Part One: The Fall

Part One: The Fall The chains around Kaelen's wrists were ceremonial. That was the first insult. He had expected iron. He had expected rusted manacles that would bite into his flesh and remind him, w...

Part One: The Fall
The chains around Kaelen's wrists were ceremonial. That was the first insult.

He had expected iron. He had expected rusted manacles that would bite into his flesh and remind him, with every movement, that he was a prisoner. Instead, his wrists were bound with delicate silver links, etched with swirling patterns that caught the light from the high, narrow window. They looked like something a nobleman's wife might wear to a ball.

He rattled them furiously. The sound was almost musical.

"Let me out of here!" His voice bounced off the stone walls, rough and raw from hours of screaming. "Do you hear me? I am Kaelen of Valdris! I am the Crimson Wolf! My people will come for me, and when they do, I will paint these walls with your entrails!"

Silence answered him.

The cell was not a cell. That was the second insult. It was a room—comfortable, even luxurious by the standards of his mountain homeland. A bed with actual blankets...