Mythic Divine

Prologue

“Come along, Trixi. Time to go.”

The voice was gentle, yet it sent an icy tremor down her spine. Sheltered beneath her pile of frayed blankets, her only refuge on the cold stone floor, she curled her thin arms tighter around her body and shook her head.

The Centaur stood over her, eyes crinkling at the corners. He seemed kind. It didn’t matter. Kindness didn’t exist here. The chamber where he would take her was a nightmare, and no amount of being kind could change that.

Beneath her trembling arm, hidden from view, lay the dirty rag doll she had created from bits of torn cloth. Her secret, her comfort. A piece of her that no one else could own.

“Now, young one, don’t keep the doctor waiting. You know he’ll only anger if you do.”

“I don’t want to go.”

What she wanted never mattered. It never had.

If Trixi refused, the guard would simply pick her up and carry her there himself, as others had done before. A century could pass, and still the action would repeat in a slow unraveling of will against the inevitable.

Trixi’s heart pounded against her ribs. She tucked the doll deeper into the tangle of her ragged blankets. No servant would enter herein to straighten her cell, but the rats were persistent. If the pests found her only possession…

A shuffle of hooves. The Centaur guard in massive equine form waited. His stance was patient, with a large hand extended instead of a painful grip that made her wince. The new guard’s chest plate, dulled with age, bore marks of battle, and leather bracers wrapped his forearms.

Too bad. The new guards didn’t last long, and this one seemed kinder.

Given no choice, she pushed the blankets off to the side, careful to leave her doll hidden, and struggled to rise. The chamber’s gray walls tilted in her vision, melting like molten rock. Trix tightened her legs to steady her swaying body. She glanced back at the soft security of her little bed, hoping to turn the direction of her fall before—

A sharp stomp of hooves. A firm hand clamped her upper arm.

“No!” Her voice came thready and weak. She pulled and fought, yanking at his grip, but her efforts were useless. “I don’t want to go.”

“You’re so thin, girl. Don’t they feed you?”

“Yes.” A lie. In truth, she couldn’t remember the last time she ate enough to fill her belly.

“Hmm, you don’t say.”

His thick brows knitted together, twin furrows carving through his weathered face. His dark eyes swept over her too-slim form, lips pressing into a firm line. Gray-streaked black hair, tied back in a loose tail, tumbled over an immense shoulder as he leaned down to steady Trix on her bare feet.

XO

Sheri

Without thought, she uttered the rehearsed words she’d been forced to repeat countless times. A flat monotone, empty of meaning. “I am well cared for and have all I shall need. There is naught for which I want.”

A shiver coursed through her body, disgust curling in her stomach.

She amended quickly. “I have trouble keeping weight on.”

He didn’t believe her. She saw doubt in the shadowed depths of his hooded eyes. But he said nothing. His large fingers closed around hers, engulfing her hand as he led her from the small cell.

Before the heavy oak door swung shut, Trixi glanced back.

Lumps under the blankets stirred.

The rats moved in.

The Centaur adjusted his gait to match her shorter, two-legged stride, his hooves clopping against the stone in a steady, unhurried rhythm. Unlike previous guards, he didn’t grip her fingers too tightly or drag her along. Instead, their clasped hands swung in an almost carefree manner, as if they took a walk through a sun-dappled meadow instead of marching toward the worst place in the world.

“I have a daughter about your age,” he said after a long stretch of silence. “How old are you?”

Trix hesitated. “I think I’m nine.”

She kept her eyes lowered, watching her dirty toes peek in and out beneath the shredded hem of her knee-length dress. If she lifted her gaze, she would see the scorn in his expression. The inevitable disgust at her lack of knowledge.

She’d given up crying a long time ago; it did no good and only angered those in charge.

Once, before the season of icy chill had settled in, she’d heard a guard mention her age to another outside her door. At least, she thought they had been talking about her.

Her new guard walked steadily beside her, hooves clomping loudly in the empty passage. A gentle squeeze of her fingers made her stomach twist.

“My daughter has clothes she no longer wears. I’ll bring you some.”

Surprised, her gaze shot up, searching his stoic features for signs of cruelty. The hidden malice. Why would he make an offer he couldn’t keep? The doctor would never allow it.

Trixi said nothing and fixed her eyes on the dreary corridor ahead. It was best not to be friendly with the guards. Experience had taught her that kindness came with a price; she could never foretell when it would be used against her.

“Why do you dislike your counseling sessions, Trixi?”

She flinched at the mention of the counselor. A violent, gut-deep fear raked at her will to remain brave, tempting her to rip her hand from the big Centaur’s grasp. To flee, to claw her way back to her rat-filled cell, to the shredded blankets, and her rag doll hidden within.

“I hate them,” she whispered, bitterness dripping from her words.

A beat of silence. Inside, her heart pounded. Moisture gathered where their palms pressed together.

The rhythm of his hooves slowed on the stone. “So I’ve been told. But why?”

The question took her off guard. He wasn’t demanding an answer. The Centaur was asking.

If the timbre of his voice hadn’t reflected honest curiosity … If the muscular guard hadn’t bent a foreleg to stoop lower, meeting Trixi at eye level to ask…

Pan’s flute, she shouldn’t answer. But one peek into his dark, concerned eyes…

For the first time in her life, someone sounded as though they genuinely cared. She blurted the truth as poison expelled.

“It hurts.”

The Centaur didn’t move. He didn’t blink. Muscles in his jaw bunched and twitched. His nostrils flared as he inhaled deeply.

“What hurts, young one?”

“The counseling.” Her breath hitched. No one had ever asked before. After a swipe at her nose, she continued. “The doctor wishes to know more about my kind, so he … he performs tests upon me.”

Her guard exhaled slowly, tinged with something she couldn’t name. Anger? Determination? After a roll of his shoulders, resettling his creaking metal armor, he pushed to stand. When they resumed their unhurried stroll, his grip on her hand remained firm.

“I must say, you speak well for someone your age,” he said, glancing down.

Trixi didn’t reply; words wouldn’t stop the inevitable. The end of this escorted walk would be the same.

“What if I stayed during your session?” he suggested. They neared the turn in the corridor where field mice scratched along the base of the cold walls. “Would you like that?”

Her muscles stiffened with unease. Was he teasing? Playing with her hope before tearing it away? Again, Trixi’s gaze darted up, searching the male’s age-lined face for deception. She found confidence and strength shining from the most compassionate brown eyes she had ever seen.

Can I trust him? Guards played tricks on her in the past, and she had learned the lessons well.

Wariness kept Trixi alive, yet the heavy weight of it chained her life. “The doctor won’t allow it.”

“No one will hurt you, Trixania.” The guard’s fingers tightened. Not in restraint, but in quiet reassurance. “Not anymore.”

Warmth spread through her frail body, holding back the dark hopelessness she lived with each day, and made her imagine what safe might feel like.