Chapter 4: Whispers in the Wound
The accusation hung like an executioner's blade. Captain Rask's sword gleamed with false righteousness as he advanced, his soldiers flanking Lyra's tiny room like hounds scenting blood. Aria's ghost dissolved into smoke, her laughter lingering like poison.
"Your flute screeched the killing note," Rask growled. "Even the stones heard it confess."
Lyra backed against the wall, the bone flute digging into her spine. "Veyl's not dead."
"His heart stopped for three minutes," Rask said, too softly. "Long enough to taste hell. He's… changed since."
The soldiers lunged.
Lyra blew.
The note was pure panic, a shrill, gasping thing that should've shattered glass. Instead, the soldiers screamed, clawing at their eyes as shadows pooled in their sockets like ink. Rask roared, swinging blindly, his blade embedding in the doorframe as Lyra ducked past.
"Left," the flute hissed. "The servant's stair—"
She stumbled down narrow steps slick with decades of grease, the flute's pulse guiding her through the castle's bowels. Behind her, Rask bellowed orders to seal the gates. Ahead, moonlight bled through a crack in the mortar…and a familiar figure silhouetted against it.
Kael gripped her arm, his healer's satchel slapping against his thigh as he pulled her into a hidden alcove. "You reek of grave soil and bad decisions."
"You left me a note!" Lyra shook the crumpled parchment in his face. Meet me in the crypts at midnight.
"And you ignored it." He pressed a thumb to the flute's mouthpiece, stifling its hum. "Now Veyl's heart beats backward, his soldiers see nightmares, and you've got five minutes before Rask flays your tendons into lute strings."
Lyra wrenched free. "Why should I trust you?"
"Because Aria did." Kael's scar twitched. "And she shouldn't have."
He vanished through a mouse-chewed tapestry. After three ragged breaths, Lyra followed.
The crypts breathed.
Lyra hadn't noticed before, how the walls expanded and contracted like lungs, how the dust motes swirled in time to some subterranean pulse. Kael led her to an ossuary stacked with skulls, each forehead carved with musical runes.
"Veyl's first court musicians," he said. "They played until their fingers fell off. Literally."
Lyra touched a skull. The rune flared crimson.
"Don't." Kael yanked her back as the entire wall shifted, revealing a passage slick with black moss. "You'll wake the choir."
The passage opened into a cavern where bioluminescent fungi coated stalactites in dripping blue light. A rebel camp sprawled below, makeshift tents, a forge hammering silent swords, and everywhere, the smell of rot and rebellion.
"Welcome to the Wound," Kael said. "Where Veyl's refuse festers."
Lyra's stolen lute slipped from her shoulder. "You brought me to a graveyard of traitors."
"We prefer 'orchestra.'" A woman emerged from the shadows, her face a patchwork of burn scars. She plucked a dissonant chord on a harp strung with silver hair, Aria's hair. "The conductor's been waiting."
Lyra's flute screamed.
The rebels parted, revealing a throne of fused bone. Upon it sat a man not much older than Lyra, his skin translucent as vellum, his eyes milky orbs that tracked her without seeing.
"Jeren," Kael said, bowing mockingly. "Our beloved prophet."
Jeren's voice was the rasp of a bow across dead strings. "The bone singer arrives. And she brings him closer."
Lyra stepped forward. "Who?"
Jeren smiled, revealing teeth filed to points. "The king who dreams of you. Even now, his hands itch to conduct your song."
The cavern dimmed.
A vision tore through Lyra's mind—Veyl, shirtless in his chambers, pressing a blade to his own chest. Blood welled as he carved a new scar over his heart, his breath hitching with perverse pleasure.
"Find me,"*l he whispered, though his lips didn't move. "Finish what your sister started."
Lyra recoiled, crashing into Kael.
"Ah," Jeren crooned. "The duet begins."
Kael dragged her to a tent reeking of antiseptic and rage. "Jeren's visions are half madness, half truth. Useful, if you like your warnings marinated in terror."
Lyra gripped Aria's earring, still crusted with blood. "Veyl's alive. You knew."
"I know he survived." Kael uncorked a vial of something that smelled like fermented regret. "Drink. It'll dull the bond."
"What bond?"
He pressed the vial to her lips. "The one she forged."
The potion tasted of broken promises. Lyra's vision swam. She saw Aria, younger, brighter, pressing a bone flute to Veyl's lips as he lay bleeding from an assassin's dagger.
"Breathe," Aria begged. "Breathe, and I'll make you a god."
Lyra gagged. "She saved him?"
"She cursed him." Kael's hands tightened on his scalpel. "And now you're the key to breaking it. Or feeding it."
The flute laughed. "He fears what you'll choose."
Shouts erupted outside. A rebel burst in, his nose bleeding black. "Rask found us!"
Kael cursed, shoving Lyra toward a crevice. "Go. I'll hold them."
"Why?"
He hesitated. "Ask me when you're not wearing her face."
Lyra ran.
The flute's pulse led her upward through fissures and forgotten tombs, until she emerged in the castle gardens. Moonlight bathed the thorned roses, their petals edged in frost.
Veyl waited by the dried-up wishing well, his shirt open to reveal the fresh scar.
"Little liar," he murmured. "You promised me a private encore."
Lyra's flute found her lips. "You framed me."
"I tested you." He stepped closer, his breath fogging the air between them. "Aria's ghost clings to you like mold. I needed to see if you'd let her win."
The flute's note tore free before Lyra could stop it, a scream that should've shattered Veyl's bones. Instead, he shuddered, his scar splitting open to reveal a single black diamond nestled in his flesh.
"Again," he gasped.
Lyra blew harder. The diamond multiplied, studding his ribs like a grotesque crown. Veyl threw his head back and laughed, the sound harmonizing with the flute's fury.
"Stop!" Lyra choked out.
The flute ignored her.
Veyl gripped her wrist, his touch freezing. "Don't you see? Her magic needs both of us. Without me, it'll consume you."
Lyra's vision darkened. The diamonds spread to her own veins, inking her skin with glittering rot.
Aria's ghost materialized behind Veyl, her
hands resting on his shoulders. He's right, you know," she whispered. "But aren't you curious what happens when you're consumed?"