Truth in Blue All that Matters Book One Mirai Amell
Truth in BlueAll that Matters Book OneMirai Amell
Genre: High FantasyPublisher: Shadow Spark PublishingDate of Publication: March 20, 2023ASIN: B0BWNFMMFTNumber of pages: 379Word Count: 102KCover Artist: MiblArt
Tagline: Sometimes life is better as a lie.
Book Description:
Malakai wanted to protect his kingdom from threats beyond its borders. Instead, stripped of his magic and on the run, he now needs to save it from his brother, the king himself.
Amaryllis wanted to have nothing to do with humans. Instead, stranded in the wrong realm, she now needs to retrieve a lost fae relic with powers no one comprehends.
Una wanted to be a knight in shining armor. Instead, haunted by the memories of a life she never lived, Una now needs to find answers from someone she doesn’t remember meeting.
When their paths cross, each must decide what matters to them the most.Or risk losing everything they hold dear.
In a world where Angels and Shades battle for souls while the Devil sips his tea, the fate of one country, two races, and four realms hangs in the balance when love and loyalties are tested to their limits.
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Excerpt - Chapter 1
No place like home
The palacewas too quiet.
It shouldhave been abuzz with many familiar noises: gardeners tending the plants, cooksclanging the utensils, and servants running errands. Instead, the rhythmicclip-clop of the hooves from Ciaran’s horse was the only sound echoing acrossthe palace courtyard. The perfectly manicured shrubs and flowers bloomingduring peak summer looked exhausted, having to keep the facade of theirexpected sunny disposition. In contrast, barricaded in a garden corner, rootedyet lifeless, the prana plants glinted cunningly. With the sunlight bouncingoff their amber-colored crystalline form, it was as if they were watching him.
As if theyknew something he didn’t.
Thetrained senses of a King’s Knight warned him, but Ciaran dismounted,nevertheless. How could he be wary of a place he had called home for so long?After a few moments of deliberation, Ciaran decided to tie his horse to one ofthe pillars near the doorway, just in case.
He had practically grown up at the palace, having arrived there at thirteen tolive and train as an apprentice knight. His father, Oswald—a Bender and theLord of Korbridge—had still been alive then to watch with pride when Ciaran hadreceived the royal crest that declared him a King’s Knight five years later.The metal emblem, carved with a golden sun rising from behind a jeweled dagger,was pinned to the chest of Ciaran’s black coat when Oswald passed away a fewmonths after the ceremony. That had been six years ago. Malakai had stayed byhis side through the ups and downs, the triumphs and losses. He was a friend, arival, a comrade, and the closest thing to a family Ciaran had left.
He wouldgladly walk into a raging fire if it were for Malakai.
Now,Ciaran walked into the decidedly frosty palace.
No onegreeted him in the main hall. The throne room, offices, and foyer were alleerily deserted.
He couldsense people around, hear their hushed whispers and the echoes of theirfootsteps, yet it seemed they were deliberately avoiding him. Ignoring thestrange stillness in the air, he resolutely walked toward his sleeping chambersin the north wing. Of all the knights in the country, only ten were chosen tobe King’s Knights, the ones who lived in the palace, attending to the rulingKing of Castellon.
Halfway tohis destination, he stopped at the edge of the winding stairs. The stairsdiverged here: one set of steps went up to the royal residence, and the otherwent down to the palace dungeons, a place that brought back haunting memoriesfor him. He tried to shake them off and turned to take the stairs goingupwards.
“I seeyou’re back already.” The hostility in the voice of General Atkins standingbefore him startled Ciaran. The five knights, who had crept up behind him inthe meantime, didn’t appear any friendlier. Reva, Lucia, Feris, Goran, and Jahirall held weapons. To make things worse, they knew each other too well.
“General,where is he?” Ciaran could not stop panic from rising in his heart. The agingGeneral had gray in his hair, but his height and breadth made him a mountain ofa man. The formidable presence of this experienced warrior was enough to makegrown men wet themselves (most grown men). Still, Ciaran did not break eyecontact with his mentor, his emerald eyes demanding answers.
TheGeneral winced almost imperceptibly before replying, “The king sent him toLasceraz.” Ciaran’s blood froze in his veins; he was too late for his friend.
“They’dsuch a shouting match that the stewards had to call me from my home in thecity,” Atkins said. “I found Malakai unconscious on the floor, and the onlything I got from the king was the order to transport him to the dungeons inLasceraz. In chains. Ciaran, what’s going on?”
TheGeneral implored him for some explanation.
“How longago?” Ciaran ignored the General’s question to ask his own.
“Nearlythree days now. What are you guys keeping from us? Answer me!”
Ciarandidn’t reply, his mind already calculating his next steps. Lasceraz, theinfamous prison, was in the southernmost corner of the country. It would takeseveral months to reach it on horseback unless he secured the service of aspace-Bender mage—like the General, for sure, had. Fortunately, he knew one whoused to work for his father, but Bender Farley lived in Ciaran’s hometownKorbridge, and it would take a few days to reach there from Castle. The longerhe delayed, the more time Malakai would rot in Lasceraz.
Just asCiaran turned around to leave, the knights readied their weapons: two sets ofdaunting daggers, two shining swords, and one menacing mace pointed straight athim. The General himself did not carry anything, standing with his arms crossedin front of him. Not to mention that Ciaran was not a mage, but two of theknights and the General were. Taking a deep breath, he brushed his sandy hairback with his right hand; a few locks strayed back over his green eyes.
“You trulybelieve you can stop me from leaving?” he asked, smiling for the first time sinceentering the palace grounds.
Theknights looked highly uncomfortable, for they were well aware of who they wereup against. People in the kingdom might not know his name, but every knight inthe country knew of Ciaran’s reputation.
“No. Idon’t believe we can manage that…” The General replied truthfully, “But I needto say that we tried our best regardless.”
Ciarangave his mentor a quick nod, steadied his sword, and took his stance. “Iunderstand.”
***
Hecouldn’t understand how he was still alive.
His entirebeing ached; his muscles and even his bones were sore.
Malakaitried to turn on his bed to find an angle where it would hurt slightly less,and a pained yelp escaped his mouth. The cold iron bit his wrists, sinking itsunyielding teeth into his joints. He opened his eyes to find himself chained tothe walls.
Lasceraz.A wave of despair overtook him, making it hard to breathe. Was the air alwaysso stale and thick here? Malakai had toured the prison many times but nevernoticed how dark it was. The cells were made of thick granite, without even atiny window to allow light to peek through. With some effort, he turned hishead upwards and regretted it immediately. Everything swam before his eyes, anda sharp pain made him retch, only to realize he had nothing left to vomit apartfrom his blood.
After hisbody stopped shaking from the shock, Malakai felt a strange emptiness insidehim; the warmth and comfort of his magic were barely there anymore. The panicthat rose through him was worse than the bile he tasted in his mouth. He triedhis best to calm himself, to convince himself that it could not be gone, formagic was made of prana: the life energy coursing through every living being.It had to be somewhere if he was here. But the more he searched, the more itbecame evident that it was dying.
And he wasdying with it.
Malakai’seyes blurred once more. Were they tears of sadness, knowing he had losteverything he held dear, or tears from the burning torment his body experiencedwith the slightest movement? He couldn’t tell them apart.
As hiseyes focused again, Malakai remembered there used to be a window in every cellonce upon a time. The first king of Castellon knew light was a beacon of hope;it kept the fight alive in people. His descendant, the current king, alsounderstood what it meant to the prisoners. So, five years ago, he ordered all thewindows to be boarded up. Malakai was the one who had supervised the projectand seen the dejected looks on their faces, caked with dirt and grime, yet henever fully comprehended. Until now.
Many ofthem were murderers, kidnappers, and swindlers, but there were others whocouldn’t pay the ever-increasing taxes; people who had no reason to be in theinfamous jail of Lasceraz.
Yet, theywere.
So was he.
“Get 'imto eat somethin’.” The metallic tinkle of keys alerted him as the room dooropened. A guard dressed in red and yellow placed a bowl of soup in front of himwhile another held a lantern in his hand. Malakai wondered how many days hadpassed since he was sent here and if Ciaran knew his fate yet. It was nocoincidence that he was incarcerated when each of his allies within the King’sKnights happened to be out of the capital.
“Threedays. You’ve eaten nothin’.” The guard brought a spoon with the soup near hismouth.
“Please!”the man nearly pleaded and added, “Yer Highness.”
The otherguard looked equally awkward. Malakai understood how disturbing it must be totreat the second prince of their kingdom as a mere prisoner—torn between theirabsolute loyalty to the orders issued by the king and their instinct to protecta member of the royal family. His older brother might be the ruler of Castellon(and he made sure to remind people of that constantly!), but Malakai was asoldier, first and foremost. He had spent time with guards, trained them, andinspected prisons as part of his duties, something the pampered king neverbothered himself with.
He openedhis mouth to let the guard feed him. Under no circumstance was he allowed to befree of his manacles. Such was the rule in Lasceraz, where every prisoner waskept in maximum-security solitary confinement. Sip by sip, he finished the bowlof soup, and the guards released simultaneous breaths of gratitude, likelybecause they had half-expected him to protest, or worse. Malakai didn’t want tomake it any harder on them than necessary, considering they would have a toughenough time when he escaped. His weak stomach rebelled despite his nobleintentions not to trouble the guards; a dull ache radiated from his core,spreading out like a volcano spewing lava, and Malakai keeled over in pain.
After theyhelped him throw up everything he had just ingested in the chamber pot, one ofthe guards tried to say something but couldn’t. Ignoring the grip of fatiguethreatening to suffocate him, Malakai smiled and said, “It’s not your fault.”He meant it, but they hung their heads in shame and left the room withoutchecking the chains, forgetting that they’d loosened the shackles slightly tolet him clean up earlier.
He didn’tdoubt that Ciaran would find a way to get him out of here.
But maybeMalakai could beat him to it.
***
Beingbeaten in a battle wasn’t something Ciaran ever worried about.
However,victory always comes with a price.
As he rode his tired horse away from Castle, thecapital city of Castellon, Ciaran had to admit that while he’d managed to getout of the palace in one piece, thankfully without killing any of them, ithadn’t been easy. Every hesitation, every indecision from one side was used bythe other. It was a wonder he’d made it this far.
About the Author: Mirai Amell is the pen name of a neuroscientist who believes in myths and magic as much as she trusts molecules and microscopes. When she is not doing science, or reading fantasy books, or watching anime, Mirai scribbles poems published in anthologies like From One Line Vol(s) 1-3, Wounds I Healed, and The Crow’s Quill magazine. Currently, Mirai lives in Seattle, where she researches various brain things.
https://twitter.com/AmellMirai
https://shadowsparkpub.com/mirai-amell
https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/123013881
