey down the winding corridor to the infirmary, but, of course, stopped at his office just as she had expected. He opened the door slowly and pushed Zooey inside. As he took one hand off her wrist to close the door, Zooey immediately took this opportunity to thrust back her leg and kick him straight in the groin. Zooey couldn’t personally attest to what that felt like, but it looked painful. As Stiles doubled over, he reflexively released her hands. Finally free, Zooey ran straight to her dangling daggers on the wall. As she jumped on the table and swiftly tore them down, an enormous force suddenly pulled her back.

Stiles had trained to become a Man of The Keep. As the highly illustrious guards of Nosto, The Keep was a competitive program that used aggressive training techniques with their men. If they survived, their men would be sworn in by an oath of loyalty and marked by a brand. A high honor, and one that gave them the power of increased physical strength and heightened healing. The Keep’s unofficial motto was: Survive, Protect, Kill. Stiles took it upon himself to only agree with the kill part and subsequently got kicked out of the program. But because of his superior training and his pride, he never used a weapon other than his bare hands. He also had developed extremely fast reflexes, causing Zooey to only subdue him for a mere second.

He grabbed her foot, forcing her to slip and smash down onto the desk, her belt dangling over the edge. She let no time elapse. It was life or death, and Zooey had never been one to give up a fight. Using all of her strength, she kicked Stiles directly in the nose, reached over the desk, grabbed one of the daggers from its sheath, and with one graceful and sudden movement sliced his throat. He fell over backwards. Landing on the floor in a pool of blood. A look of sudden shock permanently etched on his once smug face.

Zooey stood up quickly. She knew she only had a few moments before the other guards came to investigate the noise, and she had one more stop to make. Pulling her belt off the table, she fastened it around her waist where it belonged. She bent down by Stiles and wiped her bloody knife on his shirt. She unbuckled his belt and slid off the ring that held the master key, now placing it onto her right wrist—where it would be safe. She stood up, thrust her knife back into its sheath, and looked down at the man who had single-handedly helped her escape by just being himself.

__________________________________

I’m waiting.

I just killed a man. Can you give me a few seconds?

Zooey carefully ran down the winding corridors of the prison, making sure to furtively duck into the well-placed shadows whenever she heard a noise. 

Mine’s been dead for thirty minutes.

Zooey gave an exasperated sigh. That’s great, but I’m trying not to get killed. 

She took a corner too fast and almost slipped on the stone floor.

We should have taken into consideration your inherent tardiness.

I’LL BE THERE SOON.

Zooey walked straight down the corridor to the end of the hall, where the staircase to the underground cells began. All the while looking directly into the flustered eyes of the man who was guarding it.

“You’re not supposed to be —”

Without pause, she punched him in the face and descended down the staircase.

The hall was narrow and long, with a dingy musk to it. It curved into an intricate labyrinth that seemed to go on forever. There was no light, which gave it an eerie and sinister quality. Fitting, since the prisoners they kept in these cells were the most dangerous.

Which turn do I take? Zooey stopped suddenly at four separate pathways.

Right. We’ve been over this.

Zooey walked down the right tunnel, trying to find the cell number she was looking for. 221. There was a noise in the distance, and she sped up her pace. 210. 211. 212. 213. Dead end. Suddenly, she heard a crash from behind.

“She went down that way.”

Zooey sprinted back. It wasn’t right.

I meant my right.

You mean left?

Obviously.

Zooey turned into the farthest left tunnel, frantically searching for 221. The cell numbers were even harder to make out in this hall, and Zooey was starting to see the shadow movements of flickering torchlights in the distance. 209. 208. 207. 206. They were getting smaller. She spun around on her heels and ran back. She could hear the loud steps of the guards running down the stone corridors. Moving progressively closer to her.

Zooey found herself back in front of the four corridors when an arrow shot past her ear. She glanced behind her and saw what looked like twenty guards almost on top of her.

“ILYA!” she screamed.

A huge roar erupted from the second right tunnel, echoing throughout the entire underground. She didn’t look back and ran. Past 218, 219, 220, stopping at 221. She grabbed the master key from her wrist and opened the door. 

You’re late.

Ilya was regally sitting on the stone floor with his paws crossed over each other, staring at Zooey with his piercing aqua eyes.

“You gave me bad directions,” Zooey shot back.

He yawned and stretched his gorgeous white wings out. It was my job to give you directions. It was your job to decipher them.

A crash outside immediately jolted Zooey back to her current predicament. She went over to the dragon scale shackles that were on all four of his legs and began unlocking them. “You could have been a little more specific.”

Well, excuse me. I didn’t have much to work with. It’s not like I can go to the infirmary whenever I have a stomachache.

Zooey looked over to the right and saw a maimed body in the corner. “Were you gnawing on your prison guard?”

I was bored.

She finished unlocking the last shackle and hoisted herself on top of Ilya’s back.

Are you ready?

Ilya’s bones were specifically designed for fighting, hunting, and riding, and Zooey fit on her Twin Dragon perfectly. “Let’s go.”

With a great roar, Ilya lifted them off the ground and flew forward. With the speed and agility he possessed, no one could stop them once they were in the air. The guard’s arrows were useless against the strength of Ilya’s scales, and the corridors were narrow with nowhere to hide. So sure of their victory before, they cowered now, and the ones that didn’t were dealt with by Ilya. A creature of the sky that had been kept captive underground for an entire year.

It was said that a dragon’s fire felt like being stabbed over and over again and that the searing pain was the only thing to consume the mind before inevitable death. Their screams confirmed that rumor.

Bursting out of the prison, Ilya and Zooey ascended over the island. The place that had once kept them prisoner was helpless against them now. As they soared past that Golden Bridge, they gave their final farewells to their brothers and sisters on the towers below.

And vanished into the night.