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  "Is this a test of the light?" I whispered in response, closing my eyes to soothe them. My words were met with a chuckle.

  "No. It's not. It is a test of your destiny. Trust in us and we will bring you only salvation," he replied. Whether it was my Master's blood or it was my faith diminishing, I believed what he told me. I did not fight the blessed gift as he brought it to my quivering lips.

  The black poison was everything I had been fantasizing about in the grasp of the darkness. It tasted better than I remembered. Thoughts of my Master conquered my mind as I drank his offering. It was agonizing to think of his presence nearby, but not at my side. I knew nothing of him, yet I felt more devoted to him with every drop. It defied all logic… and I didn't fight it.

  I wept like a child being taken from its mother when the goblet was pulled away. His peculiar violet eyes glimmered with satisfaction – not pity for my suffering. My body constricted against the restraints as a wave as cold as death swept through the room. Nothing was preventing me from breathing yet I struggled to inhale. My mind was in a state of panic when I began to feel like I was suffocating.

  The man dipped his fingertips into the goblet as he had before. With his index and middle finger, he drew a mark on my chest. He created perfectly straight lines despite my thrashing. My mouth could not utter for help as I faded into the abyss.

  "What is your name?" a faraway voice asked.

  The glow of the typically dead torch brought orange to my eyelids. It was difficult to find the strength to do anything but simply exist. I wished to drift back into my death away from the suffering of the living, but my Master had other plans.

  "I asked you a question," his voice whispered. His tone was puzzling; demanding with a layer of seduction. Or perhaps it was only my lust for his blood that made it seem that way.

  The chill of his hands wrapped around my rib cage on either side. That action was enough to triumph over the weight of my soul restricting me. My eyes fluttered open and the sight I was met with was that of my Master leaning over me with a curious look on his face.

  Before I could respond, agony seared through my nerves and spine. The screams that left my lips were louder than any I had ever uttered. I could not think of the words to say to get the pain to end. My language skills diminished with each passing moment. Death was a sweet dream compared to the suffering.

  It did end, though – whether it was only a second or hours, I couldn't tell.

  "Don't make me ask you again.” His eyes were difficult to read. Were they lascivious or delighted in my pain? I was unable to answer fast enough.

  Pain. Insurmountable pain.

  "Nyzara!" I yelled repeatedly, trying to make it end.

  "Wrong."

  More pain than I thought my body was capable of withstanding. Where was the grasp of death?

  "What is your name?"

  What did he want from me? I would have given him anything to make it end. Whatever dark powers he possessed prevented me from drifting into unconsciousness. It was a cruel, inescapable force.

  “My name is Nyzara!” I sobbed weakly, not understanding my Master’s intentions.

  His beautiful face stared down at my discomfort, mere inches from me. His hand moved from my ribs to my cheek, which he caressed. I flinched away expecting pain once more; it was nothing but a soft stroke.

  “I’m not asking for your slave name, girl. What is your name?” he asked with a tone so tender, I might have been his lover and not his prisoner. His words held venom, but his attitude was alluring. He grew closer despite the furious beating of my heart against my rib cage.

  My mind was revolted, for only thoughts of him crossed me – not thoughts of the torture I had just endured moments earlier. I did not understand how someone was capable of such a thing. Shouldn’t I fear him… shouldn’t I loathe him?

  I stuttered on my words, not at all sure what he wanted to hear. Nyzara was the only name I knew. It became harder to think as he sent waves of pleasure over my body with his touch. It erased all of the tortured sensations, all of the pain that was humming over me. My voice could only moan in distress rather than answer.

  “Surely you’ve heard the whispers.” I thought his lips might touch mine. His hand ran down my shuddering side.

  “Please,” I responded, unsure whether I was pleading for him to continue or to cease his actions.

  “What do the shadows tell you?” my Master asked, studying my reaction to his progressively paralyzing touch.

  “I don’t know,” I whispered truthfully. The fear was causing my voice to quiver. At the sight, he smiled pleased at his affect. I did not have to speak my emotions when he could see straight through me.

  “Do you want to make me hurt you again?”

  His nails dug into my skin. I braced myself as the cycle of pain began once more. It lasted a mere moment, but it felt just as tedious and horrible as every time before it. Tears fell from my eyes. It was all I could do.

  I reacted violently when he moved to touch me again, but it mattered little when I couldn’t escape him. One fingertip held my chin softly as the other groped at one of my breasts. An intimate touch was foreign to me; thoughts of such things had dissipated during my time in the darkness.

  “I only wish to teach you, beloved,” my Master murmured with his lips on my ear.

  The chill of his hand ran lower. He brushed between my legs, waiting for my non-consensual response, and when I did clamp my thighs around his arm as he expected, he merely laughed and moved toward the door.

  “We will meet again someday,” he said from across the room. “Perhaps you will not be so disappointing then… And don’t forget your name, Lazarus. It is all you have here.”

  THE EVERGLADE

  The start of my life under Vince’s rule was far more unpleasant than living as a temple priestess. He had finished his task of ridding me of the light and dictated that I be sent to live among his population in the Everglade. The Everglade was the name of the swampy moor that my Master’s castle lingered outside of. After his takeover of Duskwraith, he constructed the main city separate from his obsidian home.

  It was a miserable city. I refer to it as a city sarcastically as it was more of a mass prison than a place that could be called home. It was heavily guarded with towering stone walls, blocking off all but the universe and Vince’s castle from its captives. Each building was the same as the next: dark stone squares of cobblestone with black roofs. Duskwraith is a horribly frigid country, but there was no effort in the construction of the city to help retain warmth. Fires outside on the grounds were sparse, and there was only one fireplace to a barracks that might house up to thirty people each. Materials for things such as warm clothing or blankets was rare and not considered a necessity. Those were commodities that must be sent to the soldiers stationed on the borders that had no shelter.

  It took me quite some time upon arriving to learn how things in the Everglade worked. There were other females besides myself, but we were a small percentage. Most had been killed in my Master’s take over in order to stifle the Dryads from further breeding. There were laws dictating that they could only bed other races such as the prominent and populous Zaarians. It was the only method my Lord had found to kill the Dryads’ kinship with magic. Some still continued to live, but the plentiful others were displaced Femorans, Zaarians or fellow Evyans. Despite that, I was the only Evyan from A’roha in all of the Everglade. My kind seemed to be completely extinct beyond me. We were treated worse than most other races, and being a minority only drew unwanted attention.

  The population, no matter their race, were vicious. It became apparent very quickly that I had to be able to defend myself from others advances. There were no rules in the Everglade beyond utmost loyalty to our Lord Vince. Murder was not punishable, because if you were a victim you must have been weak. Rape was a laughable offense, for what good were you if you could not defend yourself from an aggressor. Robbery could not be condemned, as perhaps your belongings sho
uld have been stored properly. The guards were only there to prevent any sort of riot and to make sure the citizens were working for Lord Vince’s best interests. All of them were bought off by more wealthy captains that used their position to display dominance and bully people they did not like. The only way to gain any sort of freedom from the prison, or move up in the ranks, were the fighting pits.

  An individual had no worth if they could not fight. Everyone was forced to participate a certain amount of times per quarter, but one would not move up in the ranks if they weren’t committed. It was a clear line between the citizens: those that were willing to kill anyone and everyone in their path to reach their goal, and those just trying to survive.

  For a while, I was one of the people doing all that they could to stay alive. I fought as little as possible. I spent many nights of my first years in the Everglade hiding from murderers and thieves looking for an easy target. I did all that I could to avoid everyone around me, including the guards and captains. I nearly perished from violent sicknesses that plagued me during the colder seasons, as I did not dare sleep in my given barracks for some time. Instead, I rested on the dead ground in hidden alleyways, or on cracked roofs. I could have easily wasted away from starvation, but I ate every morsel of disgusting food I was given for my rations. As much as I wanted to try and flee, I knew there was no home for me to go back to. My precious Illyswen was dead and gone from our world. The Evyan Kingdoms were too far beyond my reach. It was laughable to even think of escaping.

  I got a minor job working for a blacksmith for additional rations after a few insufferable years of scrounging around for meals. He was an irritable, elderly Femoran half-breed with a no-nonsense attitude. Even though he despised Evyans for an unspoken reason, he was still responsible for teaching me all the fundamentals of archery and swordsmanship. Whether or not he meant to, he gave me not only the ability to defend myself, but also the confidence to fight in the pits more often. After I began to win, I no longer feared sleeping in my barracks. Of course, there were times that men attempted to harm me or worse. Every encounter with a violent motive ended with my opponent dead at my feet. I did not get pleasure out of killing others at this time. I merely wished to live in peace until I was good enough to free myself from the bondage of the Everglade.

  The more I killed, the more people avoided me instead. It happened too slowly. I could never forget when my life became somewhat less miserable. I had stayed up every night watching the great planet Asinea in the sky, waiting for a divine calling from the cosmos. It was childish of me, really. There was no calling in the universe; there was only my destiny before me I had been too blind to see.

  I remember the feeling of being crushed internally the more I focused on the walls holding me prisoner. Maybe the Everglade was used to them, but I was an Evyan of the forest and night. The stars called me with longing. They whispered that I might rather die promptly under the open sky than of old age behind those prison gates. When I thought I would be driven mad from my desire, I forced myself to train. There were no activities beyond fighting, drinking and gambling, and none satisfied me remotely. I did not know what I sought besides change. The only way to bring change was to make it myself. If I wanted to be free, I had to be willing to die for it.

  Every arrow I drew, every swing of my sword was to bring me closer to freedom. I practiced from the early morning until dusk, barely taking time to rest or eat. My training only brought me unwanted attention from the passersby. Many took my focus and dedication as a clear indication of a challenge. To deny a challenge in the Everglade was to essentially bring ruin to any reputation you might have gained. When I was challenged by not one, but ten men to fight in the upcoming tournament, I did not dare refuse. Truthfully, I did not care if I died in the process of upholding my already fragile reputation. They wanted to see me fail and make me look weak. If I were to come out victorious, the gain would be what I needed to move forward.

  The morning of the quarterly tournament was one of numbness. Part of me felt as though it was an execution sentence to agree to those fights. I had survived by fighting one fight per tournament at a time, sometimes even barely. My opponents must have thought I was going to be an easy target. After all, my display of practicing publicly opened me up for challenges. I was executing myself.

  That tournament differed from others. Not only was it one of the bigger biannual occasions, but it was the first time in nearly two centuries that certain positions had become available, such as high-ranking military employment and jobs within Lord Vince’s circle. It was doubtful to me at the time that my Master would dare open up his home to the slaves he held in the Everglade, until I heard about the fabled half-Femoran, half-Zaarian man named Raven. He was a legend among us because he came from dirt as we did. With only the strength of himself, he caught our Lord’s attention. He fought in the arena and set a record for the most kills, annihilating every single challenger in the tournament with no breaks. In response, my Lord rewarded him with one of the highest honors available; immortality and a place at his side. The story was true, no matter how much I refused to believe it when I first heard it. It was because of this tale that so many were lined up when I arrived to fight that morning. They believed that if they could battle until death, perhaps Vincent would notice them.

  I was not due to fight until nearly noon, but I showed up at dawn. I wanted to arrive before any of my opponents as I needed to find a spot where I would not be harassed before the fight. It was not uncommon for foes to gang up on a particular opponent, for any number of reasons. With ten waiting for me, I didn’t desire an unfair pre-match. Thankfully, I was the first besides the guards and captains to be allowed in the arena gates. Each had a sneer on their face that suggested they would enjoy watching me perish as they allowed me access to the section I was permitted to sit in. It made me wonder why I was so eager to die, but only until others began to show.

  The chill in the air was the coldest it had been in years past. My body was frozen before the tournament officially began. It was a cruel time to put the pressure of freedom on everyone’s shoulders; how could I hold a weapon properly with numbed hands? My black rags were in better condition than most, but I still felt sickly in the morning mist. The dead of winter was always my enemy, and it seemed as though it might be responsible for my failure that day. I did not truly fear fighting until the cold wind ridded my limbs of the sensation of touch.

  The first battle was underway between two popular arena competitors when the divine message I had been seeking arrived. The fight was ended abruptly when our usual crowd was joined by palace guards. They wore blackened dragon scales and carried the draconic Duskwraith banner, which could only mean one thing.

  First entered a foreign woman with dark brown skin and thick gray hair. She was of Basulian descent, and Vince’s pact sister named only Sendrys. Her face was youthful despite her twisted locks, and she was tall for a Naadean woman. After her followed my Master’s right hand and long-term lover, Lord James. He was Naadean as well, of Himmelish descent and as ancient as his fellow immortals. Not much was known to me about him at that time, only what small information I had been able to gather over the years. James had pale, ashen hair and grayed white skin from his long life. His eyes were orbs of blood, but he could still be regarded as handsome despite that. It was as if he were a polished porcelain doll of a wealthy girl.

  Last followed my Master’s beautiful form. He was wearing a thick silver blanket around his shoulders that was clearly made of a wolf-Dryad’s hide. Its fur brought out the paleness of his skin, which was slightly flushed from the wind chill. He sat between Sendrys and James across the arena from the rest of us. Even the captains were keeping a clear distance from our Lords. A young squire served them all wine while they chatted among themselves about something humorous.

  During the first seven years of my life in the Everglade, I had never forgotten my Master’s face, nor his touch or taste. Even though I was puzzled by his torture and m
ethods, whatever he had done had embedded himself in me permanently. I resented him. I was enamored by his blood. I saw him in my dreams. He crossed my mind every time the shadows of his castle loomed over my sickened body. The light never called to me again once I indulged in his gift – a fate I believed to be worse than death in my dreary home.

  It was a strange sensation to see him in person instead of my dreams. I wanted to reach out and touch his robes, despite my resentment for what he did to me. There he was, existing in front of me, and I was not asleep. I could hardly breathe; I felt magnetized to him as if every atom between us was agonizing. The desire I had for his blood in the dungeon was returning with his closeness.

  And, just as the fighting began once more, he looked directly at me from across the pit. The universe of his eyes captivated me, drawing me into their abyss for a moment too short. There were easily a hundred men already around watching the fight. Somehow, he knew precisely where I was huddled, hiding from the world. Just as I might bow properly to him, he returned to his conversation with his kin. It was difficult to focus on the arena fights with our Lord so near. All of the hushed whispers were his name. Everyone was far more content to stare at him in awe than to watch the fights for quite some time.

  My name was called while I was distracted. The chill of the morning had not wavered throughout the day, only worsened. A few stray snowflakes had been falling from the sky for the first time in anyone’s memory. I had never seen snow before, but it was only another distraction from the task ahead of me.

  “Lazarus, Pitely,” the ring leader said clearly enough for all to hear.

  I had been so preoccupied by my Master’s presence that I hadn’t bothered to pay attention to the lineup. I was forced to make my way through the crowd to my side of the arena. Unlike other competitors, I was set for ten fights in a row. My Master had only come to watch me die it seemed.