Darkness tasted like copper and cold stone. Malphas gasped, his lungs straining for oxygen that refused to enter. His vision swam with jagged pulses of violet light, fading into the suffocating gloom of a dungeon cell. The heavy iron collar around his neck bit into his skin, an anchor of cold, enchanted metal that hummed with a rhythm distinct from his own heartbeat.
"Awake, little lamb," a voice rasped.
Malphas forced his eyes to focus. The High Priest stood outside the iron bars, his face illuminated by the flickering torchlight on the stone wall. The man’s robes were stained with dust from the throne room, yet he looked triumphant.
"Where is Lyra?" Malphas rasped, his throat raw. He tried to stand, but his knees buckled, sending him crashing back to the damp floor.
"Your Queen is b
