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.

Six Years Earlier

“You’re supposed to be in the air, not loitering on the ground like an idiot.” Orson, lounging on Millennia’s back, was hovering ten feet above Holden and Zooey, harboring a glare of pure agitation. Which was not an uncommon look for him. Millennia stretched out her beautiful golden wings and peered down at them with her piercing onyx eyes. She plunged, barely missing them with her razor-sharp claws. From the sky, Orson waited for the counterattack expectantly, but his opponents below refused to stir. Orson and Millennia were known as being the most lovable troublemakers in the West Kingdom, but the mischievous grins they wore now were not enough to engage Holden and Irex in their games. A fact that drove them both crazy.

Irex lifted his grey head off the ground long enough to glance up with large, disinterested green eyes before resuming his napping position on the grass.

There was a saying that warned against aggravating a sleeping dragon, and Irex would rather rip out someone’s throat than have his sleeping patterns disturbed.

Holden was the same way, and, as he rested his head on his Twin’s scaled back, he stared up at his brother with disdain. “That’s very distracting.”

“Your point?” They plunged again. This time, ensuring to nick Irex’s tail. Not enough to hurt him, but enough to keep him annoyed.

Irex merely turned his head away from them in protest, refusing to acknowledge their feeble attempt at subterfuge.

Holden observed his brother now flying in well-choreographed loops. “Who do you think you are, Pace Alden?”

“Please!” Orson replied. “Millennia is twice the size of Orion. Alden would have never stood a chance against us.”

Holden smiled. “Whatever you need to tell yourself.”

This was their family. As fast as Orson and Millennia stirred something up, Holden and Irex diffused it. Which made for fascinating dinner conversation.

Zooey was a mix of her brothers in personality, but in looks, she resembled Holden. All of the seven Caine siblings were blessed in the genetic gene pool. Something that Orson and Zelda exploited, and Zooey and Holden ignored. Orson looked like an Old World movie star. He was a little taller than average, slight and fit, with dark brown hair and sparkling hazel eyes, which made him the most sought-after bachelor in the West Kingdom. A fact he loved. Holden was the same height as Orson but slightly bigger in build. He had his father’s green eyes, and his hair was shaggy and blonde like Zooey’s. He had an adorable aloofness about him that Orson could never possess. Zooey had spent most of her life playing the mediator between them. They both loved each other terribly as brothers do, but fighting was in their blood, and Zooey did her best to neutralize that.

Zooey sat next to Holden on the ground, leaning up against Irex with her arms crossed on his back. She gave Orson and Millennia a warning look. “Why is it so hard for you two to relax?”

“Sis, this is the best advice I will ever give you. Don’t end up like those two. They’re boring. There is nothing worse than being boring.” Millennia swept down again, making sure to kick a blow at Irex’s head with her foot. The dragon’s whole body tightened as he roared up at them. Orson laughed. “What did he say, Holden?” 

Holden put his hands behind his head and closed his eyes. Taking in the rare summer sun. “You don’t want to know.”

Orson grinned, finally giving in. “Fine. But you owe me a fight.”

Holden nodded. “I’ll add it to the list.”

Orson winked at his Twin mischievously. “Let’s go find some fun.”

Millennia agreed with an electrified roar.

“Don’t get into any trouble,” Zooey added with an air of caution.

“Impossible.” They jetted off into the sky with an indescribably jubilant energy. No one could make an exit quite like those two.

Holden opened his eyes and looked over at Zooey, “Weren’t you supposed to do something with Mom today?”

“Healing lessons,” she said with disgust.

“Ugh. I’d rather listen to Harrison talk about stars.”

Zooey laughed. “No one needs that headache.” She gently scratched Irex behind his ear. He was only eight months old, but he was almost full-grown.

Holden and Irex were both fighters at heart and possessed a great level of morality and loyalty that was important in leaders. Zooey was sure that Holden would succeed her father as ruler of the West Kingdom one day. Even though he would never want to. 

“Are you excited for the Twin Ceremony?” he asked.

“Yes. I can think of no better way to spend my birthday than entertaining that pompous Prince from the South Kingdom as he steals our dragons.” 

“Just because we found the Twin Egg on our land does not make it ours, Zo.”

“Irex was found here, and he chose you.”

“Yes, but three years ago, Millennia was found in the North Kingdom, and she chose Orson.”

Zooey smirked at her brother. “Orson arrived forty minutes late to his Twin Ceremony, still reeking of Tequila. Millennia’s judgment can’t be trusted.”

Holden smiled at his younger sister. He wouldn’t admit this to anyone, but she was his favorite. Mainly because they were so close in age. Holden was only ten months older than Zooey, and they shared many of the same traits. Especially their stubbornness.

Holden shrugged. “Well, if it makes you feel any better that pompous Prince can’t possibly have a Twin because he’s a thousand years old.”

“He’s Zelda’s age!”

“Exactly,” Holden added. “The ceremony will be fun. We’ll sneak in booze—Wes will be there...”

Zooey once let it slip that she thought Holden’s best friend was attractive. Now, it was a constant annoyance, as he never let her forget it. “Of course, he’s a part of The Keep. That’s not really relevant though, is it?” She punched him in the arm for good measure.

“Hey, I’m just saying.” Holden put his hands up in protest. “Anyway, turning sixteen is fine. I kind of enjoyed it.”

“Yes, but only because Irex picked you two months after.”

At the sound of his name, Irex intensely stared into Zooey’s eyes. Which either meant, “I understand your concern,” or “your comment is grating and unnecessary.” Zooey was certain it was the latter.

“Don’t worry, everything will work out.” After a moment of irate silence, Holden figured it might be better to try a different approach. “Would it help if I punched Orson?”

“Yes.”

________________________________

Zooey ran down the cobblestone pathway on the edge of the West Castle. The sheer size of it was monumental. The castle had been built gradually throughout time, with sections added on by each royal family that ruled there. The construction was based around a two-hundred-and-ten-foot tower built by an Old World woman who chased fires and lost her husband to the sea. So the story goes.

Zooey loved the view from the top of the tower. It felt like she could see the whole world from there. Well, at least the West Kingdom.

The Caines had been the leaders of the West for the last century. With each generation, a new way of doing things was adopted by the royal family. Like the practice known in the Old World, an ailing King must proclaim one of his children as the heir to the throne. However, in this age, it did not have to be the firstborn. The new ruler would be picked based on their ability to rule, not their right. King Eion Caine was his father’s youngest son, but his strength of mind and unwavering morality made him a far better choice than his brothers. It was this quality that made him beloved, not just in this kingdom, but in all four. This trait also helped with his immediate family, as it was impossible for Zooey and her siblings to stay mad at him for too long. Much to the dismay of their mother.

The West Castle stood as a beacon of hope in the kingdom. Just like the South Castle, North Castle, and East Castle stood in theirs. The Four Kingdoms of Nosto each ruled their lands separately but came together as one in times of crisis.

The First Four of their Kind had perfected this way of working together so that the needs of the people and the land were all represented. It was a system that had been developed by this land’s ancestors and had worked well throughout the years. The fall of the Old World was a bit of a myth, but Zooey’s favorite version was told by a folklore troubadour who had lived long ago—before The Four had even created the kingdoms. He sang songs of great battles that shifted the world. And, as he was hanging from a noose for stealing a candelabra, his last parting word was a name he had come across in his travels. A name that he swore was both our future and our past: Nosto. So the story goes.

Zooey skidded to a halt in front of the massive iron doors of the West Castle, guarded by six men from The Keep. Zooey made sure to walk as slowly as possible up the elegant marble staircase. These guards were so fiercely trained that they sometimes forgot who was an enemy and who was a part of the royal family. Zooey would not make that mistake again. She heard a distinct noise to the left and turned her head sharply.

Hiding in a hole in the ground he managed to make with his mind was Zooey’s baby brother, Aron. Accompanied by his Animal Companion, a gigantic Bernese Mountain Dog named Bear. Zooey widened her eyes at him but said nothing. Messing around with The Keep was Aron’s favorite pastime. He was only six, so elaborate excuses were made for him because he couldn’t possibly know right from wrong.

He did.

Hovering in the air above his makeshift fort were three very sturdy rocks. Zooey observed her brother cautiously, knowing all too well what this meant. Aron gave her an impish grin as his blonde shaggy hair fell into his devilish green eyes. He put his finger up to his lips as if to silence her, but she wouldn’t have said anything anyway.

Zooey walked straight through the iron doors, not looking back for a second. She could hear as one of the rocks smashed into a guard’s skull.

“Ow. What the hell was that?”

Another crash. “Who’s there? What’s going on?”

Two more crashes. 

“We’re going to get you, whoever you are!”

“You can’t hide from us!”

Zooey could hear Aron’s laughter echo throughout the castle as she sped up the spiraling staircase in the great hall.

As soon as she reached the top of the stairs, she quickly turned down the left corridor, desperately trying to be on time. This part of the castle was reserved for the children’s rooms, and her mother always held healing lessons in Beth’s at the end of the hall. As she ran past the first room, she saw a flicker of light out of the corner of her eye. She stopped. Instantly regretting her decision.

Zelda was lying on her expensively imported chaise lounge, draped in a gorgeous floor-length black dress. Her long blonde hair cascading in soft curls over her shoulders. The beautifully crafted fire necklace that the King had given her was open on the table as Zelda used the embers inside to create small balls of fire in her hand. After one was complete, she threw it across the room at the new drapes their mother had personally picked out for her.

“Mom is going to kill you.”

“They look better this way.” Zelda beamed as she watched the flames burn the weak material.

“She had them custom-made in the North Kingdom, Zelda.”

“There’s no accounting for taste.” She looked back at Zooey with her piercing blue eyes. “Run along, darling.”

Continuing down the corridor, Zooey finally made it to the end of the hall. She burst into Beth’s room, pushing the doors open dramatically.

“You’re late.”

Zooey’s mother, the Queen, was packing all of her healing herbs and spices as Beth was delicately wrapping a bandage around a guard of The Keep’s right knee. Her Animal Companion, a delicate Mourning Dove named Peck, rested gently on her shoulder.

“I’m only ten minutes late.”

Her mother regarded her incredulously. “Try an hour and ten.”

Zooey looked toward her tentatively. “Oops.”

Queen Ivy Caine shook her head with a knowing smile. She was extremely beautiful with dark brown hair and warm hazel eyes. Beth looked like a little carbon copy of her, and both were similar in temperament. Calm and collected like Holden. Zooey took after the wilder side of the family. Which, in this case, happened to be the forgetful side. She glanced at her mother apologetically. “Can we reschedule?”

For as much as Zooey disappointed her, Ivy could never stay angry. She was too much like her father.

“Zooey.” She walked over to her and kissed her lightly on the forehead. “I love you, but you can barely take care of yourself. Let alone another person.”

Zooey nodded. “I know.”

Beth finished wrapping the bandage, and the Queen walked over to inspect the guard’s knee. The man had dislocated the bone, and, because of his heightened healing, it did not correctly set. Queen Ivy and Beth had reset more bones than they could count because of this pesky problem. Which made them feel that sometimes The Keep’s gifts actually did more harm than good.

The Queen inspected the work and nodded encouragingly. “Very well done, Sweet. We’ll resume your lessons tomorrow.” She turned to Zooey. “I have to make sure Zelda doesn’t burn the house down.”

Zooey grinned. “Good luck.”

As the Queen left with the guard, Beth ran over and hugged Zooey fiercely around the waist. She was two years older than Aron, but she seemed so much younger.

“What were you doing, Zooey?”

“Bothering Orson.” She bent down so that she was eye level with her younger sister.

Beth gazed at her with such alarm that she felt as if she had done something terribly wrong. “You shouldn’t do that—he gets so angry.”

Zooey laughed. “He brings it on himself.”

Beth’s smile rivaled the sun itself. She had the kindest heart of all of the Caine children. “I guess he does.

Peck suddenly stood on Beth’s shoulder and looked up with her deep black eyes.

“Peck says Daddy wants to see you.”

Zooey never truly understood how Animal Companions worked. It wasn’t like Twins that could telepathically communicate with each other. The Companion Connection was based on emotions and energy. It was such a strong and unique connection that once an animal bonded with a human, they would then live and die together. 

“The library?” Zooey asked.

Peck cooed softly on Beth’s shoulder. “Of course.”

________________________________

The King loved Old World artifacts, and his library was filled with pieces of nostalgia that acted as a constant reminder of a time that their world could never recreate. His collection of literature was extensive, as he had spent countless years acquiring it. The first novel he ever read was 20,000 Leagues Under the Sea, which he stole from his grandfather and conveniently never returned. The last book he found was just last Tuesday, and it was called Dune. Apparently, it was what Old World people called Science Fiction. An odd concept that had always fascinated the King.

As Zooey walked into the library, she heard the distinct tones of her father’s classic rock streaming past the non-fiction section. Another piece of nostalgia the King treasured. Blasting Old World music was a standard occurrence in the West Castle. Yesterday, it was the distinct riffs of Keith Richards, but today it was The Beatles. Or as the King liked to call them, “his closest friends.”

Coincidentally, when Zooey’s parents got married, her wonderfully neurotic Uncle Nic, who was banished to the south of the West Kingdom for highly illegal llama trading, gave his brother and new wife an Old World hand-crank record player. There were only two known in existence. That, combined with Beggars Banquet on what was once called vinyl, was the best present her father had ever received. The King loved those passionate Old World musicians and had an unnatural obsession with one decade of music in particular. One that pandered greatly to distorted electric guitars.

As Zooey walked forward through the library, she caught a glimpse of her father standing in front of the large glass window that covered an entire wall of the room. He stood unmoving as Zooey’s oldest brother, Harrison, sat beside him. Staring out of the window in a kind of other-worldly trance. The King’s hand sat unmoving on his son’s shoulder as they both remained perfectly still. For the average person, this type of scene might be considered strange, but not to Zooey. Stoic trances scored by Lennon and McCartney were just another Wednesday at the West Castle.

Pulled back to their present reality, Harrison and the King began to move. Adjusting the library chairs so that they now sat facing each other. Their tones were hushed and urgent, and Zooey crept forward to hear them better.

“How many times have you seen this?” her father asked.

“Twice, so far. But it always stops at the same point.”

“He knows you can see.”

“How can you be sure it is him, Father?”

“I’ve only heard of one man that could command a room like that, Harrison. It has to be him.”

Harrison paused, taking a moment to stare out the window at nothing in particular. When he turned back to his father, he looked pale and shaken. “He talked of a revolution.”

The King’s voice became very grave. An unnatural tone coming from him. “This felt recent.”

“It had to be in the past month. I started getting the visions around two weeks ago.”

“If this persists, then we must prepare.”

Zooey moved to the side of one of the bookshelves to try and get a better look, but instead rammed into a nearby chair, causing a cascade of Egyptian history books to fall around her. Abruptly pulled out of their conversation, her father and brother turned directly to her.

“I was looking for Kafka! I’m in an existential kind of mood.”

The King fixed her with a bemused smile as Harrison shook his head with immense agitation. Strangely, not an uncommon look for him. He stood up and looked down at his father. “We’ll finish this later.”

Harrison was tall and lanky with his mother’s brown hair and hazel eyes. He had a habit of considering himself better than everyone else, which gave off the impression he was some kind of pseudo-intellectual. He wasn’t. Harrison was, in fact, gifted with extreme reason. This he equated with his heavy distaste for nonsense. A truth his siblings absolutely adored him for. Orson and Aron even had a running game where they would purposefully steal Harrison’s glasses and hide them around the castle. The poor boy had gone through ten pairs in the past month.

As he walked past Zooey, he managed to contort his face into his standard disapproving glare. He effortlessly went to the bookshelf, grabbed The Metamorphosis, and shoved it in her hands. Then exited the library in a dramatic huff. Zooey smiled and glanced over at her father. Annoying Harrison was the best possible pastime. 

“Zooey, come here, I have a surprise for you.”

She quickly walked over and sat down beside her father. He reached down next to his chair and brought up a gorgeously carved wooden box.

“But it’s not my birthday for two more weeks!” she said as she grabbed it from his hands.

Her father laughed. “I know. Don’t tell your mother.”

She carefully opened the top of the box and looked inside. It was a beautiful black leather braided belt with two dagger sheaths on either side. The daggers rested beside the belt in the box and were beautifully crafted. The handles were white with gold detailing, and the blades themselves were a gorgeous shade of deep blue that Zooey had only seen once before.

“Dragon scales,” she said.

“Not just any. These were made specifically from Prospero’s fallen scales.”

Zooey stared up at the King in awe. It was known that Twin Dragons often shed the scales that had been loosened in battle. Eventually, the scales would grow back stronger than before, and the old ones were collected and used in armor and weaponry. Prospero was her father’s Twin and one of the strongest dragons in all of Nosto. Zooey reached over and hugged her father tightly.

“Sixteen is a big year. I figured you would need these in case Zelda got out of hand.”

Zooey beamed widely. Unable to take her eyes off her new gift.

The King stood up from his chair and looked down at his daughter. “Happy Birthday, Zo.”

Although he was smiling, Zooey could hear the twinge of sadness that slowly crept into his voice. No one else would have caught this, but Zooey knew her father well. As he left, she thought back to the hushed tones and hurried whispers of their secrets. Her father spoke in riddles, and Harrison hardly spoke at all, so she would never know what truly transpired between them.

She stood up, grasping the box tightly in her hands. As she gazed out of the glass window, she saw Orson and Holden with their Twins fighting and flying in the sky. She didn’t know why, but she felt empty. Like a part of her was missing.

Then a sudden burst of pain erupted on her right wrist. So vivid that she dropped the wooden box, which fell to the ground with a loud crash. She looked down at her right wrist and saw it. Distinct and burning white in her flesh. The off-center two moons connected by their backs with an eight-point star set directly below them. This had appeared on Orson, Holden, and the King before them. It was called the Mark of the Twin, and in an instant, it was gone.

________________________________

Zooey peered down at the crowded stadium below her. Internally panicking from afar. It was the Twin Ceremony. A fact that the burning mark on her wrist wouldn’t let her forget. She pulled down her sleeve instinctively, making sure it was hidden. Two weeks had passed since that moment in the library when the mark had appeared. At first, Zooey thought she had imagined it. That she was compensating out of an inherent need, but then it came back. Burning her wrist at the most inopportune moments. She had ruined five dinner plates and one of Zelda’s cocktail dresses because of its ill-fated timing. Luckily, she pulled it off as absent-mindedness, which could never be doubted, but by the second week, the mark did not disappear.

She knew it had to be a secret. The mark only appeared on men, so this was impossible. There were few rules surrounding a Twin Ceremony, but the one thing that seemed to be constant throughout the years was that only men received a potential Twin Mark. It made sense. Dragon riding was incredibly dangerous, and it was a Twin’s duty to protect the land and fight to the death if need be. Not something a cautious father would pick for his teenage daughter. For centuries, it seemed nature took this into consideration, as it was only young men that received the mark. Until now.

Zooey looked over at her father and mother sitting next to her. They always loved an excuse to host a Twin Ceremony since they were so rare. They even kept a running tally with the other royal families on who would throw the most each year. The prize was a celebratory cow.

The year Millennia picked Orson, the North Kingdom won, but this year King Eion would be the automatic winner since he would have hosted two. It was just eight months ago that the last Twin Ceremony was held here, and Eion was overjoyed that one of his sons was chosen by a West Dragon. Twins ran in the Caine family, but it was still a nerve-wracking honor, nonetheless.

Zooey peered down at the middle of the arena. Staring at the massive white egg that shone bright in the sun, resting in a bed of grass, waiting for its moment. It was beautiful, incandescent almost, with the Mark of the Twin shining brightly in a striking aqua hue. There was a kind of controversy that surrounded this egg. It was found alongside another in a mountain range fifty miles south of here. One of these eggs had hatched eight months ago. Its green Twin Mark glowing brightly against the grey to signal its readiness. However, the other egg did not stir, and the people of Nosto had been waiting for it to make up its mind for months. Now, it was ready, and the glaring trumpets below signaled the start of the ceremony. 

Zooey took this time to sneak out of the room unnoticed. Leaving her family captivated by the activity below. As she walked down the long hallway, she threw a large black cloak over herself to make sure none of the guards would recognize her. She knew this stadium like the back of her hand. Her father took great pride in teaching his children about the Old World, and any building that was still standing from that time was used as a history lesson. Her father had raved consistently about an artifact that was found in this exact stadium ages ago. It apparently had centered on an Old World sport that had been beloved by the people. The engraving on the bottom was so old that it had faded through the years, but the golden poles with their thirty flags still stood. Her father thought it was beautiful, but Zooey thought it looked more like a torture device. She walked around a corner and crashed straight into her brother, Holden. The hood of her cloak falling back to reveal her long blonde hair.

“Running away?” he asked.

“I just need some fresh air. I’ll be back soo —” She stopped following Holden’s eyes to her right wrist, where her sleeve had pulled up, exposing the mark. She looked up at him quickly.

“Please don’t tell.”

Holden stared at her for a moment. He knew if he told his father this would be the end for Zooey. The King had seen many allies die because of the reckless nature of Twins and would never allow her to choose this fate freely. Zooey’s heart stopped as she waited for her brother’s answer.

A smile crossed his lips as he gave her a wink. “Good luck.”

She pulled her cloak back over her head and flew down the stairs, her heart pounding in her chest as she reached the area where the potential Twins gathered.

There were about twenty boys. All of them sharing the same mark Zooey had. Most beamed with excitement, while others twitched with nerves. One had even vomited on a guard before getting himself thrown out of the arena. It was clear that potential Twins came in all forms and sizes. Zooey knew that better than anyone.

The guards checked each wrist before ushering the potential Twins onto the field. It had become popular for young boys to burn homemade Twin Marks on their right wrist to try and sneak their way into a ceremony. This usually ended with a black eye and a night in prison.

“Show me your wrist, boy.”

Zooey turned her head from the guard and pulled up her sleeve. He examined the mark for authenticity and then nodded. She walked forward. The crowd erupted in cheers as each potential Twin walked onto the field. Zooey felt her stomach churn as she got in line. The egg stood before them. Gleaming in its greatness.

The first crack echoed throughout the stadium as soon as the last person lined up with the rest of the potential Twins. It was now so quiet you could hear a pin drop. Another crack. Zooey’s heart stopped. Another. This seemed to go on forever as twenty-one pairs of eyes fixated on it anxiously. And then the egg shattered, causing bits of shell to shower each person.

Curled in the bottom half of the egg was the most beautiful creature Zooey had ever seen. He was covered in stark white fur and about the size of a baby horse. He opened his eyes, slowly adjusting to the sun, and then took his first step forward. He struggled, getting used to his legs, all the while completely ignoring the fact that everyone was fixated on only him.

A loud sneeze came from Zooey’s left and echoed throughout the stadium. The dragon abruptly looked up and straight into the eyes of a frightened boy. Zooey watched as the creature walked straight up to him and stared into his soul. It seemed that the dragon thought the sneeze had overshadowed his shining moment and wanted to make sure the boy realized his error. The action reminded Zooey of something Irex would do, and she snorted despite herself.

The dragon turned his gaze sharply to her, and she stopped, suddenly nervous. He walked over slowly, looking at her with his intense aqua eyes. This was unusual for a Twin Ceremony. During Holden’s, Irex took the time to stop at each candidate before choosing him. Millennia had even picked a different Twin before changing her mind to Orson. But this dragon was different, Zooey could feel that. As he stood before her staring into her eyes, she made a point to match his intensity as she stared back into his.

Can I eat him?

“No.” Zooey grinned. “Welcome to our world.”

In record time for a Twin Ceremony, the dragon stood on his hind legs, opened his wings, and let out a loud roar signaling his choice. The crowd erupted in stunned cheers as the rest of the potential Twins were quickly ushered off the field, sadly watching as their marks slowly faded into nonexistence. Zooey gazed at the remarkable dragon before her, as the bright white Twin Mark burned into a soft reddish brown. Etched permanently on her wrist. One of the guards came over to her and pulled her right hand into the air to show the world their new Twin. As the hood of her cloak fell back and her long blonde hair blew gently behind her in the wind, a silence fell over the crowd.

And realization struck.

Not a single person moved from shock, but Zooey could do nothing except look at her Twin. For he was all she cared about in this moment.

“What’s your name?”

His eyes sparkled at the question, and she knew then. This was what she’d been missing.

Ilya.

It was the same staircase. The same corridor. The same chandelier, but there was no blood. Zooey glanced down at her clean hand and examined it. A figment of her imagination that’s all it was. She placed her hand back on the marble stair rail and continued climbing up to nowhere. Then, abruptly, she reached the top. She gazed down the long hall before her with a sense of despair. Pain really. She turned to go back the way she came, but the stairs were now gone. Vanished into thin air. She continued down the hall.

It was plain and bare, with simple light fixtures hanging from the ceiling. And long. It went on forever. The sparse amount of illumination the candles provided was not enough to guide her. So, she walked blindly, hoping she would reach something, anything. Then there it was. The two large wooden doors Zooey remembered so fondly. The doors that opened to all of her childhood adventures, and it seemed as if they had appeared because she had willed them to.

Zooey went to open the doors, but they were locked. She pressed down on the handles, trying to loosen whatever it was that kept her there.

She knocked on the door. “Hello?”

Then she heard it again, the shrill screaming. But this time it came distinctly from behind the doors. She banged on them fiercely.

“Hello?” Another scream resounded around her, but this time it hit her right in the gut. She knew this scream. She knew who this was. She tried desperately to open the door, feebly trying to move it with her own strength, but it would not budge. Another scream bounced off the walls. In such pain that she felt like she was being tortured herself, and she yelled through the walls.

“HOLDEN!”

________________________________

Zooey awoke in a panicked sweat. She looked around, trying to place where she was. Then she remembered. The prison, the escape, everything that had transpired the night before. She turned to Ilya, who was nestled beside her on the grass, still sleeping. They had taken shelter in a secluded area that Zooey had hidden in countless times before. The Caines had been extremely fond of playing a mock version of the 21 Old World Wars as children. It was a slightly more strategic game of hide and seek, and, for tactical purposes, they used the whole city as their personal playground. This specific patch of land was small and surrounded by many well-placed trees. It was to the left of the West Castle’s main path and had convenient acoustics so that anyone who hid there would know what was transpiring below. Many a battle was won with Zooey’s uncanny ability to administer a thorough sneak attack.

They had decided on this place months ago. It was their plan, simple. When Zooey and Ilya finally escaped the prison, they would fly here for shelter. They would then wait until the next day, at nightfall, to sneak into the West Castle for supplies. It was dangerous. The castle was crawling with guards from The Keep that had changed allegiance once Aquas Tocque came to power, but Zooey had grown very fond of her boot collection, and she wanted to say goodbye to her home one last time.

Zooey tried to lift Ilya’s great-scaled wing off her, but it wouldn’t move. He was a decent size for his kind. Not as large as some dragons, which he considered a strength. Lithe and strong, his body was exceptionally durable—with scales harder than diamonds used as his own indestructible armor. Soft-feathered spikes ran down Ilya’s head and tail, stopping at his back for the convenience of riding. They were his favorite feature besides his retractable claws and razor-sharp teeth. In an Old World book, Zooey had once come across a picture of what people imagined dragons to look like. This particular one was massive, about six times the size of Ilya. When Zooey showed her Twin what she had found, he merely scoffed and stated, it’s not realistic at all. Although Ilya hadn’t reached the scope of Irex, he still was the size of a full-grown dragon, which was similar in build to a large horse. But, unlike those lowly creatures, as Ilya so fondly put it, he was a superior being. With the gift of flight and a glorious ten-foot wingspan.

Eventually, Zooey gave up trying to move this superior being and nudged her Twin in the wing.

Ilya opened one big aqua eye at her. Leave me alone. I’m sleeping.

“You are not.” She nudged him again.

Both eyes opened. Well, it’s very hard when you’re thrashing and kicking in your sleep. You almost took out my eye.

Zooey glared incredulously at him. “Are we being a bit dramatic?”

Ilya rested his head back down onto the tall green grass. Was it the same dream?

“Yes.”

A distinct memory came to Zooey. A few months after Ilya had chosen her as his Twin, Orson, Millennia, Holden, and Irex had brought them to this exact place. The great oak tree that stood in the middle of this patch of land was burned with a gigantic Twin Mark on its trunk, but instead of the one star that usually completed the image, there were three. One for each of them. This, they said, was their bond, and it was now her turn to join them. That was almost six years ago, and Zooey could still see the mark forever burned in the tree standing before her now.

“It was Holden.”

What was?

“The scream.”

Ilya gazed up at her with the weight of the world in his eyes. Holden’s dead.

She looked back at him. “I know.”

They rarely talked of the Great Purge. It all began when Aquas Tocque, an unknown man with strong, magnetic energy, decided that he wanted complete power. And he got it. Now, instead of Four Kingdoms, there was one. Tocque’s Kingdom. And because of this man, Zooey’s family was scattered and broken. All she knew was that Orson was in hiding and Zelda was a traitor. The rest were dead. Ilya was all she had left, and she promised herself that she would do everything in her power to make sure he was safe. Breaking out of the prison was the first step. The second was finding safety, and she knew that her Uncle Nic in the south of the West Kingdom could provide them with that.

I’m hungry.

“Go find a rabbit.”

Ilya scowled.

A crack vibrated throughout the trees, causing them both to stand up abruptly. Zooey’s hands flew straight to her daggers while Ilya crouched, ready to attack. A voice rose up from below them.

“We’re getting close. How much gold do you think we’ll get for this one, boys?”

Zooey and Ilya relaxed. It was just some of Tocque’s mindless sycophants that turned people in for profit. They couldn’t tell their head from their ass.

“Well, he’s wearing a vest, so he’s probably rich.”

“And he’s got papers. Definitely a rebel.”

“Yeah, and he’s foreign!”

“Yeah!”

Zooey couldn’t physically tell how many of them there were, but it sounded to be about three.

“What kind of rebel papers are these?”

The next voice was dripping with sarcasm, so it had to be that of the poor manhandled foreigner. “They’re maps.” He sounded of European descent, though Zooey was only slightly adept at deciphering Old World speech patterns.

“I’m a cartographer. Not a rebel, and I'm very important, so please refrain from poking me with that stick.”

A loud crack sounded. Seemingly, the foreigner had been hit over the head with the aforementioned stick. Boastful laughter and a pained groan followed.

Zooey gave Ilya an excited look.

He blinked back at her. We are in hiding.

The first man spoke again with even more malice, “It doesn’t matter what these are. We’re still going to kill you.”

“I was actually planning on taking a quiet vacation to the sea, but I guess murder might fit into my lovely holiday schedule. I should warn that quaint little inn, though. They have a strict no-cancellation policy.”

The sound of knuckles on flesh was sickening as Zooey listened to the beginning of the beating below. She turned to Ilya and gave him a significant grin.

No.

________________________________

“Three on one? Now that’s hardly fair.” Zooey never turned her back on a fight. Especially one that was so unevenly matched. She stood in the middle of the road in front of them, watching as the three oafish buffoons punched the poor boy in the stomach. They stopped suddenly, all three of them gaping at her, dumbfounded.

“Now.” Zooey grabbed her daggers from their sheaths with a seasoned expertise. “Put him down.”

One of the oafs stepped forward, allowing his cohorts to support the weight of the boy, and fixated on her with an unnerving smile.

“I know who you are.”

“Yeah, who’s that?” Zooey answered mockingly. Enticing criminals was never a wise thing, but she really couldn’t help herself.

“You’re one of the royals.” He took a dramatic pause to let that sink in. “I thought all of you were dead.”

“Guess not.”

At that, the other two oafs glanced up at her and smirked. Suddenly realizing their new appealing situation. The bloodied young man between them raised his head, too.

He looked like he was about Zooey’s age and was attractive despite his bruises. Blood ran from his brown hair into his animated green eyes as he glanced up at her, trying to think his way out of their current situation. “Don’t be ridiculous, this is my nursemaid, Franny. You’re shorter than I remember.”

One of the oafs punched him in the stomach again. He started violently coughing, trying to regain his breath.

The first oaf took out a large Bowie knife from his belt and advanced toward Zooey menacingly. “Tocque is gonna give us so much gold for turning you in.”

“Don’t take another step,” she warned.

“What are you gonna do about it?”

Ilya burst through the trees with a deafening roar and landed right behind Zooey. He wrapped his tail around his Twin protectively and thrust his giant wings out to each side.

“You were saying?”

Fear was such an interesting thing to see on a person’s face. Zooey was certain one of them actually peed himself.

“Now,” she said calmly as she walked forward. “You can die, or you can all run back the way you came as fast as you can. If you tell anyone about us, I will personally cut out all three of your tongues, and then we will kill you. If you do anything other than run that way —” She pointed behind them. “We will kill you.” Zooey stopped right in front of the first oaf and looked straight into his eyes. “Give me your knife.” He handed it over to her without hesitation. She smiled at him. “Good boy. Now run.”

Lightning would have been slower.

Zooey walked over to the wounded young man and offered him her hand.

“You all right?”

“That was quite an entrance.”

“Yeah, well, we like a good show.”

He used her hand as leverage as he picked himself off the ground. He was tall. Much taller than Zooey had expected. Granted, you can’t tell much about a man’s stature when he’s huddled on the ground bleeding.

He bent down to pick up the strewn papers that littered the dirt path. His large burlap knapsack sat idly by. “They caught me last night. Apparently, making a fire in the woods is code for ‘I’m a rebel leader.’” He chuckled lightly to himself and started rolling up the papers in his hands. “They caught me off guard. I’m usually much more prepared, but I’ve been getting these headaches, and it’s really messed with my equilibrium. Hold this!” He pushed the already rolled-up papers in Zooey’s arms.

Ilya padded over softly and sat down by them. Intrigue getting the best of him.

“And I’m not a foreigner!” He pointed fiercely at her, almost dropping everything. “Well, not really.” He struggled to pick up the last paper on the ground, but couldn’t seem to manage. Ilya picked it up with his teeth and offered it to him.

“I came over on a boat, not that you’re asking. I was five.” He paused. “Around five. Anyway, I don’t remember much besides the boat, and the waves, and the crying. My crying.” He glanced up again. “I was five.” He rolled up the last paper. “I’m from a farm north of the East Kingdom. Pigs and the like. But I’ve always been a fan of maps and took up cartography as a sort of hobby. Who knew I would be sent clear across Nosto to check the accuracy of our land maps? They are shit! I got lost fourteen times. But the good news is I made notes.” He abruptly reopened the map he had just finished rolling, which was covered in small, intricate lines and scribbles. He grinned pleasantly at Zooey and then turned to Ilya. “Hello, there!”

They stood very still. No one should be this happy after almost being beaten to death.

“I’m Rye Connolly.” He picked up his knapsack and stuck out his hand for Zooey to shake. “Very pleased to meet you.”

________________________________

Sneaking into the West Castle was something Zooey had not prepared for until nightfall. It would have been much more convenient with the shadows hiding them from sight, but now, since they had acquired Rye, the plan had to be readjusted.

They walked down the main path to the West Castle and found shelter in a small patch of trees off the side of the road. Zooey knew this area well and therefore had an indispensable advantage.

The patch of land was small but concealed, and Zooey could easily see the towering West Castle that stood not more than a half-mile in front of her. She looked at it closely, examining the patterns of The Keep. The main entrance was too well-guarded for Zooey to enter in the daylight. Without the element of surprise on her side, she needed to be a bit craftier. There was an entrance on the right side of the castle that was completely hidden from sight. It was a small, cramped, secret tunnel that entered into one of the pantries in the kitchen. This is where she would start.

Rye sat on the grass, methodically organizing his maps and rearranging his knapsack for convenience. His possessions were sprawled out in front of him and were few and far between. There was a compass, a loaf of bread, a couple of matches, and some clothes. Ilya resumed his napping position on the grass and lazily watched Rye fiddle with his compass.

Zooey turned around and walked over to them. Throwing the stolen Bowie knife at Rye’s feet. “I’ll give it a few minutes.”

I’m coming with you.

Zooey looked sternly at her Twin. “You are not. I can’t risk you being seen.”

“I can go with you.” Rye gingerly picked up the knife in front of him as if it was going to come to life and stab him. “Is this mine?”

“You need something to defend yourself.”

“I tend to rely on my unmatched wit.”

That’s worked well for you so far.

“I’m very useful.” Rye nodded eagerly to the two of them. “Especially in these sorts of covert situations.”

Silence played gently through the air as they stared at him.

I’m not sure useful is the correct term.

“You know.” Zooey looked at Rye, trying to find the most inoffensive way to phrase her thoughts. “That may be true, but it might be better if it was just one person. I know my way around, and someone needs to stay with Ilya.”

Great, leave me with this lunatic. That sounds fun.

Rye turned to Ilya, then looked back at Zooey, confused. “Did he say something? I still can’t figure out when you guys are communicating.”

“He said he can’t wait to spend some quality time with you.”

I did not.

“So lovely. We just met, and we are meshing so well.” He reached out to pet Ilya, who carefully moved to the side to avoid him.

Don’t touch me.

Rye looked to Zooey, who nodded encouragingly. “He’s shy.”

Zooey sat down beside them as Rye went back to organizing his belongings. “Why didn’t you kill them?”

Zooey was taken aback by the question. “What?”

“The men who captured me. Why didn’t you kill them?”

“It wasn’t necessary.”

“But it would have been easier.”

“Well, why were you out in the woods by yourself?” Zooey countered feebly. “You don’t really seem like a wilderness sort of guy.”

“If you really want to know...” Rye began slowly. “It was because I was going to study with a cartographer in the West who could look over my work.”

Such a popular profession. Who knew?

Zooey narrowed her eyes. “A cartographer in the woods?”

“He enjoyed the simpler life.”

“What happened?”

“Well, I got there, and he was dead.”

No one spoke for a while as the wind blew cold against their skin. This was their world now.

Rye broke the silence. He was the type who couldn’t go too long without speaking. Both a virtue and a curse.

“But now you get the extreme pleasure of traveling with me. So, I guess it worked out in your favor.”

Zooey and Ilya stared at him.

“Traveling with me? With us? Are you traveling with us?”

No.

“Of course, I am. You don’t know how to get there.”

“How do you know? You don’t even know where we’re going.” Zooey looked to her Twin. “We know how to get there.” She paused. “I think.” She turned to Rye. “Well, we can figure it out.”

Rye nodded knowingly at Zooey and Ilya. “I have maps. I’m invaluable.”

“Why do you want to come with us?” Zooey forcefully asked.

Rye shrugged. “I owe you.”

“This is ridiculous.” Zooey stood up and turned to Ilya. “I’m leaving. Don’t follow me.” She turned and pointed to Rye. “Don’t follow me either.”

“You need me.”

Zooey turned around. “I really don’t.”

“You seem like the type of girl who is focused on survival. Now, I’ve traveled across this land, and I know what I’m doing. Let me come with you.” Rye paused and then looked up at her. “I have nowhere else to go.”

Zooey had a hard enough time taking care of herself, and Ilya, let alone another person, but she knew there was nothing worse in this life than being alone. After a long pause, she conceded. “Fine.”

Rye rubbed his hands together excitedly. “We are going to make so many wonderful memories.”

Can I eat him?

Zooey nodded. “Give it a few days.”

________________________________

Zooey reached the edge of the West Castle and waited patiently. She watched as the Men of The Keep patrolled around the perimeter, marching in groups of six. It seemed that since Aquas Tocque had risen to power, he had doubled the amount of security around the castles. In case any wayward royals were foolish enough to return. Zooey liked a challenge and was sure that news of her escape hadn’t reached Tocque yet. A clear advantage for her. As she looked at the guards’ faces, her heart sank. She knew half of these men. Some even watched her grow up and defended her father and the kingdom as both friends and allies. As Men of The Keep, they had sworn to protect and were branded on the back of their neck by the Roman numeral II to signify that they belonged to the West. This was similar in each kingdom, II marked the Men of The Keep for the West Kingdom, I marked the East, III marked the North, and IV marked the South. In the Four Kingdoms, The Keep did not swear allegiance to any particular ruler of Nosto. They stayed with the castle, and their duty was to protect the land. They were not allowed to leave their station. Once they were designated to a specific kingdom, this was their permanent home, and if they left, they were considered a traitor and killed once found.

Zooey looked up at her old home. It had been a full year since she had last been here. Vivid memories of that day flooded her mind. The Great Purge had begun, and news of Tocque’s uprising in the East had reached them only two weeks before. The royal families of the East and North had been slaughtered, while Zelda, who lived with her husband Xavier in the South, had created a new allegiance. As cowards do. Holden and Orson had gone in advance to help in the East, and the only mention of them was that Orson had escaped a terrible raid and was in hiding.

Flashes of images played before Zooey’s eyes. The sound of her father and Prospero being shot down. Her mother with her neck broken in the foyer. Harrison with a knife in his back, and Beth’s screams. All the while, the Men of The Keep, sworn protectors of the West Castle, watched.

And Zooey could never forgive them.

Now she watched them quietly as they walked past the hidden entrance on the side of the castle. It was time. Once they walked past her, she would have only a few minutes to spare, and she needed to make them count. She dashed out from behind the trees where she had been hiding and ran to the entrance. Crouching behind a bush, she pushed it aside to reveal a small opening at the bottom. She crawled in headfirst and struggled to fit her whole body inside. This was her little brother Aron’s favorite hiding spot. Which made sense. He was small and could comfortably fit inside without the overwhelming claustrophobia that now hit Zooey.

She made sure to breathe quietly as she crawled on her hands and knees through the tunnel. She turned a corner and saw a small light flickering at the end. She was almost there. As soon as Zooey reached the ray of light, she paused, knowing full well there was a strategically placed barrel in front of the opening. She waited and listened to make sure no one was there. Slowly, she moved the barrel to the left, making the least amount of noise possible. As soon as the slit was wide enough to crawl through, she gently lifted her body out of the tunnel and onto the flour-caked pantry floor.

The room was the same as she remembered, like she had never left, but now was not a time for lost memories. She quickly picked up a burlap sack from the shelf and stuffed it with as much food as she could carry. She only grabbed the essentials. Some cracked grain bread, nuts, and cheese preserved in wax. Her father had taught her how to hunt, so meat wouldn’t be an issue, and her mother had made sure that she knew the difference between healing and edible plants. This was just extra.

As soon as her bag was full of supplies, she carefully peered around the corner into the main kitchen. It was empty. She walked briskly into the hallway and swiftly made her way through the castle.

When her family lived here, The Keep was primarily stationed outside and rarely made their rounds in the castle itself. She was glad to see that this tactic remained the same. She made her way through the great hall and paused briefly, looking up at the spiral staircase on the other side of the room. Her plan was risky, but she needed to make it up those stairs. She heard a small noise behind her and turned sharply around, but no one was there. She took another moment to breathe while placing one hand on her dagger, just in case.

She sprinted across the room, not looking back, not looking at anything besides the stairs in front of her. She turned down the left corridor and walked past each room until she finally reached hers. She opened the door and suddenly stopped as the wind was knocked out of her.

It was exactly the same. Like nothing had happened. Her bed stood anchored in the middle of the room. Her desk in the corner covered in the Old World books she had borrowed from her father. As if everything was okay, and no one had died, and nothing had happened. She shook her head violently, trying to get the images out of her mind. She wouldn’t let herself think of the past. Not now, when there was still so much at stake. She rushed over to her closet and quickly opened it. Her clothes littered the floor. A scene her mother would have loathed. She reached for her large leather pack and transferred the food from the sack into it. She then stuffed it full of clothes for her journey.

Zooey’s style was simple and chic. Which really didn’t matter now since she was a fugitive. Her wardrobe consisted of sleek pants and shirts that she mainly accompanied with long-sleeve coats and knee-high leather boots. She finished and quickly left, making sure to grab the most precious item her father had given her before he died. An Old World copy of The Catcher in the Rye.

Zooey ran down the hallway. Fighting the urge to stop. She descended the stairs and advanced through the great hall. But instead of returning to the kitchen, she decided to make one last stop and dashed down the left corridor. Her mother had a walk-in closet of healing herbs, and Zooey figured it would be wise to stock up in case anything happened. She went into the cramped space and grabbed the closest herbs in sight. They ranged from cures for the stomach flu, headaches, small cuts, and bruises, to serious head trauma and even amnesia. She threw whatever she could find into her bag and exited back into the hallway. She walked down quietly and began to turn into the great hall, but stopped as she heard marching feet coming closer to her. She backed up slowly, but the sounds kept echoing toward her. She then heard a voice.

“Check the halls. If you find her, kill her.”

They knew.

An arm reached out and grabbed her from the left, roughly pulling her back into the herb closet. Another hand quickly covered her mouth so she couldn’t scream as the door was tightly closed. The closet was small and only made for one person at a time. Firmly pressed up against her captor, she finally looked up and into the striking blue eyes of her brother’s best friend.

“Wes!”

“Are you crazy?”

“Quite possibly.”

The sound of marching feet turned and entered the hallway. Wes looked down at Zooey warningly. They stopped in front of the closet door. The knob slowly turned.

“This is Corporal Wes Ahrens. I am searching this area. There is only room for one, Sir.”

The knob stopped moving.

“Who assigned you to this area, Corporal?”

“Lieutenant Walters, Sir.”

There was a long pause. “Are you finding anything?”

Zooey looked up at Wes. He had to tell the truth—it was his duty. As a member of The Keep, it didn’t matter who she was. She was an enemy of the castle now, and he couldn’t protect her. As much as he wanted to.

“No.”

“Good work, Corporal. Return to your station once you’re finished.”

Zooey watched Wes abandon everything he had ever stood for as the steps faded softly in the distance. She angrily smacked him in the chest. “Are you crazy?”

He had this adorable half-grin that could make even the coldest-hearted person smile. “Let’s get you out of here. He grabbed Zooey by the hand and led her into the hallway. The black branded II on his neck shining prominently in the dim light as he guided her to safety.

________________________________

Wes knew these grounds better than all of the Caine children combined, and that was saying something. He was an overachiever and made it his business to know everything about the West Castle. This made it easy for him to sneak Zooey out through one of the unguarded back doors and into the security of the wilderness. They took a seldom-used dirt path, which eventually intersected with the main road, leading them directly to Ilya and Rye.

Zooey looked up at Wes. He was two years older than her, which would put him in his mid-twenties. He was extremely fit from all of his Keep training and very attractive. He had black hair, but his best features were his gorgeous blue eyes and his smile. He had come to the West Castle two years before Zooey’s Twin Ceremony. She didn’t know much about his past since he kept his memories well hidden. All she knew was that he went into The Keep at the ripe age of thirteen, and the rest was history.

“Shouldn’t you be going back soon?” Zooey asked him.

“I’m not going back.”

She stopped in the middle of the road. “What?”

He turned around and looked at her. “I’m not going back.” He continued walking.

“They’ll kill you.”

“They’ll have to catch me first.”

Zooey ran up to him. “Wes, stop.” She grabbed his arm. “Wes, stop!” She pulled him around to face her. “Why are you doing this?”

He stared at her with enormous intensity. “Zooey, I wasn’t there when your family was killed.”

“I know.”

“I was supposed to protect them.”

“I know.”

He grabbed both of her shoulders. Making sure she caught everything he said. “I couldn’t save your brother. I couldn’t save anyone. Because I wasn’t there. Because I was on assignment in the North Kingdom, and nobody here did anything. They stood and watched your family die for the sake of honor. Betrayal was not what I signed up for.” He let her go and started walking again.

She followed after him. “What are you going to do, Wes?”

“Well, I’m going to protect you, Princess.”

She stopped. “I don’t need protecting.”

He turned around to face her. “I know.”

As he walked away, she yelled after him, “You don’t even know where I’m going.”

“I don’t care.”

“Does that look like a right?” Rye turned the map he was holding to the side and scanned it from a different angle. “Or is that a left?” He showed it to Ilya, who happened to be walking beside him. “What do you think I meant by this squiggle?”

Ilya had spent a day and a half traveling with Rye, and Zooey was shocked that he hadn’t eaten him yet. Prison, it seemed, had changed him. Instead, Ilya looked over at the map and back to Rye’s expectant face. Your imbecile squiggles mean nothing to me.

“He says he thinks it’s a left.” Zooey glared, annoyed at her unhelpful Twin.

Rye looked back at the map, concerned. “Are you certain?”

Wes walked up to Rye’s right side and examined it. “Looks like a right to me.”

All three of them stared at the map as Zooey watched them, amused.

“How sad. Two men and a dragon, and no one can figure out directions.” She grabbed the map for herself and examined it. “It’s straight.” She pushed it back into Rye’s hand.

All three looked at her, and then back down at the map.

“Oh yeah, it does look straight, doesn’t it?” Rye turned it to the side.

Wes pointed to one of the lines. “But you see this curve? It does kind of look like a right.”

“It really does.”

“An honest mistake.”

“And that curve.” Rye pointed out another area of the map to Wes. “Kind of looks like a left.”

“You know, it really does.”

Zooey shook her head at Ilya.

Don’t look at me. I knew it was straight.

It was said that traveling with company was the greatest thing in the world. Now, that theory was being greatly tested as Zooey, Ilya, and their two companions continued their journey to the south of the West Kingdom.

Rye had made this trip before during the onslaught of the Great Purge and had discovered a seldom-used dirt path that conveniently hid him from any unwanted attacks. This was the road they took now.

Ilya moved his wings in agitation as they continued walking. I need to hunt.

“You can hunt on the ground,” Zooey answered.

What’s the fun in that?

She looked over, exasperated. Ilya, if we could fly, we would. It’s a lot easier than walking and takes less time, but it’s too risky.

Ilya huffed, turning away from her.

Wes looked at Zooey and gestured toward the dragon. “What’s up with him?”

“He’s having a fit because he’s not allowed to fly.”

Ilya shot her an agitated look.

“Well, you are!”

“Don’t worry, friend.” Rye awkwardly stroked Ilya on his great white wing. “I will fly you to safety.”

Wes had spent many years around dragons at the West Castle, and he preemptively took Rye’s hand off Ilya for fear of what might happen. “This is for your own good.”

I’m going. Goodbye. Ilya walked off quickly, making sure that his dissatisfaction was well known.

“Fine, go!” Zooey yelled after him.

“Bring us back some food,” Rye added.

Zooey glared over at him.

“Well, if he’s going anyway.”

“How much longer until we reach the building?” Wes turned toward the setting sun, worried that they might not make it to shelter in time.

“About twenty minutes, I’d say,” Rye stated. “Although the last time I was here, I was high on some sort of floral drug that had been administered to me through a lovely green tea mixture, so it’s quite possible I made the whole thing up.”

Wes turned to Zooey. “I should be more shocked.”

Zooey gave him a sly smile. She was sure that Rye made up half of the crazy things he said in an attempt to sound more interesting, but she couldn’t help but like that about him.

They continued walking down the dirt path in silence, fatigued greatly from their journey that day. Zooey was not used to walking these long hours and hadn’t traveled this far since the last time she went to see her Uncle Nic. Even then, they traveled on the shorter, more mainstream roads in Nosto, not these out-of-the-way dirt paths that Rye loved so much. Zooey’s father had told her stories about these large main roads that covered a great portion of their land with stone. Apparently, they were used for transportation in the Old World. Something about Ford and automatic stick shift came to mind. Silly Old World trivia that her father spent hours obsessing over.

“See, I wasn’t hallucinating!” Rye pointed up at a small, quaint building to their right. Definitely, Old World, which would have had Zooey’s father in absolute childlike excitement. It was decrepit from old age but still had this simple beauty about it. They veered off the path and up the stairs.

“What’s this place called?” Wes asked.

“When I stayed here, the caretaker called it Bautista or something,” Rye replied. “Although he kind of mumbled, and I’m pretty sure he was the one who slipped me the drugs.”

They walked through one of the stone archways that lined the front of the building. The doors were already open as Zooey, Wes, and Rye walked inside.

You’re late.

Ilya was sitting on the stone floor surrounded by a few dead rabbits. His paws crossed over each other regally as he watched them with his piercing aqua eyes.

Zooey crossed her arms and matched his aqua eyes with hers. “Glad to see you’re feeling better.”

I’ve killed your rabbits. Make them into a stew.

Zooey looked over to Wes and Rye. “Can either of you cook?”

Rye nodded. “I once made a quiche.”

________________________________

After a few minutes staring at the dead animals, it was mutually decided that they would use the old stone fireplace to their advantage. As the rabbits roasted on their makeshift skewers, the three of them ate some of the cracked grain bread and cheese that Zooey had stolen from the West Castle. Ilya was fine with the raw meat and sat contentedly gnawing on the bones of his prey. Zooey leaned up against his scaled-back and watched the flames dance in the fireplace. This was the first time that there was any sense of calm since she had escaped the prison. She soaked it in knowing that it wouldn’t last long. Wes and Rye were sitting opposite them, comparing their weaponry. Well, Wes was. Rye sported a glazed look in his eye while he held his Bowie knife in his hands. Wes was trying to explain to him the importance of knowing your weapon, which seemed as boring to Rye as cartography lessons were to everyone else. Wes held his well-made Spartan-style sword in front of him. As a Man of the Keep, he possessed superior strength and had been trained to kill a man with his bare hands. However, now that he was an enemy of the land, he didn’t mind having the extra protection. Just in case.

Rye poked himself with the tip of his knife, and Wes stared, concerned for a while before taking the knife away, “for his own good.”

Rye touched the temples of his head and winced in pain.

“Another headache?” Zooey asked.

“There are millions of tiny step dancers performing the Highland Fling on my parietal lobe.”

Wes nodded in amusement. “Vivid.”

Zooey took a moment to scrounge for the headache herbs in her bag. Her mother used to give them to Harrison when he felt ill, so she knew it would definitely work for Rye.

“Uncle Nic is going to love you. He’s a big fan of performance art.” Zooey opened the herb jar and took out a single leaf. “Here, chew on this.” She handed it to Rye, who looked at her like she was trying to poison him.

“I swear! It will help!”

He took it, cautiously looked it over, and then, after a prolonged moment, began chewing.

“The man who accepts spiked green tea from random caretakers questions a medicinal herb? Ridiculous.” Zooey shook her head and closed the jar.

Rye spoke through his mouthful of leaf. “Where is that wily old man anyway?” He glanced around the room, then finally stared at the pile of bones that Ilya was licking. “Steve, is that you?”

Ilya stopped suddenly. Diverting his attention from the juicy bone in front of him to Rye’s unassuming eyes. You’re next.

Wes got up and sat over near Zooey. He casually grabbed a piece of bread from her and gestured over toward Rye. “You know, it’s a wonder he’s still alive. I thought he would have been eaten days ago.”

Zooey looked over at Wes. “That’s what I’ve been saying!”

They paused. Caught in a moment of surreal happiness.

“Guys, why is he staring at me?”

________________________________

The fire dwindled slowly. The flames flickering in and out as the soft glow of the fireplace lightly lit the room. Zooey was sitting upright against Ilya’s side, dozing in and out of consciousness. Ilya was curled around Zooey with his tail across her lap. His great head resting gently on his paws. Zooey looked across the room at Rye, who had fallen asleep on his side. His knapsack tucked against his chest and held tightly under both arms. Wes was sleeping a few feet away from her. His sword placed protectively against him. Zooey gazed back at the fireplace, thinking about how calm all three of them seemed. Zooey’s eyelids closed as she slowly drifted off. The flames flickered and died as the last ember vanished from sight...

She was in the same room. With the staircase that curved around the archway and the single chandelier that hung from the ceiling. Zooey walked up the staircase and noticed the distinct dent in the wall. She continued walking. The stair rail cool beneath her fingers. She heard the first scream. Long and painful, but she didn’t stop. She kept walking.

She reached the top of the staircase and walked forward down the long hallway in front of her. It remained the same, plain, and bare, with the simple light fixtures that hung from the ceiling. Then she reached them. The two wooden doors.

Zooey went to open them, but again they were locked. She tried the handles to no avail.

She knocked on the door. “Hello?”

There was a second scream. A shrill yell of pain that came directly from behind the doors. She banged fiercely as the third scream resounded off the walls. She tried moving the door, but like before, it did not budge. The fourth scream erupted around her, and then there was silence.

“Holden?” she asked as she stared up at the two massive doors.

A click sounded, and Zooey glanced down at the door handles in her hands. She pushed them down, and this time they moved. The doors creaked as she tentatively moved them forward, opening into a room. The walls were lined with Old World books, and ornate chandeliers hung from the ceiling. Zooey remembered this place from years ago when her parents had taken them on a trip to the East Kingdom. At that time, the room had been filled with tables, but those had since been removed. The only thing visible was a man tied to a single chair. His blood dripping slowly to the ground.

Zooey walked forward. “Holden?” She could tell that he was talking to someone, but everything was hidden in shadows. She walked closer when something jerked in the corner of her eye, and she turned quickly.

“Irex!” She ran over to the dragon that was shackled down to the floor, but he looked past her. She had never seen the great dragon in any vulnerable state, but now, his eyes were full of defeat. Zooey moved away and back to the chair. Now, she knew for certain that this was her brother.

He sat tied to the chair, his face beaten and bruised. “Holden!” Zooey shook him, but like Irex, he looked past her. As if she wasn’t even there. She stayed in front of her brother as the shadow suddenly emerged in the light. “Tell me what you know.”

Zooey turned suddenly and looked straight into the face of Aquas Tocque.

“I don’t know anything,” Holden responded.

“Yes, you do.” Tocque cocked his head to the side, looking at Holden as if he was some kind of rare experiment.

“Just kill me already, it will save you some time.”

“You’re too valuable to kill.” His smile was unusually inviting. It seemed that if Tocque were not in the process of torturing Holden, they would have been fast friends. “Right now, at least.”

Holden looked up into Tocque’s face calmly. “You won’t get what you want.”

“Now, you see that’s what I like to hear. Some honesty. No matter how misguided it is.” Tocque bent down so he was at eye level with Holden. “Honesty attracts confidence. Don’t you think?”

He waited for a reply that would never come, and the corners of his mouth moved up into that same inviting smile. “Well?” Tocque’s crazed, cold eyes stared straight into her brother’s as Holden’s whole body violently tensed. “See how honest I’m being with you?”

Holden gripped the arms of the chair, digging into them with his nails. The wood was already scarred, so Zooey was certain this had happened before. Irex let out a pained roar in response. Ramming against his shackled legs. Trying to break free. Holden couldn’t keep the pain in anymore, and he screamed. Painful, strained, and unlike anything Zooey had ever heard before.

Then it was over. Before it had even begun. And Zooey’s brother stopped screaming and breathlessly looked up at her. Desperate and straight into her eyes.

“Help me.”

Zooey awoke violently, clutching her burning Twin Mark. She looked down at her wrist as it glowed brightly and pulsed with pain. She tried to catch her breath but couldn’t seem to ease her racing heart.

Zo.

She looked over to see Ilya staring at her. His eyes piercing, and she knew it was true.

Holden’s alive.

Holden was calm. Mainly because his siblings were not. He liked to keep his thoughts to himself and rarely let his true feelings out. This had worked well for him in his ten short years of life, and, as his older brother Orson smacked him in the back of the head with a wooden stick, he employed these useful techniques to remain calm.

“Fight back!” Orson threw the stick at Holden, who blatantly ignored it. He refused to play into Orson’s demands and continued to sit on the great marble staircase, casually eating his licorice strands. Orson hated when he didn’t get his way and kicked the wall angrily. A distinct dent formed as the stone broke off. Holden looked up at the ceiling and watched the single chandelier shake from the impact.

“Be careful, this place is like a million years old,” Holden warned.

“It can take it!” Orson kicked it again. Proving that it certainly could not take it as another piece of stone fell off. Orson grinned and glanced over at Holden. “It’s not my fault this place is built poorly.”

“Dad is going to kill you.”

Then Holden paused. “Remember the time you broke that bannister because you wanted to see if you could ride down it?”

“I’ve told you a thousand times I had a big lunch that day.”

Holden snickered. “We almost got kicked out of the East Castle.”

“I pointed out a building flaw that should have been previously dealt with. They should have thanked me.”

“Dad was so mad. This is his favorite piece of Old World architecture.”

“Oh, right, right, I forgot.” Orson mimicked his father as he ran his fingers across the wall. “Used in the olden times as an ancient library, this specific piece of architecture marks a fascinating time in Old World history.”

“Indeed.” Holden put his bag of licorice on the steps and stood up to join his brother. He walked over to the stair rail and examined it.

“The craftsmanship is truly shown in the marble fixtures. Don’t you agree?”

Orson grabbed back the stick that he had thrown at Holden and waved it around for the added effect.

“Indubitably so.”

This was the second time the brothers had gone to the East Kingdom with their father and had stayed in the East Castle. It was also the second time they had heard the same exact lecture about the gorgeous marble staircases. King Eion took trips out to the East Kingdom every so often to check in with the ruling family of this land, and whenever he made the long journey across Nosto, he liked to reward himself by boring his sons with painfully dull Old World facts.

Orson hit the stick down on one of the steps. “Look at this structure!”

Holden nodded his head in agreement. “Beautiful, tru-ly.”

“And this one?” Orson hit the next step down.

“Looks like a step to me.”

Orson looked up at Holden with his shining, mischievous eyes and stated, “We don’t know much, but we do know one thing. It has stood the ultimate test.” Holden grinned widely, and they both recited, “The test of time!”

They fell over laughing, enjoying the hilarity their father was unaware he had provided. After they finally regained their breath, Orson decided to seize the opportunity and hit Holden with the stick. Again.

Holden cocked his head to the side sarcastically. “Very funny.”

Orson hit him again. “Fight back.”

Holden turned around to go back to his licorice and his step. “No thanks.”

Orson threw the stick at the back of his head. Holden sighed, turned back around, and punched him in the face.

“OW! Really, Holden? Seriously?” Orson held his nose in pain as Holden smiled.

Calmly.

________________________________

Holden stood in line with his fellow potential Twins. He wasn’t nervous, he wasn’t scared—he was calm. Stoic, really, as he waited for the egg in front of him to hatch. He had only been sixteen for two months, but the great grey egg had decided it was ready for its Twin when its brilliant green mark glowed brightly two weeks ago. It was common in a Twin Ceremony for there to be twenty potential Twins chosen for each dragon. They always ranged between the ages of sixteen and eighteen, and Holden looked to his left at the nineteen boys that stood beside him. All hoping for the same thing. Holden examined the faint Twin Mark that had appeared on his skin. He had grown very fond of it and wanted it to remain permanently, but he knew his chances, calculating them in his head so that he was prepared for every potential outcome. This is why he stayed perfectly still as the first crack echoed throughout the stadium. Then the second crack. Then the third. The boy beside him twitched violently with each crack, but Holden remained still.

Then, after what seemed like hours, the egg finally shattered, layering the ground with pieces of shell. Sitting on his two back legs, staring at the boys was a massive baby dragon with furry grey wings and great green eyes. He was eye level with all of his potential Twins as if he had been patiently waiting for his egg to crack so he could size them up instantly.

He walked toward them slowly. Calculating his situation with each step. The dragon reached the first boy to the farthest left and stared at him for a good length of time. The boy looked as if he was going to pass out as the dragon methodically moved to the next candidate. This repeated as the dragon stopped at each boy. Taking his time reviewing them and then finally moving on to the next one. Holden stood there waiting patiently, for he was the last in line.

Soon, and soon was a relative term, the dragon stopped at the nervous boy next to Holden. He stared into his eyes, and Holden could tell that one act was enough to send the boy completely over the edge. His knees buckled, and he fell.

Instinctively, Holden grabbed him by the arm and pulled him back up. He held him, giving the boy some time to catch his breath, and in a few moments, he was able to stand on his own. He glanced up at Holden gratefully. “Thank you.”

“No problem.” When Holden looked back, not only was the whole stadium and the nineteen other potential Twins staring at him, but the dragon as well. “Hello.”

What is your name? The dragon asked curiously.

“Holden Caine.”

The dragon stood staring at him.

“What’s yours?”

The dragon walked up closely and sniffed him. Irex. You’re not afraid of me.

“Why should I be?”

I could kill you.

Holden gave him an encouraging nod. “Go for it.”

Irex paused, taken aback. Holden had grown up around dragons, and he knew that Irex wouldn’t kill him unless he needed to.

You know a lot about us, Holden Caine.

“My brother’s a Twin and so is my father.”

As Irex studied him, Holden could tell that this fact resonated with the new dragon.

Is family important to you?

“Yes.”

Irex looked over at the boy next to Holden. Why didn’t you let him fall?

Holden shrugged. “That wouldn’t be necessary.”

Irex turned his head to the side. But he’s weak.

“I know. That’s why I helped him.”

Now it was Holden’s turn to stare. They took a few minutes studying the other. Mutually coming to the conclusion that they were well-suited. Irex’s green eyes glittered widely in the sun as he opened his great grey wings, making his final decision. Holden smiled calmly. Watching his new Twin.

________________________________

“Well then, I’m coming with you!” Holden was twenty-one years old, the fourth oldest in the Caine family, and yet he always seemed to be reprimanded by his younger sister. As he sat in his father’s library looking at Zooey, he decided that this would never change.

“That’s ridiculous.” He thought this would calm her down, but, of course, it only added fuel to the fire.

Zooey stopped pacing around the room and glared at him, annoyed. “It’s not ridiculous, Holden. It makes a lot of sense. If Dad wants you and Orson to go on some suicide mission in the East Kingdom, then I’m coming with you.”

Holden answered curtly, “That is never going to happen.”

“Okay, fine. Then don’t go.”

“I have to.”

“You really don’t.”

“Zo, Tocque is calling this his Great Purge. He has already slaughtered the royal family in the North Kingdom and is causing nothing but destruction on his way to the East. They need reinforcements.”

It had been six months since the tyrannical Aquas Tocque had decided it was his destiny to bring Nosto to-gether under one leader and declare war on the ruling families of the Four Kingdoms. His attack on the North was effective and bloody. He killed not only the royal family, but also the countless numbers of innocent people that tried to protect them. Recently, the fighting had stopped, but King Eion was sure that his next target would be the East Kingdom. Then the South would be hit, and finally the West. Orson had suggested that, in an effort to stop this from happening, they should send himself, Holden, and their Twins to the East Kingdom to prevent any further attacks. It was the only plan that really made sense, but his sister refused to believe that.

“They have an army. They have The Keep.”

“The Keep can’t protect them alone, Zo. You know that.”

Stubbornness was a Caine family trait, and Zooey and Holden both shared this unwavering attribute.

“So, you’re going?” Zooey asked.

“Yes.”

She paused. “Okay.”

Holden sighed heavily. Thankful that this conversation was finally over.

“Then I’m coming with you.”

“Zo!” Holden got up from his chair angrily. “It’s too dangerous. Even Orson agrees.”

“That’s a lie. Orson would definitely let me go.”

“Orson was the one that insisted you stay here!”

Zooey paused, devising her counterattack. “But I bet you and Dad didn’t hesitate to back him up.”

“Of course, we did. We can’t put you in such a volatile situation. You could get killed.”

“So could you!” Zooey yelled at her brother.

“We’ll be fine.”

“You better be.”

“Zo.” Holden looked at her with amusement. “How can we not be? We have Orson and Millennia. The two meanest beings in all of Nosto.” He paused. “Excluding Zelda.”

Zooey tried extremely hard not to laugh. “Don’t make me smile. I’m mad at you.”

“You can’t be mad at me. It’s impossible.”

“Frankly, Holden.” She conceded as the sides of her mouth crept up. “You’re annoying, and I hate you.”

“Well, that’s very mature.”

“I’m a better rider than you.”

“Debatable.”

“I’m a better rider than Orson!”

Holden went to speak, then finally nodded. “True.”

“So why can’t I come?”

Holden walked over to his sister and put his hands on her shoulders. “Zo, someday you’ll have to accept that you can’t do everything.”

She smirked up at her older brother. “Never.”

“We won’t be long. We’ll help out and then come home. It will be quick. I promise.”

“What am I supposed to do here?”

“Watch out for everyone.”

Zooey began to protest, “But…”

“Zo,” Holden quickly cut her off. “Dad needs you to help him out here.”

She took in everything he said. Knowing that he was right. “But you’ll be back soon?”

“You won’t even have time to miss me.”

Zooey nodded tentatively. “Fine.”

Holden took his hands off her shoulders. “I can’t believe you let me win that one.”

“Think of it as my parting gift.” Zooey succumbed to the lingering dread she felt and hugged her brother tightly around his waist. “Promise me you’ll be careful.”

“I will.”

Holden gazed around the room as the memories of this place flooded through him. His father teaching him how to read. Secretly listening to Old World rock and roll records with Orson. Riding Irex for the first time. Building forts with Aron. And teaching Zooey how to be a Twin.

He looked down at his sister now. “Promise me you’ll be careful.”

She smiled. “I will.”

And just like that, the sense of calm that Holden had felt his entire life was gone.

It had been ten days since Zooey’s last dream. Ten days since she had discovered that her brother Holden was still alive. Ilya felt it too, but even so, part of Zooey didn’t believe it. These dreams had plagued her since being imprisoned. She thought it was just from grief, but it was too vivid. Too real. This was not a dream but a premonition, and Zooey now knew what she must do.

As they continued their journey south along the dirt path, Zooey looked over at Wes and Rye. The monotony of the walk was greatly decreased by their presence. For that, she was exceedingly grateful they had forced their way into traveling with her. A year ago, she would never have guessed that she would be traveling on foot with her Twin, a martyr from The Keep, and a neurotic cartographer. They were a strange team, but for now, it worked. She turned to Rye, who, like always, had his face buried in a map.

“When did you say we would reach Ventura?”

Rye glanced up and out into the distance. “I’d say another couple of hours.”

Wes was eating an apple he had found on a tree by the building they had last stayed in. Rye couldn’t remember its name, but this area actually had a small population of people living on the coast, which was a rarity. Unlike the Old World, Nosto had more land than people, and only a few large cities remained.

The West Kingdom was one of the most well-populated areas, but still only had three main cities. This previous area was a town, which was uncommon but not unheard of. It seemed to be thriving because of its proximity to the water, fertile soil, and ideal weather. Rye and Wes also enjoyed the fact that the people that inhabited this area seemed weary of clothes and liked to run around completely naked. In the course of the night, Zooey lost them and then found them the next morning on a beach being hand-fed grapes. If she hadn’t threatened to stab out their eyes, they would probably still be there.

The next building on their list was called Ventura and would be a welcome relief since they had been walking for hours.

A sharp tingling sensation pulsed through Zooey’s arm. She discreetly pushed up her sleeve and examined her Twin Mark. It had been burning sporadically since her first dream, causing slight pains on her wrist. The only time her mark had bothered her before was when she was first chosen as a potential Twin. It had remained dormant until now.

Zooey slowed down so that she could walk by Ilya. He looked over at her wearily.

Your mark again?

Yes. Zooey never talked about this specific subject out loud. She wanted to make sure it remained only between her and Ilya. Are you still seeing images?

Vaguely.

Through Irex?

It appears so.

Ilya, it seemed, had been linked to Irex in the same way that Zooey was linked to Holden. Their unique bond as Twins had manifested itself in a most peculiar way, causing these sideways premonitions of loved ones Zooey knew to be dead.

Ilya broke the silence. When will we leave?

I’m thinking two nights with Uncle Nic, and then we’ll head East.

Can you be sure it’s the East Castle?

Yes, I’m positive. Zooey had finally realized that this was the place. The familiar staircase, the dent in the wall, and the hanging chandelier. It was clear, and now it was time for them to make their next move. Hope was not something Zooey had felt in a while, but if there was any chance that she could save her brother and his Twin, then she would. Ilya felt it too.

Rye, always in need of being a part of the conversation, wedged himself between Zooey and Ilya. Wrapping one arm around Zooey’s shoulders, and gently patting Ilya on the back. “What are we talking about?”

Your death.

Zooey was shocked Ilya’s stone-cold stare didn’t deter Rye’s exuberant grin. “Apples,” Zooey stated.

Wes looked over at her and held his half-eaten apple up. “Want some?”

Ilya moved his gaze to Wes. Fruit is for the weak.

“What did he say?”

“He said no thank you, but it was so nice of you to offer.” She nodded reassuringly at him.

Rye narrowed his eyes at Zooey. “I don’t believe you.”

“Fine, you caught us, we weren’t just talking about apples.”

“Ah-ha!”

“We were also talking about...”

Rye leaned in excitedly.

“Peas.”

“Peas?”

“I’m really craving some peas.” She smiled up at him.

“Nobody likes peas, Zooey.”

Wes wedged himself between Rye and Zooey and clasped his left hand on Rye’s shoulder. “Have a little faith. If she says she’s craving peas.” He glanced down at Zooey. “She’s craving peas. They are a fine vegetable.” He winked at her, then continued walking forward.

Rye peered over at Zooey. “For the record, I don’t believe you.”

“You don’t have to.”

“Hey, Princess,” Wes called back to them. “Catch.”

Zooey caught a whizzing apple that came flying through the air. She looked up at Wes, who was wearing that adorable half-grin he so cheekily perfected. He casually took a bite out of his own apple and walked away.

She turned to Ilya. “Take care of Rye.”

In a brief moment, Zooey caught up with Wes and walked beside him breathlessly.

“Hi, Princess.”

“You walk really fast.”

“Well, I’ve had superior training. Unlike some people.”

“You seem to forget that I can literally slit your throat in five seconds.”

Wes smiled. “No, I’m well aware.” He paused and then leaned over to her. “So, what were you really talking about?”

She glanced up at him. “Not peas.”

“I know.” He nodded. “You’ve never been the best liar.”

“Well, I’m no Orson.”

Wes grinned knowingly. He knew her family almost as well as she did. The benefits of being Holden’s best friend. It was hard for her not to tell him the truth, but, as she looked up at him, she knew she couldn’t. He would want to come, and it would be better for everyone if Zooey and Ilya made this journey alone.

“Ilya’s been feeling sick.” She felt increasingly guilty with each word. “I’m just worried, that’s all.”

Wes gave Zooey the same look he always did when he didn’t believe her. “You’d let me know if there was anything wrong, right?”

“Of course.”

He suddenly turned to face her. Walking backwards now with his hands behind his back and an annoyingly arrogant grin plastered on his face.

“Another trick you learned in training?”

“No. This superior skill I taught myself.”

Zooey scoffed. “My, aren't we amazing.”

He looked at her impishly. “Our friends at the beach seemed to think so.”

“What a touching ‘deep’ connection you all shared.”

Wes grinned successfully. He rarely got a rise out of her, so he always made sure to take complete advantage of it. “Are we a little jealous?”

“Not possible.”

He stopped walking and put his hand on her shoulder. “It’s okay if you are. I’m pretty great.”

Zooey smiled darkly, casually kicked his feet out from under him, and watched as he fell to the ground. She swiftly grabbed one of her daggers from its sheath and pushed the blade up against his neck. She leaned down to his right ear and whispered, “Did you even have time to count?”

A loud shuffling behind them made Zooey turn suddenly. There, with his mouth agape, was Rye. Beside him, a bored Ilya, who clearly thought nothing of Wes and Zooey’s compromising position.

Rye folded his arms across his chest. “I’m guessing you were talking about peas, too?”

________________________________

Zooey, Ilya, Wes, and Rye had left the last vestige of refuge behind them. The next stop on their journey was Uncle Nic’s house, which was almost a day’s walk from here, but they had decided together that stopping for shelter again would only hinder their progress. Instead, they would leave Ventura at sunrise and walk straight to their destination, only resting for food and water.

“Do you know what these great buildings were used for?”

Throughout their journey, Rye kept incessantly asking them obscure questions that only he knew the answer to. It reminded Zooey of her father, which usually would make her happy, but today it did not. The hot sun and the need for a warm bath took over her ability to feel.

As designated, it was Wes’ time to speak for them. “No, what?”

“Well, let me tell you!” It seemed like the more tired and aggravated everyone else got, the more energy Rye possessed.

“Traditionally, in the Old World, it was used for both military and religious purposes. It was actually created for people traveling between the North and South like us! Isn’t that something? Steve, the caretaker, told me about the rich history of this road.” He became very solemn. “May he rest in peace.”

Rye had come to his own conclusion that the caretakers of these buildings had met an extremely untimely end since his last visit.

“He had this insane story about how each building was haunted by helpful spirits. Well, you know.”

“Yes, Rye, you told us in Carmelo.” Zooey looked tiredly up at him.

“I did, didn’t I?” Rye put his hand to his chest like he had accomplished something saintly.

Zooey looked skeptically at him. Rye had previously decided that it had been a good idea to tell Zooey that the spirits of these buildings helped in eliminating the premises of any unsavory characters. Ever since Orson had bombarded Zooey with a hook and a truly life-like recreation of a ghoulish sea captain, she had refused to believe in otherworldly apparitions. This fact, however, did not help her in Carmelo when she swore that she saw Rye’s knapsack casually floating in midair. Needless to say, she was excited to finally be staying in an actual house. Not to mention all of them had been tirelessly walking for weeks and were excitedly anticipating the simple comforts of a warm bed, a hot meal, and Uncle Nic’s endless supply of aged Bourbon.

Zooey looked back at the beautiful Old World building they were leaving behind. She watched as the five bells that distinguished this specific place faded from sight, and she felt almost sad to see it go. This had been her favorite building, mainly because it was built by the sea and was peaceful to her. Rye said that the caretaker at this building had been a surprisingly gifted poet.

Rye was sad that he didn’t get to see his old friends again and was certain there was foul play involved in their disappearance. Zooey didn’t think so. These places were almost surreal. Rye even said that when he first traveled here, the caretakers seemed to be waiting for him, like they knew he was coming. In reality, they couldn’t have possibly known. Maybe they were the ghosts he talked of. Stranger things had happened to Rye.

As they walked farther from Ventura, the dirt path seemed to fade. Rye had mapped out another path for them to take that would lead them directly to Uncle Nic’s house. Zooey was able to describe the surrounding area well enough so that Rye would be able to direct them, and they were now walking on a more mainstream pathway. This road looked similar to one that Zooey took with her family when they came down south. The way the sides curved up around them created a kind of ravine. The pathway itself changed frequently from this to a flatter open area. It was very wide and sometimes intersected with other pathways that almost looked like they wrapped around it. It was a very interesting Old World design that Zooey couldn’t quite comprehend.

Wes also agreed that it would be safe to leave the unknown dirt path and travel on this walkway, since this area of the West Kingdom was less heavily guarded. It wasn’t close to the West Castle, and the only city here was filled with eccentric artists and slightly banished criminals. The Keep couldn’t contain it, even if they wanted to.

Zooey looked up at the sun beating down on her and was thankful that they would soon reach their destination. Continuing their journey East was all she could think about the past couple of days, and she knew that the faster she could get to Holden, the more likely she would be able to save him.

Zooey glanced over at Ilya, who was struggling with his restlessness. It was lucky Uncle Nic lived on quite a bit of land where Ilya would be able to stretch out his wings and fly. Without the unwanted hindrance of Dragon Hunters. Switching her gaze over to Rye and Wes, it was apparent that they both were miserable in their tattered and dirty ensembles. Uncle Nic would fix that as well. Her uncle had a keen flair for style, and something told Zooey Rye’s classic torn vest and pants combo and Wes’ all-black Keep uniform would be redesigned come nightfall.

Zooey never got to see her spirited Uncle Nic as much as she wanted to. They weren’t able to make the trip down south very often, and Uncle Nic technically couldn’t leave this area. Being a felon and all. But he was fun and great at Gin Rummy.

And Zooey loved him.

By the end of their journey, no one could speak. The heat had taken every bit of life out of them. Their legs had stiffened, and their bodies ached for rest, but they were almost there. Entering the city blasted them with a burst of its own energy.

It was decrepit, and the buildings yearned to be rebuilt, but the people didn’t seem to mind. Zooey noticed distinct Old World architecture in this part of the city and wondered why they hadn’t rebuilt around it. Instead, vegetation overran the streets and twisted around tall metal poles. Zooey looked down at her feet and noticed that there were designs on the path. She was shocked that the stone floors that created the walkway still remained, and that with each step she took, she was met by a new star and a new name.

Continuing their journey down this street, they walked past a distinct monument that seemed to be of the Eastern world. Zooey had only read about different Old World cultures in books, and she wondered why such an interesting piece of their history was here. After veering off this path into a more mountainous region of the city, they finally stopped at a long dirt path.

“Is this it?” Rye turned and asked Zooey.

“Yes.” It would have been impossible for her to forget this road. She remembered looking out the window of her family’s carriage as a child with her brother Holden and counting down the minutes it would take to get to the house.

They started walking forward as the sun slowly began to set. Five minutes. Barely dropping in the sky as the colors changed around them. Three. The soft light glow that guided them turned to a bright burnt orange color as the sunset swept the sky. One. Then they were standing in front of a large iron gate. The name CAINE welded above it.

“Wow.” Wes peered past the gate to the building down the road. “Are you sure that’s a house?”

Zooey grinned and went to the side of the gate. She grabbed the spare key that her uncle was notoriously bad at hiding and walked back to the front of the gate to put the key in the lock at the top. She turned it slowly. With a loud click, she pushed the gate forward. Creaking dramatically as it swung open.

Zooey and Ilya walked forward through the doors, letting Wes and Rye follow closely behind them. The brilliant hue of the sky caused a distinct frame around the house before them as rows of decadent candles lined the pathway. A little elegant touch that her uncle refused to live without. The house was ornate and built in a classic Old World style. Or so her uncle said. He also bragged about decorating his “prison” like a Film Noir. Anything else was simply unacceptable.

As Zooey walked up the stairs of the house, she heard Old World music drifting from inside. Her uncle owned the only other known hand-crank record player in Nosto and was blasting it mercilessly. Zooey could recognize the raw tones of Johnny Cash anywhere. She knocked loudly on the ornately carved front door. “Uncle Nic!”

Nothing happened. She knocked again and waited. No one came.

She yelled loudly and banged on the door, “Uncle Nic, it’s Zooey.”

Suddenly, the door swung open.

There, in his personalized crimson smoking jacket and a top hat, was her Uncle Nic. A glass of Brandy in one hand and a cigar hanging out the side of his mouth completed the look.

Zooey smiled. “Finally. You don’t know what we did to get here.”

Her uncle silently looked at her and peered around at Wes, Rye, and Ilya. He took a long puff on his cigar. “Did you bring booze?”

“No.”

He raised an eyebrow at her.

“I knew you would have it.”

Her uncle paused, looking at her, then beamed widely. “That’s my girl.” He wrapped his arm around her shoulders. Ilya made his way up the steps and nudged Uncle Nic with his nose. Ilya was easily bought by gifts of raw meat, which, in the past, made it easy for Uncle Nic to ensure his loyalty.

“Hello, you great beast!” He rubbed the dragon under his chin and whispered to him, “I might have a little something inside for you. Took me all of September to track it down.” He nudged him, smiling, and then looked over sideways at Zooey. “Don’t tell Mom.”

“Are you poisoning my Twin against me?”

“You’re family!” He looked at her slyly. “I’d only do that to your father.” He grinned with amusement, then nodded over to Rye and Wes. “Who’s your men?”

“Oh, just a couple of strays I picked up.”

“The more the merrier. It’s not fun to drink alone! Well, actually, it is.”

Zooey smiled and followed Ilya inside the house.

Uncle Nic turned to Wes and Rye. “Don’t be shy.” He gestured for them to walk forward. Which they did hesitantly. “Come on in! Make yourself at home, and please call me...” He laughed and simultaneously pushed Rye and Wes through the door. “Uncle Nic.”

He slammed the door shut as the sun started to fade completely. The great mountain that rose into the sky was now in shadow, but the name of the city still remained embedded in its side. It had been covered tightly in layers of climbing vines over the years, but the name could still be made out. As the city faded into darkness, the word disappeared from sight and yet remained etched in the night.

Hollywood.

“I shot him in the arm, that two-timing son of a bitch, with an Old World pistol I stole from the West Kingdom’s Ancient History Museum. Pure shock value. You should have seen his face. Serves him right! Trying to steal my favorite Whiskey.”

Uncle Nic leaned over and poured said Whiskey into his decorative shot glasses sitting on the ostentatious table in front of him. Uncle Nic loved extensive grandeur and, since he was technically banished, he had a lot of time on his hands for decorating. He handed the first glass to Rye, who was sitting on the leather couch, wearing a pair of Old World aviator sunglasses, and reading the back of a Johnny Cash record. Uncle Nic’s house could act as an ancient history museum itself, and Zooey was unsure which Old World items he had acquired legally and which items he had “borrowed.”

Wes was standing, studying the second known hand-crank record player in existence, which was wedged between the leather couch and Uncle Nic’s grand piano. Everything about this room reminded Zooey of her father. Except the missing wall on the right side of the room that Uncle Nic swore was blown out from the 21 Old World Wars.

Uncle Nic handed Wes the second glass, which he grabbed blindly in his hand. Not taking his eyes off the record player.

Zooey was fortunate to have spent her life around Old World pieces. She had grown up with the vast history of this land taught openly to her, but for Wes, this was the first time he had ever seen anything like this. When it wasn’t obscured by a thick layer of glass.

“Where did you get this?” Wes asked.

Uncle Nic pulled a cigar out from his pocket. “The Black Market.” He lit it up casually, then handed Zooey the third shot glass. She was sitting on the wood floor leaning up against Ilya, who was passed out in a pile of bones. Uncle Nic’s homecoming present to him.

Wes turned to him. “The Keep destroyed any last remnant of the Black Market years ago.”

Uncle Nic grinned. “That’s adorable.”

“You promised you wouldn’t trade anymore.” Zooey shot her uncle a judging look.

“My dear, how do you expect me to keep up my lavish lifestyle if I don’t?”

He exhaled a puff of smoke into the room and pointed to Ilya. “Are you sure he doesn’t want a drink?”

“Uncle Nic, it’s dangerous.”

“So is hanging out with a dragon, but I’m not lecturing you.” He lifted his glass and pounded back the shot of Whiskey. “Everyone, drink.”

The Caine family loved liquor almost as much as Old World artifacts, and Zooey could take a shot like it was water. However, no one could drink like her uncle, for his love of libation was unmatched, and Zooey was just now starting to feel the effects of too much Whiskey. Looking over at Rye and Wes, she could see that they were feeling it too. Rye’s glazed-over eyes easily gave him away, and for all of Wes’ training, he seemed like he was having trouble standing.

Uncle Nic smiled at them. “And if it wasn’t for the Black Market, you all wouldn’t be drunk right now.” He poured himself another shot and raised it up to them. “You’re welcome.”

Rye put his glass on the table. “I’ll drink to that.”

“That’s what I like to hear!” Uncle Nic reached over the table and poured him another shot.

Rye went to pick it up but kept narrowly missing. He finally gave up and pointed up into the air. “This is nice.”

Nobody answered, so he pointed to the record player that had just finished playing. “These are my people.” He pointed to himself. “I made this.”

Wes shook his head. “No, you didn’t.”

Rye whispered and pointed to himself again. “I made this.”

Uncle Nic snickered. “I think he’s had enough.”

Wes was laughing so hard he had to hold himself up on the record player. Zooey was no better as she fell over onto Ilya in a fit of complete hysteria. The dragon raised his head from the disruption.

What is going on?

Zooey had trouble speaking through her hiccups and giggles. “Rye’s drunk.”

Figures. Ilya looked over at Rye, who was fervently searching for the Whiskey that had just been stolen from him.

“Where’s my drink?”

Wes grinned and brought the glass to his lips. He gave them his best attempt at a wink as he took the shot. Then placed the empty glass on the record stand and crouched down on the floor to take a seat against the couch.

“How about a song?” Uncle Nic jovially exclaimed as he jumped to his feet and waltzed over to the piano. Stretching out his fingers readily. “I always thought the word pianist was good fodder for damn good fun.” And with that, he began with a playful scale before bursting out into an energetic rendition of something you would only find in the liveliest corners of Bourbon Street.

When are you going to tell them?

Zooey turned toward Ilya, missing the spectacle of Rye trying to edge his way onto the piano bench with Uncle Nic.

I wasn’t going to tell them.

They’re not going to like that.‍ ‍

I’ll let Uncle Nic know, Ilya, but it will be better if we don’t tell those two. She glanced over at Rye, who had dejectedly returned to his seat, realized that Wes had stolen his drink, and retaliated by smacking him with the record sleeve.

Zooey slowly turned to Ilya once again. It would complicate everything.

Ilya leaned his head back down on his paws. Whatever you think is right.

Zooey nodded and turned her attention to Wes, who was now completely overtaken by the haze of alcohol and dramatically gestured around the room. “So, did all of this come from the Black Market?”

“Most of it.” Uncle Nic nodded as he leaned backwards on the piano bench. Refusing to skip a beat. “Don’t listen to my favorite niece. I’m not a complete thief.”

Zooey scoffed.

“I’m half a thief.”

“I’m not sure the llamas would agree, Uncle Nic.”

“That was an excellent business venture, Zooey, you can’t argue with that.”

“It got you banished from the West Castle!”

He nodded. “But banished here. Where all mild felons come to play.” He pointed to Rye and Wes. “Llamas were the next big thing.”

Rye pointed back. “I don’t doubt that.”

Wes shook his head again. “But we were told the Black Market was shut down. That The Keep was able to gain control of it.”

“I’m sure that’s not the only lie they told you.”

Wes’ demeanor darkened. “I guess not.”

Zooey looked over at Wes, staring intensely at his hands and completely engrossed in his own thoughts. One thing she knew about Wes was that he couldn’t stand being lied to. That made her deception even worse. She was going to tell her uncle the plan tonight, but wanted to wait for Rye and Wes to go to sleep. His opinion wouldn’t change her mind, but she felt that she needed his support. He was the only family she had left.

“Well, I’m glad you’re all here.” Uncle Nic broke the silence. “The guys who live down the road from me are terrible at cards, and I’ve been itching to play some Poker.”

This was his way of inviting them to stay as long as they wanted. Uncle Nic wouldn’t invite just anyone to play Poker with him.

“Thank you,” Zooey stated.

“Well, you are my favorite niece.” He left the piano to collect the shot glasses from around the room, then lined them up on the table. He grabbed the bottle of Whiskey and started pouring another round of drinks. “You’ll have a good time here. Trust me. This town is filled with immoral people with good taste.” He passed out the glasses to each of them. “One more for good measure?”

Uncle Nic lifted up his glass, and everyone followed his lead. Even Ilya lifted up his head for the camaraderie. “Drink!”

________________________________

“Did you steal this from Dad?” Zooey was looking at Uncle Nic’s library of books. It wasn’t as large as her father’s collection, but it was still extensive. The book in question was none other than Catch-22. A book that her father had been missing for years and had even blamed Harrison for taking.

“Borrowed. Stealing is such an ugly word.”

“You don’t even like political satire.”

“Zooey, my whole life is political satire.”

After that last drink, Rye and Wes couldn’t handle keeping their eyes open, let alone carry on a conversation, so Zooey and Uncle Nic decided it would be best to put them to bed. Zooey was tired too, but kept herself awake. This was the only time she would have to talk to her uncle alone, and she wanted to take advantage of it.

“Will you make sure they have some fresh clothes?”

“I thought the unkempt look was in.”

Uncle Nic sat down on one of his plush library chairs as the fireplace created a soft glow around the room. Uncle Nic’s house was filled with candles and fireplaces for light. He refused to use the more popular gas lamps that were found in most of Nosto’s cities. He said the artificial light hurt his eyes.

“Very funny.” Zooey put Catch-22 back on the shelf and sat on the chair across from her uncle.

“How did you manage to gain those two?”

“They refused to let me leave without them.”

“Good men.”

Zooey smirked. “Or giant pains in the ass. Rye’s a cartographer, so he fancied himself invaluable.”

“So, that’s why he kept yammering on about maps! I thought he just really enjoyed directions.”

“And you know that Wes was a part of The Keep.”

“Their branding rarely goes unnoticed to the public eye.” He pointed to the back of his own neck for the added effect.

Zooey paused. “He was Holden’s best friend.”

“Oh, yes.” Her uncle looked sadly up at her. “I remember now.”

They sat in silence for a moment.

“What happened that day, Zooey?”

“I don’t really remember.” She turned to her uncle. “It’s strange how I can’t remember. It changed everything. I should be able to. But I only seem to recall certain things. Recently, I’ve been able to piece more together.” She paused and took a breath. For Zooey, talking about things made them real, so she avoided it at whatever cost. Thinking back on that day was not something she often did, but as she continued to reach that place in her mind, the images vividly came alive in front of her. Dancing around the room and playing with her psyche.

“I was in my room. Reading, I think. Dad had just lent me a book that he thought I would like. Ilya was outside getting his scales looked over on the grounds. Holden and Orson had been gone in the East Kingdom for a while, and we had just received word from Orson that he had escaped a terrible raid, but he didn’t know if Holden did. Even so, we weren’t prepared for an attack. No one thought we would be attacked that soon, but I heard a loud crash. And then screaming, and I rushed outside of my room and ran down the stairs into the main hall. And Mom was dead, and I heard Beth scream. Then I saw Peck lifeless on the floor, and I knew. I ran past the library, and Harrison’s body was sprawled across the table. Blood dripping from his back. We had a terrible fight the night before. I didn’t even get to say I was sorry. And then I heard Prospero’s roar outside and the voice of a man telling someone to execute my father. I yelled for Ilya and went to grab my daggers, but I got hit over the head from behind, and I blacked out. When I woke up, I was in the prison.”

She glanced back at her uncle. All the blood was drained from his face.

“Are you okay?”

“Yes. Finish, I want to know.”

“All right.” She inhaled deeply again. “I didn’t even know that Ilya had been captured with me. Not for the first couple of days anyway. I thought everything had been taken from me, and in an act of desperation, I tried to communicate with him. And he answered. We planned our escape, and now we’re here. That’s sort of everything, I guess.”

Her uncle sat in silence for a while, then spoke, “We didn’t get word of what happened until two months later. Two months, Zooey. Two months of not knowing that my little brother and most of his family had been murdered. I even thought you were dead until you showed up on my doorstep.”

Zooey smiled weakly. “Surprise.”

“You always had a knack for the dramatic.”

“I wonder where I got that from?”

Her uncle smirked at her. “Do you know what Zelda’s been up to recently?”

“Terrorizing any small villages?” Zooey asked.

“Such a treat, your sister.”

“She was dead to me the minute she swore allegiance to Aquas Tocque.”

Zelda had married the Prince of the South Kingdom a few years ago and had moved there to rule with him. She always liked to do things her own way and decided that her father’s politics were too old-fashioned for her. She rather preferred ruling based on fear. Luckily for her, Tocque shared her common interest in power, and when he left the West to purge the South Kingdom, he granted her life for fealty.

“I got a letter from Orson the other day.”

Zooey looked up quickly. “How?”

“No idea. The damn thing was on my porch when I woke up. I was a little hungover, so I thought I imagined it, but here’s the proof.” He pulled the letter from his pocket.

“Is he all right?”

“He’s fine. He’s still in hiding in the East Kingdom.”

This was incredible news and made Zooey even more certain of her plan.

“Where is he hiding?”

“He wrote it in the Caine code. I can’t decipher the rest, but maybe you can.” Her uncle handed the letter to her. She looked down at her brother’s pristine handwriting as she blinked away the emotion that was threatening to form. “I’ll look it over later,” she stated as she tucked the letter in her pocket. Zooey turned back toward her uncle. “Holden’s alive.”

“What?” He looked confused. “I thought he must have died in the East Kingdom.”

“He didn’t. I’ve been getting these premonitions.”

“But he’s not with Orson?”

“But he wouldn’t be! Orson escaped without him.”

Uncle Nic paused to take this in. “Zooey, I understand why you want this to be real, but...”

She shook her head. “It is real. You see, I’ve been having these really intense dreams —”

“I’m not doubting your sanity, but actually that’s exactly what I’m doing.”

Zooey tried to object, but her uncle wouldn’t let her. “You might be reaching for something because of your grief, Zooey. That’s all it is.”

“Ilya is seeing images through Irex.”

That approach definitely did get her uncle’s attention. Throughout the years, Uncle Nic had been fascinated by the concept of Twins, even becoming somewhat of an expert on the subject. Studying them and researching the chemical and emotional connection that bonded the person and the dragon together. He even had the honor of being a potential Twin in his youth. A chance that had been taken away by his own brother.

“A Twin Link?”

“I think so.” Zooey pulled up her sleeve to show her uncle her Twin Mark. “It’s been burning on and off since I saw Holden alive, and when I woke up after the dream, it glowed. Like when Ilya first chose me at the Twin Ceremony. I know it’s rare, but it’s not impossible.”

“No, and Holden was working on...well, he was dabbling a bit...” Her uncle looked up at her. “I believe a link between the two of you is possible. In his journals, Pace Alden verified that this could exist. It’s definitely something to consider.”

Zooey let out a sigh of relief. “My thoughts exactly.” She got up from her chair quickly. “So, I’ll leave for the East Kingdom tomorrow.”

Uncle Nic abruptly bolted up from his own chair. “Hold on. You’re going to go save your brother from the deranged clutches of a homicidal maniac? How does that sound to you? Because to me it sounds insane.”

“Tocque was torturing him! Some kind of crazy mind thing that I don’t even understand.”

“You are going to stay here where you are safe. We’ll send someone else to help him.”

Zooey looked around the room. “Who? Who are we going to send? What allies do we have left?”

Her uncle went silent.

“If I don’t go, Holden will die, and I will never be able to forgive myself.”

Uncle Nic walked over to Zooey and put a comforting hand on her shoulder. “Loyalty and stubbornness are difficult traits.”

“Well, I wouldn’t be a Caine if I didn’t have them.” She smiled affectionately at her uncle as he took his hand off her shoulder.

“I’ll come with you! Family bonding!”

“Isn’t there a strict warrant for your death if you try to cross the West Kingdom’s border?”

“Details.” He shrugged.

“Thank you for the sentiment, but you can’t come. Ilya and I are going alone.”

“Even if I can’t go with you, what about your menfolk?” He crossed his arms over his chest. “What are they going to say about you abandoning them?”

“They’re not my menfolk, and as far as they know, this was the end destination anyway.”

“So, I assume you didn’t tell them about your brilliant suicide mission?”

“Rye can’t even handle two shots of Whiskey.”

“How are you going to get there?”

“Walk until I find better transportation.”

“Nothing can possibly go wrong with that solid plan.” He smirked sarcastically. “You know you can’t fly?”

“Obviously, I won’t put Ilya in that kind of danger.”

“Do you even know where you’re going?” He questioned cynically.

“I have maps.” He looked at her mockingly. “I’ll steal Rye’s maps.”

“I’ll go with you.”

“No.” She paused for a moment before looking back up at her uncle. “I can’t handle any more family members dying.”

Zooey had always been a strong child, but it was her lightness that defined her. Looking at the person before him now, it was clear to Uncle Nic that she had changed, and arguing with her would only prolong the inevitable.

“Fine. But I am making Rye and Wes go with you.”

“Uncle Nic, no. I can’t take care of them.”

“They aren't children, despite what you might think, and they would want to go with you.”

“I can’t have anything slowing me down. Holden is alive, I can feel it, but we don’t have time on our side. Me and Ilya? There are only two of us, and it will be faster.”

“They’re not going to like it.”

“That’s why you can’t tell them.”

Uncle Nic had never looked so disapproving in his life. Everything was all llamas and chaise lounges, but right now, he looked so much like her father as he cut right through her with his gaze.

“It will be better this way, I promise,” she tried to reassure him. “Trust me.”

“I hope you know what you’re doing.”

“Me too.”

Her uncle turned his back to her. Hiding some kind of emotion, but it was impossible to tell.

Then an interesting thought crossed Zooey’s mind, and she suddenly remembered. “What was Holden working on?”

“What do you mean?” He turned to her, caught off guard.

“You said he was working on something.”

“It’s not important.” His voice changed completely. The tone was almost harsh, which was unlike him.

“But you brought it up so I...”

“What’s important is that you find him, and you both come home.”

He cut her off abruptly as he walked toward the door. “Now I’m tired, so good night.”

But before he left, he turned back to Zooey. His face now returned to normal, and he smiled warmly at her. “How’d you escape?”

“Took out most of the guards at The Rock.”

“Your dad would have been proud.”

Eion Caine was loyal. He was also the youngest of three brothers, which sometimes made that trait hard to manage.

Bearing the brunt of the Caine sibling rivalry was a disadvantage that he had learned to deal with throughout the years. His oldest brother, Aiden, seemed to have grown out of emotionally torturing his little brother years ago, which Eion was grateful for, but Nicoli had classic middle child syndrome and still took great pleasure in practical jokes. As Eion tried to free himself from the wicker chair, he was now stuck to, this fact was noticeably apparent. Nic’s annoyingly impish grin, lighting up the room across from him, didn’t help either.

“Am I stuck to this chair, Nic?”

“Seems like it.” He leaned back and put his hands behind his head.

The Caine family dinners usually did not end for Eion in such a compromising way. They usually ended with thought-provoking discussions facilitated by their father, King Rafe. However, the conversations recently had become less thought-provoking and more unpredictable.

This specific dinner had been cut short due to Aiden’s outburst during the fish course. Which allowed Nic enough time to glue Eion to his seat.

Aiden, being supremely passionate as he was, felt that the farmers in the South Kingdom were being poorly managed. Last week it was the miners in the North, and the week before it was the fishermen in the East, but this week it was the farmers, and Aiden couldn’t possibly understand how the South Kingdom could spend so much time preparing for the next Twin Ceremony and not working on their obvious issues. He was a highly abstract thinker and had a distinct moral code that refused to relent. A promising trait, but one that made the nightly Caine dinners in the West Castle very interesting for all involved. Especially Eion, who had recently turned sixteen and was just now beginning to understand the importance of his family name.

“Are you twelve?” Eion asked as he tried to remove himself from the chair.

“And a half, Sir.” Nic grinned. In reality, Nic was barely a year older than his little brother.

“How did you manage this, Nic?”

“Magic.”

Eion narrowed his eyes. “I’m serious.”

Nic slyly pulled out a bottle of glue from his pocket.

“Did you steal that from the Old World History Museum?” Eion fiercely accused.

“Borrowed, Eion. I borrowed it from the Old World History Museum.”

“That’s a felony.”

“Well, at least I’ll go to jail laughing.”

Eion took a deep breath and closed his eyes. Trying to compose himself.

“It’s okay to be mad, little brother.”

“I’m not mad.”

“You’re glued to your chair!”

Eion opened his eyes. “When did you even have time to do this?”

“When you stood up to pull Aiden away from Dad.”

Eion paused. “Well, it’s good to know you’re an asset in moments of family need.”

“I do what I can.” Nic got up from his chair and walked over to his brother.

“So, are you going to get up?”

“I actually quite like it here.”

“You can’t get up, can you?”

“No, I’m just really comfortable.”

“Okay.” Nic began to look around the room. “I guess since you’re so comfortable...” He turned back to Eion evilly. “Then you won’t mind me ‘borrowing’ your Old World Led Zeppelin record.”

Eion’s eyes became wide with fear. “Don’t you dare.”

“Oh, look at this!” Nic lifted up the ornate cloth that adorned the table and pulled the album out from underneath.

Eion stared back, concerned. “You put too much thought into this.”

Nic dangled the album in front of him. “Do you want it?”

“Don’t, Nic.”

“Oops.” He pretended to drop it, but then skillfully caught the record at the last second. Feigning an air of regret. “I am just so clumsy.”

“Nic, I’m serious. Last time you deliberately scratched my vinyl copy of Rumours.”

“You overplayed it.”

“Give that back right now!” Eion reached for the album but couldn’t move forward without taking the chair with him.

Nic dangled it tauntingly. “Come and get it.”

Eion waited, then, without warning, he lunged. Grabbing the album forcibly and ripping his pants in the process.

Nic grinned. “Well done.”

“You legitimately planned this whole thing so that I would rip my pants?”

Nic nodded fervently.

“What’s the point?”

“Because you’re my baby brother.” Nic clasped him on the shoulder. “And I love you.”

Suddenly, Eion felt a burst of pain on his right wrist. Vivid and seething. He dropped the record he had just stolen back from his brother. As it shattered on the floor, he looked down at the glowing mark that was forming on his wrist. He knew what it meant and glanced excitedly up at Nic, but then stopped as something caught his eye. The mark he now harbored was also forming on his brother’s own wrist. And as both of their potential Twin Marks glowed, Eion knew that he could not remain loyal through this.

________________________________

“Stop fidgeting.” Ivy’s disapproving look was not enough to calm Eion’s nerves.

“I’m not fidgeting.” He was, and Ivy was having a hard time straightening out his doublet-inspired evening jacket for the ceremony.

“Nice try, and hold still.” She started to button up his vest against his wishes.

“Why am I doing this?” Eion looked over at the large, closed doors to his right. The muffled sounds in the grand hall of the West Castle escaped through the cracks and slowly reached Eion’s ears.

“Loyalty.” Ivy gazed up at him with affection.

“Oh yes, that.”

She smoothed out the jacket over his vest. “I can’t believe you were going to go out looking like this?”

Eion glanced down at his vest, confused. “I look good.”

“You looked ridiculous.” She stood back to admire her work. “Perfect.”

Eion peered down at his new wife’s reassuring face. “I’m not sure what I did before you.”

“I’m not sure either.”

Eion’s face became grave with thought, and Ivy reached up to touch his cheek. “What’s wrong?”

“Aiden’s not here.”

“I’m so sorry, Eion, I know you miss your brother. I know how hard it’s been.”

“I think the hardest part was not being there for it.”

“But he died so suddenly.” She paused. “You can’t keep thinking back to the past as if it’s suddenly going to change.”

“He died of the same sickness that took my mother.”

She took her hand off his cheek and rested it on his chest. “She would have been so proud of you.”

“I hope so.”

She nodded reassuringly. “She would have.”

“But it should be Aiden.”

“You can’t control that.”

He peered down at her and exhaled for the first time since he got there. “At least Nic’s happy.” Eion grinned. “He was so worried he’d be forced into the job.”

“Nic can’t even tie his own shoes,” Ivy stated.

“He was telling me about some of his new ideas! You know for his entrepreneurial pursuits.”

“Like what exactly?”

“I don’t know, something about llamas.”

“Llamas?” Ivy sighed. “I should be more shocked.”

Suddenly, she reached down and touched her stomach, startled. “He kicked!”

Eion laughed. “That’s my boy.”

“Have you thought anymore about names?

“I was thinking Zeppelin.”

Ivy’s smile dropped. “Zeppelin? Like that Old World band you’re obsessed with?”

Eion nodded fervently.

“We are not naming our son Zeppelin.”

“It’s a good, solid name!”

“It’s terrible. No.”

Eion looked down, slightly hurt. “Well, what’s your idea?”

“I was thinking.” Ivy paused, then glanced up at Eion. “Harrison.”

“Harrison.” Eion beamed widely. “That’s a good name.”

He reached down and touched Ivy’s stomach and whispered happily, “Harrison.”

“Are you ready?”

He looked back to the wooden doors. “As ready as I’ll ever be.”

Ivy smiled and reached up to gently kiss him. “Come on.” She grabbed his arm and led him to the large arched doors. They opened inward as the two walked through it and into the crowd that flooded the room. They stopped in the middle and turned slowly to face the walkway that led them up to the great throne of the West Kingdom. Sitting there now was King Rafe, ready to pass on his crown. On one side of the King was Eion’s dragon, Prospero, who stood regally waiting for his Twin, and on the other was Nic, who had never been happier for his little brother. King Rafe stood up from the throne and took off his golden crown. He gestured to the crowd that had gathered for the ceremony. A mixture of royals from the Four Kingdoms, friends of the Caines, and the people of Nosto.

King Rafe’s voice resonated throughout the room as he spoke, “It has been an honor to serve you as I have done throughout the years, but it is now time for us all to move on.” He looked around the room at the spellbound audience, all watching him with unwavering eyes. “Now is the time for me to introduce your new King.” He beamed at Eion with tears in his eyes. “My son. King Eion.” Then, finally, he stared back into the crowd with immense purpose and thrust the crown forcefully into the air.

“Long — Live — The — King!”

Eion looked down at Ivy, who gazed proudly back at him. Loyalty. It was one of the reasons she fell in love with him.

As he turned back to the room and the crowd of people that had gathered to see this moment, a phrase echoed throughout the hall and grew louder as each person began to chant.

“LONG — LIVE — THE — KING!”

________________________________

King Eion was sitting in his library, staring out of the window, watching the rain come down. He had always loved the rain, but not today. Today, his heart was too heavy to enjoy anything. His whole world was collapsing around him, so all he could do was sit and listen. To the rain and the soft folk music he had put on in the background. Mainly because he enjoyed it, but mostly because it helped him forget.

Zooey came barging into the library, forgetting to knock like she usually did. She held the crumpled letter they had received from Orson in her hand and ran over to where her father was sitting. “There was a raid? Were you ever going to tell me?”

“Of course, I was.”

She angrily shook the letter in his face. “When?”

“When I felt it was necessary.”

“This letter came yesterday, and you didn’t think it was necessary to tell me?”

“Zooey, sit down.”

“No!” she yelled and started pacing around the room. “I won’t sit down.”

“I didn’t want to upset you.”

“Excellent work. Really top notch.”

“Zooey, please.” He looked up at her. Heavy regret forming in his eyes. “I’m sorry.”

Zooey stopped pacing and then stared at her father. It was almost impossible for her to stay mad at him, and she finally gave in and sat down on one of the library chairs. “Is Holden really dead?”

“He’s missing, Zooey. That’s what Orson said in that letter, not that he was dead.”

Zooey glanced down at the paper in her hand. The news had come yesterday by one of the East Kingdom’s Twins. The fastest way for news to travel in Nosto was by dragon, and once Orson found shelter in the East, he sent word that he had escaped one of Tocque’s raids, but Holden was not as lucky.

“But is he dead?” Zooey choked on the words as she said them.

“He might have escaped...”

“Dad. What’s the possibility of that?”

“It’s not great.” Eion looked at her sadly. “But, Zooey, don’t give up on him. He’s strong, you know that.”

She peered back down at the letter. “Well, I’m glad Orson’s all right.”

“We all are. Orson will come home soon, I promise. He’ll stay in hiding for a while, and then he will come home. Trust me. Orson will not leave the East Kingdom without his brother.” He got up from his chair and walked over to one of his bookshelves.

Zooey nodded. “I know that.”

King Eion ran his fingers over his books as he tried to find one in particular. He had been meaning to lend Zooey one of his favorite novels and had decided that tonight might be the only chance he would get.

“Has Harrison seen anything else?”

This question was the only one that Zooey could ask that would pull King Eion away from his books, and he turned around to face her. “Not like the first visions.”

“But they were so strong before. He was even getting images of their meetings and plans. Why isn’t he seeing anything?”

“He’s having trouble with control. He was never good at seeing on command, and I’m sure Tocque is taking precautions now to ensure his secrecy.”

“So, he’s not getting anything?”

“Only bits and pieces of information now. But nothing that’s truly helpful.” He turned back around and smiled as he finally found the book he was looking for. “Ah, here you are.” He swiftly pulled it from the shelf and walked back over to his daughter.

“What’s this?”

“I’ve been meaning for you to read it.” He sat back down on the chair across from her as he gestured to the novel. “Go ahead!”

Zooey looked at her father tentatively. “Do you think it’s the right time?”

“If not now, when?”

Zooey reluctantly grinned and brought the book up in front of her face so she could read it at eye level.

“The Catcher in the Rye,” she stated as she raised an eyebrow at the King.

“Maybe this Holden can help take your mind off things. Or at least give you a little taste of Old World nostalgia.”

“Because I have no idea what that’s like.” She gave a small, ironic smile as she hugged the book to her chest. “Thank you.”

“Zooey.” She looked back up at her father. “If it comes down to it...”

She didn’t let him finish. “We’ll fight.”

“It will be dangerous.”

“When has that ever stopped us before?”

“Never. Caine family genes.”

“Stubbornness and loyalty, isn’t that what Uncle Nic always says?”

“That’s right.” And as King Eion watched his daughter look over the book with such newfound excitement, he felt pride.

For she was the very best of him.

“Not that high!” Zooey yelled into the sky as her twin soared over her head and through the trees that surrounded her uncle’s house.

Ilya had decided to seize the opportunity to fully utilize Uncle Nic’s spacious backyard this afternoon and was relishing the ability to fly without worry. Zooey worried enough for the both of them. She watched as her Twin careened past a palm tree, causing a branch to fall down, narrowly avoiding a nervous squirrel.

“You’re like the overprotective mother I never had.” Her uncle gazed up at her lazily behind the Old World aviator sunglasses he had stolen back from Rye the night before. How he managed to hold a drink in one hand and sew together a blue satin cloth in the other was a mystery to Zooey.

“Ostentatious flying is a sure-fire way to get him shot down by Dragon Hunters.”

“Yes, because being a dragon wouldn’t tip them off or anything.”

Zooey glared down at her uncle, irritated, and yelled back up at Ilya, who had decided that ignoring her was his best option. “Who do you think you are? Millennia?”

Ilya darted straight down toward her, almost swiping her with one of his great white wings.

“Very mature, Ilya.”

He gave her a jovial sneer and shot back up, soaring into the sky. Zooey shook her head and turned back toward her uncle. “He’s going to get himself killed.”

Uncle Nic sat sprawled on one of the comfortably chic wooden lawn chairs that adorned his ten-acre backyard. He put the blue cloth down across his lap, gently lifted up the glass of Brandy in his hand, and took a quick sip. “Zooey, stop being so paranoid.”

“My paranoia is what’s been keeping us alive.”

Ilya swooped down, landed gently on the patch of grass next to Zooey, and nudged her with his head gently.

“Now what do you want?”

He looked up at her with forlorn aqua eyes and gestured with his head toward his right wing. It hurts.

“You’re ridiculous.”

He curled up in a ball at her feet and gazed up at her sheepishly.

“Just because you’re cute doesn’t mean I’m going to forget how much of a pain you are.”

He let out a sad little roar and gazed off into the distance.

“You sure you don’t get your dramatic streak from him?” Uncle Nic asked as he took another sip of his Brandy. “You know, we should bring Ilya into town tonight? He’s the perfect statement I need to make my big comeback.”

“I thought you had already made your ‘comeback’ with the line of Black Market aromatherapy candles?”

“The wax coalitions got to me. You know they set up shop not far from that Old World water tower?”

You don’t say. Ilya glanced up at Zooey, who smirked at him knowingly.

Ilya and Zooey had been privy to hours upon hours of Uncle Nic’s old coalition stories. This particular one, however, was very prominent in Uncle Nic’s life, as decades ago he had taken refuge there under the pretense that he was a traveling bee salesman from the East Kingdom. In actuality, he was just hiding from the watchful eyes of The West Keep after some of his more illicit Black Market trading had gone awry. Unfortunately for him, his list of felonies had gotten past the point of acceptable, and The Keep had a warrant out for his arrest. For a while, he really began to enjoy the subtleties of simple life. That is, until The Keep decided to abandon their search for him, and he realized he no longer felt the need to live off garbanzo beans and regret.

“They ruined a perfectly good pair of my gorgeous boots with cherry juice. You just can’t get that out!” He shook his head in disdain. “Bastards.”

A loud crash from the house echoed to the backyard.

Speaking of which.

“What did he say?”

“Oh, he’s delusional, the sun’s getting to his brain.”

Stop censoring me, Zooey. My opinions are more valid than most.

If you weren’t so negative, I wouldn’t have to censor you, Ilya.

It’s not negative if it’s the truth. Ilya turned with a seasoned scoff. Ending the conversation with a single twitch of his great white wing.

“Very nice.” Uncle Nic raised his drink to the dragon and turned his head to Zooey. “He fits in well here.”

“What is taking them so long, Uncle Nic? What did you do?”

“I gave them a couple of outfit options.”

“Do you think that’s wise?”

“No. But it’s much more fun this way.”

Zooey walked over to sit down in an equally ornate wooden chair opposite her uncle. “Ilya will be okay here by himself, right?”Uncle Nic leaned back against his chair and placed his hands behind his head. “Zooey, he’s a dragon. He’ll be fine.”

“I just want to make sure.”

“Stop worrying. You’re annoying the lawn chairs.”

“Uncle Nic!”

“You need a night off.”

“A night off?” She glared sarcastically at her uncle. “Yes, right after plotting to save my brother from the clutches of an evil dictator, a night on the town is exactly what I need!”

He nodded, mollified. “I’m glad you agree.”

“I don’t feel as comfortable as you are about leaving the safety of this house.”

“But you have to do something fun tonight. You know, before you betray your new friends by abandoning them and fleeing to the East Kingdom for a terribly thought-out suicide mission.”

“I have absolutely no idea what your thoughts are on this matter.”

Her uncle grinned and took another sip of his drink. “Do you remember fun, Zooey?”

“Oh yeah, that’s that thing that I used to love before my family was murdered.”

Uncle Nic raised his head and looked into Zooey’s eyes with as much emotion as he could muster while still wearing aviator sunglasses. “They were my family, too.”

She turned away sadly. Zooey knew that they were, but Uncle Nic was so good at hiding his emotions that she sometimes forgot. “I know.”

“This town is very safe, Zooey. You know that, and that’s why you came here. Wes even said that The Keep doesn’t maintain a base here because it wouldn’t be necessary. That’s why I’ve been able to stay alive for so long. Aquas Tocque is too concerned with control of the castles. No one will bother us. Ilya will be fine, and so will you. At least while you stay here.” He pointed to the Hollywood sign on the mountain to further this point. Theatrical physicality was always his specialty. Well, that and prop comedy.

“Everyone here is too self-absorbed to even recognize you, let alone turn you in to his Excellency. They’re all creative misfits and outcasts like me, my dear. They don’t care.”

Zooey finally looked up at him, only somewhat reassured. “Then I definitely could use some fun. But only tonight, Uncle Nic, do you understand me?”

“Yes. And you’re in luck. I’ve got quite a night planned, so stop looking so angry, it’s bad for your skin.”

She forced a half-hearted grin for her uncle’s benefit. “I forget sometimes. In this town, even if you wanted to be noticed, you wouldn’t be.”

Uncle Nic nodded. “Exactly.”

Zooey yelled over to Ilya, “Don’t get into any trouble while we’re gone, okay?”

Me? No. Never.

“I’m serious, Ilya!”

You’re trusting Uncle Nic to take you out on the town. Do you know what that means? Who’s going to protect you? Rye? I’ll be surprised if you don’t end up face down in a gutter.

What a lovely picture, Ilya. Zooey turned back to her uncle. “He thinks we’re going to die tonight.”

“Quite possibly.” He paused with his glass still raised in midair. Pondering something immensely important, no doubt. “So, you’re leaving later tonight. That’s set in stone? You know you can stay one more day if you want.”

“I know, but the longer we wait, the less time Holden has.”

“Yes. I know. But you’re sure you don’t want to warn your boyfriends?”

“I already told you, I can’t tell them.”

He pointed at himself. “But I can!”

“No, you can’t.”

“That doesn’t mean I won’t.”

“Uncle Nic...”

“Or you could just not go.”

“That’s not going to happen, and you know that.”

“You might change your mind.”

“Uncle Nic!”

“I’m just saying you might like this place more than you think. Like I said, Zooey, I have quite the night lined up for you.”

She tried to protest, but he put his hand up to stop her from speaking. “I know. I know. I’m incredible.”

“I’m leaving tonight.”

“Stubbornness is not an attractive quality, Zooey.”

“You’re telling me?”

Without warning, the back door to Uncle Nic’s eclectic house swung open, and Wes and Rye stepped out wearing the most ridiculous array of clothing they could have possibly compiled. The matching red and gold ruffled tunics were just the beginning of the wardrobe disaster that was now in front of them. Zooey turned to her uncle, horrified. “You did not!”

“I might have.” He smiled at the boys, completely satisfied with himself.

“I thought you burned those?”

“Those fabulous things? Never.”

“But you promised Holden and Orson!”

“And never again have the opportunity to blackmail them into wearing these? Please, Zooey.”

Rye yelled out to them with a huge grin on his face. “Do we look nice? We decided to go matching.” He pointed to Wes, who stood mortified beside him. “Although it was very difficult to get this one to agree. Not very keen on taking a fashion risk, but we do look great, don’t we?”

Beautiful. Ilya cocked his head to the side and stared at them for a brief moment. Like Liberace on a Wednesday.

“Next time, Ilya, when you’re having trouble sleeping, I’ll be sure to read you a book on horticulture and not Old World pianists.”

Wes yelled to Zooey, “What did he say?”

“You look stunning.” She forced an encouraging smile, then whispered under her breath to her snickering uncle. “Fix this.”

“But they match the candelabra!”

________________________________

It was said that the streets of Hollywood used to be paved with gold, but now it seemed that they were paved with broken dreams. In most areas of Nosto, the Old World was just a glimmer of the past, but in this one, the memories of what used to be still visibly consumed the people that lived here. The artists, the misfits, the creators. The Old World combined with the new.

This was the birthplace of the Old World golden age, but had since become a living farce of itself. Uncle Nic even said that some people still performed odd renditions of theatrical entertainment. Just to keep the history alive. Zooey had once read about the concept of cinema with her father. One specific book he had acquired about musical scores was one of her favorite fascinations. Especially the pages on John Williams and Jaws. Nosto only had a few reels of film that still remained in existence, and those were kept in the Old World History Museum. However, it was not uncommon for the citizens of Hollywood to come across ruins in their everyday life, and those pieces of history went unrecorded. It was even rumored that there was an illustrious man in a yellow trench coat that lived in the Hollywood hills and traded shoes for old screenplays. So the story goes.

It was nighttime, and the streets were illuminated with glowing lamps at each corner. This town had been redesigned to enhance the new age style that was popular now, but many of the classic Old World buildings still stood and were used as a base for the new designs. The streets themselves were overgrown with vegetation, so only some of the Old World roads and sidewalks could still be seen. This part of the West Kingdom was essential for trade and was set up in a type of bazaar style. With hundreds of small stands completely lining the streets.

Each stand they passed was selling something different and new. Whether it was high-quality jewelry, leather goods, or supposed indestructible armor. It wasn’t high quality nor indestructible, as most things in Nosto weren’t, but they didn’t think twice about marketing it that way. Some even used highly false additional advertising for their own individual campaigns. Zooey had never seen so many dragon-scale knives that had been personally endorsed by Cary Grant and Grace Kelly. Zooey knew that these vendors probably had no knowledge of Old World entertainers since it wasn’t essential to basic survival, but that didn’t stop them from using these small bits of knowledge to their advantage. This used to be a place where legends were made, and no one minded exploiting that fact. So, in reality, maybe this wasn’t a place for broken dreams but merely a place for different ones.

Uncle Nic had completely pulled through in redesigning the boy’s ensembles. Granted, only after Zooey had finally taken the red and gold tunics away from him. Rye was now stylishly dressed in grey suede pants and a nice white button-down shirt with the sleeves rolled up. He was completely indignant with the fact that Uncle Nic had insulted the tattered, worn-out vest he had arrived in. In order to get back on his good side, Uncle Nic conceded by giving Rye a well-tailored black vest as a peace offering. He happily touted it as his own personal victory.

Wes always looked good, even in his plain Keep uniform. But Uncle Nic didn’t like wasting potential, and for this occasion, he had picked out some sleek dark pants for him to wear. Paired with a well-made black coat, his outfit looked impeccable, and Uncle Nic had decided that his new career path was going to be in Black Market couture. He even adorned the outfit with a delightful red scarf. Which Wes hated but was too polite to discard. As they walked down the street, Wes scratched his neck, agitated. “This thing itches.”

“Don’t pull it down. You don’t want people seeing your Keep brand.” Zooey grabbed his hand away from him forcefully. She smirked up at him and fixed his scarf. “This really adds some flair, you know.”

“You’re hilarious.”

She laughed and turned to Rye, pulling the scarf toward Wes’ cheek. “Don’t you think it complements him?”

“Suits you, mate.”

“That’s it.” Wes pulled the scarf from his neck and threw it at Rye. “It’s impossible to be this polite.”

Rye smiled and wrapped the scarf around his neck. “I do look great in red.”

Zooey pointed to the back of Wes’ neck. “What are you going to do about that?”

He grinned and popped up the collar on his coat, which conveniently and fully covered his Keep brand. “Have a little faith, Princess.”

Wes walked forward, leaving Zooey and Rye behind. He joined Uncle Nic, who had just finished chatting up a friendly proprietor of a knife kiosk, and together they began to turn the corner onto a nondescript side street. Zooey watched intently as they left her sight.

“He didn’t get to you?”

Zooey quickly turned to Rye. “Who?”

“Uncle Nic.” He smirked and gestured down to her deliberately unchanged outfit.

“He always tries but has yet to succeed.” Typically, her uncle never let anyone leave his house and traverse his town without a complete redesign, but Zooey somehow was able to avoid this fate entirely.

“Why, Zo? Who’d you think I was talking about?” Rye narrowed his eyes at her.

“Doesn’t matter.”

“You sure?”

“Yes!” She punched him in the arm for good measure and walked away.

“Ow!” He rubbed his now bruised arm gingerly and yelled after her, “You should really work on your people skills!”

Rye stood smiling to himself for a bit, then realized, as Zooey turned the corner after the others, that he was standing by himself on a dirty street surrounded by half a dozen chipped-toothed knife vendors.

“Goodbye!” He sped up quickly, smiling politely so as not to offend anyone.

When Zooey turned around the sharp corner, she found herself on a deserted street. The kiosks and vendors that had been the defining factor of this area were now suddenly gone, and instead, there was no one. Uncle Nic and Wes, who she had lost sight of for only a minute, were nowhere to be found, and all that was in front of her was eerie emptiness. “Wes?”

The sound vibrated off of the walls.

“Uncle Nic?”

Echoes followed her as she walked down the street. Watching cautiously as she descended down the slight hill.

A loud snap sounded in Zooey’s ear, and she turned sharply only to see a barren and run-down building. Exactly like all the others that lined both sides of this street. Zooey ran her hand across the large doors of the building. The wood, which had once been refurbished from Old World days, was now cracked and looked as though it could fall apart in her hand.

She turned back cautiously. Empty, quiet streets usually did not leave her with a sense of calm, but she continued down the dirt road despite her instincts. Her hand gently placed on one of her daggers just in case.

Another snap.

Before she could turn, she heard the creaking of an opening door, and a hand reached out to pull her inside.

________________________________

“We’ve got to stop meeting like this.” Wes looked down at Zooey as she gently lowered the knife that was pressing dangerously against his neck.

“Don’t do that again.”

“Got it.” He released her shoulders and walked back toward the front door. “I’ll go collect Rye.” He gestured over to Uncle Nic, who was casually leaning with his ear against one of the building’s walls.

“What’s with the theatrics?”

“My dear niece.” He hit the wall violently and for no apparent reason.

The lighting fixture above them moved threateningly as a cloud of ash enveloped the fireplace in a grey puff.

“How can I introduce you to the seedy underbelly of the city...” He moved his hand an inch to the right and hit the wall again. “Unless we travel to the seedy underbelly of the city.”

“What are you doing?"

“I’m thinking of repainting. What do you think, pale yellow?” He moved another inch and hit the wall again. Listening for something specific.

Zooey watched him, confused. “Honestly, I think beige would go better with the decor.”

He continued down the wall. Moving inch by inch until he found what he was looking for. A hollow sound that made her uncle smile, a devilish glint sparkling in his eye.

“Provoked it enough, Uncle Nic?”

“Usually I come here drunk.”

“Well, there’s a first time for everything.”

The front door to the building slammed fiercely. The whole house shook as Wes pulled Rye into the main room.

“I think I’m being chased by a witch.”

Abruptly, Uncle Nic kicked the wall, causing one of the lights to fall down and shatter.

All three of them turned to look at him and the distinct crack in the wall that had been created from the action. Uncle Nic expertly placed his hand in the protruding crevice and pulled part of the wall out easily. Revealing a set of stairs that descended into darkness.

________________________________

“Password?”

“Mills, it’s Nic Caine, you know me.”

“Password?”

“Mills, seriously, I’m here every week.”

“Nic, I need a password.” Mills peered over his spectacles through the small hole in the door at the four people shrouded by the shadows in front of him.

The set of stairs had led them through a twisting labyrinth of the Hollywood underground, and then finally deposited them here. To a massive rusty door that could only be unlocked from the inside.

The blare of debauchery could be heard throughout the halls as Mills looked down at them expectantly. “Those are the rules.”

“When have we ever followed the rules?”

“Since last Tuesday. You didn’t get the memo?”

“You’re a snarky son of a bitch, Mills, and if this door wasn’t between us, I’d hit you!”

“Password?”

“Fuck off.”

The door swung open. “Welcome to the Black Market!”

Karn Evil 9 blasting from the band across the room wasn’t the only thing that greeted them on their way through the red curtains. Once they crossed that line, the only thing that wasn’t a spectacle was the unmoving drunk sprawled on the porcelain bar top, and even he had his moments.

“Evening, Nic.”

“Zane!”

“Your usual?”

“Make it four.”

A shrill voice sounded from across the room, directed angrily at what seemed to be Zooey’s confused uncle. “You owe me three coats, you sniveling bastard!”

“Didn’t I pay for those?”

“Bull shit. You stole them from me last time you came in. You pretended that you were checking the color with your eyes, and I turn around for one minute, and you were gone.”

“Doesn’t sound like me.”

“It sounds exactly like you, Nic.”

The fuming woman was draped in a sleek floor-length leather jacket and looked like she wanted to strangle him with her fashionable metal belt. Her face turned slowly to Zooey, piercing through her with an unadulterated hatred. She must have really missed her coats.

“This is my niece.”

The woman glared. “Welcome to hell.”

“Pleasure to be here.”

A fight dangerously close to her own personal kiosk caused the woman’s attention to falter. “Get those coats back to me, Nic, or you’ll regret it.”

“Yes, Ma'am.”

And with a pretentious wave of her hand, she left.

“So, this is it then?” Wes asked as a flurry of illegal crossbred animals flew over their heads.

“Yes, it is,” Uncle Nic replied. “The Black Market: Where you can either dye it, shave it, or trade it in.”

What they had managed to create out of this dilapidated Old World building was unbelievable. If unbelievable meant a run-down stage, a group of raggedy musicians, a full bar, and some of the most illicit trading vendors in Hollywood. Which, to them, it did.

As Zooey looked around the old building, it felt as if she had shifted to a different time entirely. Created from an abandoned Old World Hollywood theatre, the inside of the Black Market was nothing but grand, as it still retained the opulence and beauty of what it used to be. The strands of red carpet that were discovered when this building was uncovered had been refurbished throughout the years, so the color, although vibrant, didn’t match the sparse rows of theatre chairs that still stood despite time. The vendors had set up their kiosks around them and were selling everything from dragon scale armory knockoffs to hallucinogenic drugs.

“Get your herbs, get your plants. Get anything you can think of for all your healing needs. If it’s not here, we can get it.”

“The actual fighting code of the Men of The Keep! Live your life as if you’re moments away from killing someone.”

“Tired of having your element run out? Not traveling by a convenient lake? Make your own element cases! It’s the gift that just keeps giving.”

The shouts of the vendors vibrated from the walls as the trading acted as a non-stop, continuous fight of who could scream the loudest.

The slick-haired astronomy peddler was winning the war and was straining his vocal cords to an extreme shrieking point. “ARE YOU TIRED OF LIVING IN THE PAST? PREDICT THE FUTURE WITH THIS SET OF HAND-CRAFTED GLASS ORBS! I SWEAR YOU’LL SEE SOMETHING IN THERE.”

Zooey gently sipped her drink as she leaned over to her uncle. “How can you think in here?”

“That’s the point. If you can’t think, you can’t realize that what they’re selling is absolute crap.”

An unorthodox-looking gentleman in front of a rare coin kiosk was suddenly punched by a woman in a questionable hat. Words of outrage were shouted across the main path as multiple kiosk owners began to engage in a rapturous fistfight. Zooey had to sidestep the scene in order to avoid a punch to the face, but that didn’t stop a newly unconscious harp carver from falling at her feet.

She looked to her uncle as she hesitantly stepped over the limp frame. “This is ridiculous.”

“Please. That shifty shit has been hit in the nose three times this week.” Uncle Nic took out a cigar from his jacket pocket and lit it up in between an Old World plate kiosk and some hand-made sword holders. “It wouldn’t be the Black Market if someone didn’t get punched.”

“Get your own copy of The Four’s personal journals! Harrowing recounts of the history of Nosto in all its timeless glory. Very, very cheap!”

A combination of clattering squeaks and small, dissatisfied hisses erupted from the stage at the front of the kiosks, and all of them turned their heads to look at the scene before them.

“What’s happening there?” Zooey asked her uncle.

He pulled his drink to his lips and smiled. “Looks like the rare animal vendors are back in town.”

As Uncle Nic led them to the front of the building, dozens of vendors stood on a stage. Each sporting an increasingly strange animal before them. The bidding process was already in place and being hosted by an overly zealous man in a tattered top hat that was distinctly Old World.

“We’ll start the bidding at three-quarters of a pound of silver for this extraordinary beast. A very rare hybrid that is only available here at the Black Market. Do I have any takers?”

An ornately dressed patron raised her hand as the beast before them, an adorable cotton-tailed rabbit, ruffled its protruding feathered wings.

“Excellent, you there with the lovely scarf. Do I have anyone for a half a pound of silver? Come on, friends, reach into those pockets. This beast has come all the way from the North Kingdom.”

A stylish bohemian raised his hand along with the ornately dressed patron. Looking out at the strange crowd around her, Zooey began to question everyone’s eclectic tastes and subsequent sobriety.

“We’ve got ourselves a race, now, haven’t we? I raise the bid to a pound of silver. What do you say?”

The bohemian conceded. Lowering his hand in absolute defeat as the vendor exchanged the animal with the ornately dressed patron.

“Sold to the woman with the excellent scarf! Next in our lineup? This enticing amphibian that can double as a terrifying weapon. We’ll start the bidding at three medallions of gold.”

The three-foot lizard stuck out its tongue as it sauntered across the stage, forcing its three prominent black spikes two feet high from its back as it crouched for survival.

“I want it,” Uncle Nic stated.

“What exactly are you going to do with it?” Zooey asked cynically.

“Teach it to do tricks.”

As the lizard began to crawl off the stage, its vendor ran after it, knocking into a sleeping feline that retaliated by seemingly vanishing from sight. An interesting camouflage trick it had picked up through time.

“Do you think they have any unicorns?” Rye whispered to Zooey.

“Please, Rye, unicorns don’t exist. Everyone knows that.”

“Can I get five medallions of gold for the curious lizard. Anyone? Five medallions!”

Wes looked over at Uncle Nic with the utmost indignation. “The Keep shut down the illegal animal trading ring! I know this for a fact. I was there! How is any of this even possible? These animals are classified as protected in Nosto.”

“When are you going to realize?” Uncle Nic responded. “If someone wants to purchase an invisible cat. They’re going to find a way to do it.”

“SOLD to that individual with the electrifying goatee.”

Wes glanced down at his empty glass and then up to Zooey. “I need a drink.”

“Me too.”

He grabbed Zooey’s hand and pulled her behind the silk-draped patron and her illegal flying rabbit as they casually snuck away from the scene.

They reached the bar of the Black Market, with its token drunk napping on the counter, and sat down on two of the stools that lined the bar. Only one other person was sitting at the bar next to Wes, and he was too engrossed in his Tequila to pay them any attention.

Zane leaned over the counter. “Two more?”

“Great! Put it on my uncle’s tab.”

Zane grinned and placed the drinks in front of them. Wes raised his glass to Zooey. “To Uncle Nic!”

“Uncle Nic!” Zooey raised her glass with him.

“Wes Ahrens.”

They turned slowly, their drinks still midair, to the figure beside them who had just placed his half-empty glass on the countertop. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “I thought you died in the Great Purge.”

Wes stared at the man, and then, as realization hit, his eyes widened. A smile slowly crept over his face. “Logan Trask.”

The man’s disheveled hair fell into his eyes as he scratched his overgrown beard. “In the flesh.”

“You look terrible.”

“Not all us traitors can look as gorgeous as you.”

Wes held out his hand to Logan, who grabbed it in a well-seasoned motion of camaraderie.

Logan clasped his other hand on Wes’ shoulder. “Good to see you, old friend.”

“You too.”

Zooey cleared her throat loudly to regain their attention. As they turned, she shot a quick smile to Wes before directing her attention to Logan. “I’m Zooey.”

“Logan Trask.”

“I’ve heard.”

“Don’t mind her, she’s still getting used to the whole socializing thing.” Wes lightly patted Zooey on her shoulder.

Annoyed, she brushed his hand aside. “How do you know each other?”

Logan nodded to Wes. “You want to take this one?”

“We’re old friends.”

“You’ve really painted a picture for me there.”

Logan smirked. “Of course, if we tell you we’ll have to kill you. Just one of the many pacts we made long ago.”

At that, Wes’ face changed. Losing the lightness that once graced it as he looked at Logan uneasily. “What are you doing here, Logan?”

“I could ask the same about you, Wes. Abandoning your duties? How unlike you.”

“And you?” Wes asked. “Why are you in an underground black market bar, drinking Tequila, and looking like hell?”

“Let’s just say we have more in common than you think.” He took another sip of his drink. “Friend.”

“You’re AWOL?”

“Five months now.”

Wes searched his face, looking for answers that he couldn’t seem to find. “Why?”

“Killing innocent people for Aquas Tocque didn’t really seem like a good time to me. And you?”

Wes was not a man that discussed his feelings easily, but the distinct shift toward Zooey did not go unnoticed to his old friend. “Pretty much the same thing.”

“I see.” Logan took another drink.

“But what are you doing here?” Wes inquired again.

“I’m catching a ride East. Tonight actually. This was my last hurrah before I leave.”

“What’s East?”

Logan looked darkly at Wes. “You haven’t heard? The whispers on the streets? The dissent amongst the masses? There’s a war coming. And I’m going East to prepare.”

“Prepare for what?” Zooey asked, her curiosity finally getting the best of her.

Logan turned to her. Thousands of secrets swimming in his eyes as he put down his now-empty glass with a clink on the counter. He gestured to Zane in thanks, turned to Wes, and clasped his hand on his shoulder one last time. “For the pride of Killian Jack. Goodbye, friend.”

He turned around to leave. The branded III on the back of his neck distinctly visible now in the light. “They’re waiting for me.”

Then he was gone.

“Should I bring this?”

Well, purple is in season.

“Hilarious.”

Zooey threw a pile of clothes over her bed as Ilya watched with a cautious eye. You’re in a lovely mood.

“I’m just tired, that’s all.” She picked up a glass of water to calm her nerves with a drink when a searing pain shot across her right wrist. She dropped the glass, and it shattered on the floor, flying everywhere.

Ilya glanced down at the shards, concerned. Yes, you’re doing very well.

Zooey rubbed her wrist gingerly and sat down on the bed. “Do you think anyone heard?”

You’d need the Great Purge to get those three to wake up from a dead sleep.

Zooey shook her head and looked over at her Twin. “I haven’t had any more dreams. Have you?”

No.

“I’m worried.”

We still have time.

“But not a lot.”

Then I guess it’s a good thing we’re leaving.

Zooey took a deep breath. “Exactly.” She turned back to the pile of clothes on the bed and started furiously throwing as many things as she could fit into her bag. “Did you get the maps while we were out?”

That boy really needs to learn how to hide his personal belongings. Ilya got up from the floor and padded over to the corner of Zooey’s room. He pulled a thick linen cloth off the floor with his teeth, revealing a very large pile of rolled-up papers.

“Hopefully, we can read them.” Zooey walked over and started to pick up the bundle in her hands. A glint of metal caught her eye, and she turned to her Twin accusingly. “Ilya!”

What?

“Is that Rye’s compass?”

No.

“No?” she countered suspiciously.

Well, yes. He blinked at her with a gleam in his eye. I’m just going to miss him so much.

Zooey walked back over to her bag. She looked at the contents in front of her and the bundle of maps she now had in her hands. “This isn’t going to fit.”

Bring less shoes.

“I need to save room for food.”

Bring less food.

“How would you feel about wearing a satchel?”

Very opposed.

Zooey dropped the maps on the bed and walked over to the large dresser in her room. “We thought you might feel that way, so Uncle Nic created this lovely ensemble piece just for you.” She opened the top drawer and took out a contraption that included two sturdy leather straps, a metal belt buckle, and a blue satin bag that was conveniently large enough to hold the exact bundle of maps on Zooey’s bed. “It’s midnight blue!”

I’m not wearing that.

“Yes, you are.” Zooey walked over and stood right in front of her Twin, holding the contraption. “It’s midnight blue.”

This is the worst thing you’ve ever done.

“Yes, isn’t it? But don’t give me all the credit, it was Uncle Nic’s idea, not mine.”

Bastard. Ilya sniffed it cautiously, then finally conceded. Fine.

Zooey smiled and started to place the contraption across Ilya’s body. Did you say goodbye to your boyfriends?

“They aren’t my boyfriends.”

Sure, sure.

“Ilya, please.” Zooey finished buckling the straps and walked over to the bundle of maps on the bed.

He trotted over and stood next to her side as she began to place the maps in his new satchel.

“Caines don’t say goodbye,” Zooey stated. “It makes everything so finite.”

Death does that too.

“We’re not going to die.”

They’ll be mad at you regardless.

“Well, they can yell at me when we get back.”

If we get back.

“We have to,” Zooey stated. “We didn’t say goodbye.”

As Zooey finished gathering the rest of their belongings, she looked around at the comforts of a familiar room for the last time. “Are you ready?”

Yes.

________________________________

The house was calm as they walked through it. Quiet even. Not a sound was made as Ilya and Zooey carefully moved their way through the corridors. They were professionals at being invisible. Having learned at the West Castle that this was their strength after the impromptu simulation battles with Zooey’s brothers and their Twins.

Explaining to Wes and Rye why she was leaving was impossible for Zooey, so she didn’t. Making excuses that not even she believed, but the guilt was not enough to change her mind. Holden’s safety was her top priority, and she refused to watch anyone else die in pursuit of that.

She knew Ilya disagreed with her, which he often did, but on this matter, he recognized that her stubbornness would not falter. And he did not argue with her because of that.

They walked across the grand hallway through what Zooey considered to be her second home. She had spent her youth counting the exact number of stairs up to the second floor and memorizing the curves of the arches and the cracks in the walls. It felt like a lifetime ago that her family was together, and every part of her ached for her father’s laughter and her mother’s comforting smile. This house was filled with memories of the past, as all of Nosto was, and even though she was sad to leave it behind, a part of her was relieved. And she didn’t quite know why.

They passed the living room where the five of them had first gathered the night they arrived. The shot glasses still remained idly on the glass table while the hand-crank record player sat silently in the corner. In his drunken haze, Rye had left the Johnny Cash record leaning against the stand. It now waited eagerly for them to return.

Zooey had asked her uncle to take care of Wes and Rye for her. She knew he would either do an excellent job at this or they would all end up dying in an alcohol infused bar fight. She figured it would be the latter.

They turned the corner that opened to the long hallway leading down to the ornately designed front door. This door was always a welcome sight to Zooey whenever her family would visit Uncle Nic. It meant an escape from reality for a while, and an escape from the structure and obedience that came with being a child of the royal family. Her parents felt it too. And when they were here, they were not just the King and Queen of the West Kingdom, but simply Eion and Ivy. As Zooey now stared at the door in front of her, it was not welcoming. In fact, it even seemed threatening.

She stood there for a moment, staring at it. Unmoving. Ilya nudged her with his head reassuringly. He always knew when she needed him the most. Zooey began to turn the doorknob slowly, making sure not to make a sound when a hand fell on her shoulder. Her whole body stiffened with the touch, and she heard a familiar voice in her ear.

“Where you going, Princess?”

She turned, looking straight into Wes’ piercing blue eyes.

“You running away?”

“Not exactly.”

“Well, certainly not without us!” Rye’s voice echoed throughout the hall as he emerged from around the corner, struggling to carry two overly packed knapsacks.

“What’s this?” Zooey replied uneasily as she pointed to the bags.

“Luggage.” Rye looked completely perplexed back at her. “Obviously.”

She turned to Wes accusingly. “Why do you need luggage?”

“Because we’re coming with you.” He stared back at her. “Obviously.”

Silence entered the room, as well as a tension that could have been cut with a knife.

“You know?”

“Your uncle told us last night.”

“He was drunk! He doesn’t know what he’s talking about.” Zooey looked to her Twin for some support, but Ilya was already resigned to sitting on his back paws. The pose he took whenever he knew something was going to take a while, and he would rather not be involved.

“Holden’s alive?” Wes asked.

“Yes.” She refused to look at him, knowing it would be harder if she did.

“He’s been alive this whole time?”

“Yes.”

Wes gently grabbed Zooey’s chin in his hand and moved her face toward his so she would look into his eyes. Intense, like they usually were when he was trying to make a point. “Where is he?”

“The East Kingdom.”

This specific action was one of Orson’s favorites and would usually end in a kick to the groin. But Wes’ hand was comforting despite the hardened look he gave her.

So, she didn’t move.

“How do you know?”

“I’ve been having these dreams. Premonitions, really.” She spoke slowly. Finding it difficult to find the words to explain. “Tocque is torturing Holden in the East Kingdom.”

Wes finally dropped his hand from her face. The pain that spread across his was evident, despite his best efforts to hide it. “You didn’t tell me.”

“I couldn’t.”

He turned away from her. The touch of his hand still lingering on her skin.

“Well.” Rye broke the silence by pulling the bags up to Wes and Zooey, dropping them loudly to the floor. “We’d better get to it then. You know, with all the torture and the like.” He turned to Ilya and pointed down at the bags. “You’ve got this, right?”

Zooey looked to Rye sharply. “You’re not coming with us.”

Rye scoffed. “Of course, we are.”

“No, you’re not.”

“Yes.” Wes looked at her definitively. A harsh edge lining his voice. “We are.”

Zooey fixed him with a challenging stare. “I don’t have time to take care of you.”

“Good thing we can take care of ourselves, Princess.” He paused, looking at Rye, who was having trouble lifting his own knapsack. “Ilya can take care of him.”

“Yeah, Zo,” Rye added. “Worry about yourself for a change.”

“That’s what I’m trying to do,” Zooey retorted.

“All right, fine, if you want to be difficult.” Rye walked up to Ilya with his hand outstretched. “No me. No maps.”

Ilya glanced at Zooey, amused.

“Rye, he’s a dragon. He can kill you.”

“They’re my maps. They’re my intellectual property. I have rights! I have extreme intellectual property rights!” He looked around for reassurance. “I probably have rights.”

Wes stepped forward, leaving almost no room between him and Zooey. “You’re not the only one that has a say in this decision. What are Ilya’s thoughts on this matter? I know he tends to disagree with you.”

“You don’t know that, and he thinks it would be better if it was just the two of us.”

Zooey, it might be wise if we let them come.

“What?” Zooey turned to her Twin swiftly.

Just in case.

Zooey glared at him. He knew that this was her decision, and yet, here he was arguing with her about a matter she already thought was settled. Ilya, this is ridiculous.

It will be better if they come. More people mean more protection, and your protection is just as important to me as saving Holden.

I can’t believe you!

Think of it this way, if we get into a bind, we can always eat Rye.

Zooey was trapped. It was three against one, and if Uncle Nic were here, he would be against her as well.

She looked up into their expectant faces. “You know what this means, right?”

They watched her. Waiting.

“It’s going to be long. And difficult. And we’ll probably die.”

Rye nodded. “Good.”

“Are you willing to do that? Both of you? Put your life on the line for us?”

Wes smiled. It was a dark smile given the context of the conversation, but she could still see his warmth beneath it. “Zooey, we’ve lived long enough.”

She let out a long exhale and looked from Wes to Rye, then finally to Ilya. “Fine.”

On cue, as if he had been waiting for this moment in the shadows, Uncle Nic leisurely turned the corner. Stopping to survey the scene before him as if he had just stumbled upon it haphazardly.

“My, my. Going on an early morning jog, are we? Good for you! Burn those Kcals. Anyone know where I put my bunny slippers?”

Zooey shot her uncle a disapproving glare. “You are terrible at keeping secrets.”

“So, no thoughts on the slippers then?”

He grinned. One of his cigars still hanging idly from the side of his mouth. Unlit, which gave Zooey the impression that he must have gone to sleep this way.

“They’re coming with me.”

“Are they now? How unexpected!”

“Yes, Uncle Nic. You won.”

“It’s not winning if it’s the right thing, my dear.” He gave her an artful look. “But I am so happy I was able to force you into this and will wholeheartedly take credit for it. Now!” He rubbed his hands together excitedly. “When do we leave?”

“You can’t come, Uncle Nic!”

“I know. I know. Man, those felonies are really starting to catch up with me.”

Zooey took this moment to really look at her uncle. Insanity ran in his veins, but she felt a pang of sadness at the thought of leaving him. Wes and Rye would have come anyway if she had asked them. That’s the kind of people they were, but her uncle made sure of it. Not just for her, but for his brother. The slain King of the West Kingdom.

“Be careful.” Uncle Nic walked past them to the front door and opened it, letting the rising sun stream into the hallway. “We really can’t afford to lose any more Caines.”

“We will.” Zooey walked up to him and hugged him tightly. “You’ll be careful too, won’t you?”

“No promises.”

“Uncle Nic!”

“Oh, I’ll be fine. You have to remember, Zooey...” He smiled as the sun continued to rise slowly in front of them. Illuminating the Hollywood sign in a soft, ethereal glow. “The maze I’m going down doesn’t get me to cheese.”