The Temple of Elwyn housed the coldest, dankest cells I ever had the misfortune of spending time in. A few other chambers at least afforded the luxury of a torch and a bedroll, but the guards had spared me no such kindness. This wasn't the first time I'd found myself shackled to a wall, but it had never been under the pretense of murder. Generally, the public prison was found suitable enough for felons of the great city of Anastas. But according to the Elwyn clerics, only the best-guarded dungeon would do for a Whisper like me.

I couldn't remember how many days had passed since they'd dragged me from my home and locked me in. After three I'd lost the ability to keep track of time; the guards kept unpredictable shifts, and windows were a comfort long forgotten. Even sleep refused to keep me company. The brutal nightmares tortured me to consciousness. My body succumbed to exhaustion only once- I awoke to a guard shaking me while demanding I stop screaming.

Food was another fond memory; I had nothing to eat from the first day of my imprisonment. Not only did they not bother offering sustenance, I heard it was common for the Temple to poison its occupants before any official judgment was made. The fewer mouths for them to feed the better.

“Still alive, wisp?” The most recent guard on duty raked his pike against the bars.

I didn't want to respond. My mouth was parched and my patience had long since evaporated. The King's Guard had devised the term after Whispers had become a despised race. A 'wisp;' only a shred, barely human. It was disgusting what they thought of me. All for things beyond my control.

“Answer me!” He didn't wait long before slamming his weapon once more against the door, startling the few other inmates.

“Unfortunately.” The truth was bitter to taste.

There was nothing left for me. The damp floor had soaked through my thin clothing, the cold air took every last drop of energy I hoped to preserve, and the metal that surrounded my wrists and ankles chafed my skin until it bled. I wanted to die.

“My lord, wait!” a voice called out. Heavy footsteps echoed from further down the hall, breaking the awkward silence between the guard and I. Visitors weren't common in the Temple dungeon. I strained to look into the darkness without much luck.

“You will give her to me and ask me no further questions.”

“But her trial! She must be judged!”

“I will pay any amount that you wish. Give it to the king, use it for this god-forsaken Temple, I don't care. But you will hand her over to me immediately.” The footsteps stopped abruptly and a tall, strong silhouette of a man appeared before my cell. The few available torches didn't emit enough light for me to see his face. A second pair of feet scuttled quickly to rest beside him. The distant fire glinted off of the gold medallion that signified the cleric's power within the Temple.

“Josselyn Thorn?” His voice was soft; the most gracious gesture anyone had shown me since I'd arrived.

“Yes, my lord.” I decided that addressing him as the cleric had was the safest course of action.

“My lady, I need you to tell me if you were Jeremi and Victoria Terryn's Ring.”

“Lord Markov!” The shock in the cleric's voice didn't surprise me. Rings were a sensitive subject within Anastas, and the houses of Elwyn believed them taboo.

I couldn't hold back the tears that overwhelmed my vision. Hearing their names again tore at my heart as painfully as when I'd found them dead.

“This woman murdered them. She couldn't have possibly been their R...Rin..”

“Do you dare not utter the word, Father?” I couldn't hide the rancor in my tone. Followers of Elwyn would never understand my relationship with the Terryns. “Yes, my lord, I was their Ring.”

“Open this door, Father,” Lord Markov ordered.

“But Roch—”

“I said open it!” His voice rang against every wall of the dungeon before echoing back a dozen times. The cleric fiddled with his keys, finding the one to my cell after what seemed like an eternity. He rushed to my side and unlocked the irons holding me down. The fresh air against my open wounds stung like the fires of hell.

Lord Markov slipped one arm beneath my knees and the other behind my back before lifting me from the floor. I wanted to protest- I knew nothing of this man- but his warm body felt like heaven after days of freezing on the wet stone. The soft silks and linens of his clothing brushed against my bare skin.

“You have my place of residence. Send me the amount of her bail and it will be paid,” he said sternly to the cleric.

“Y-yes m'lord,” the cleric stammered.

“Why take a worthless whore? You could ‘ave a real lady,” another prisoner cackled. Her long fingers circled the bars, black eyes glittering at Lord Markov.

“Hold your tongue, maggot!” The guard charged to watch her slammed his spear against the gates of her cell.

“Bitch is prolly diseased anyways,” she muttered angrily, then cackled again.

I clutched the front of my savior’s tunic with a shaking fist. The steady stream of abuse in the dungeon was commonplace, but a small, irrational part of me was terrified that Lord Markov would change his mind and put me back.

“Perhaps she would do better without her tongue,” Lord Markov growled.

“I’m sorry m’lord, she doesn’t know who she’s speaking to.” The cleric dabbed a cloth against his forehead. I could see his trembling hands in the dim lighting.

“Then educate her.”

With his final retort, Lord Markov carried me through the dungeon and into the Temple’s main hall. Extravagant rugs of red and gold lined the floors beneath rows of seating. Golden, winged beings watched over their followers from high on the walls. At the head of the Temple was a giant ivory statue of Elwyn herself; a lovely maiden with stargazer lilies weaved into her flowing hair. According to the stories, her death had put an end to a thousand year war. As I didn’t practice religion, I had only picked up bits and pieces from her followers. I'd heard it told more than once that Elwyn was also a Whisper, but it was never depicted in her paintings. It was an idea I enjoyed entertaining while I wasted away in that cell. People such as myself would be treated quite differently if the martyr of their religion were one of us.

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As quickly as we'd entered the Temple hall, we were rid of it, stepping into the morning sun. I hadn't realized how much I'd adjusted to the darkness of my cell until the glaring sunlight rendered my vision useless.

“So the rumors were true, then. You are a Whisper,” he spoke to me carefully, as if his words would break me apart.

“Do you now think me a diseased whore?”

“I wouldn’t give a large portion of my investments to a useless temple for a diseased whore.”

I leaned my head into his chest and closed my eyes. With the warmth of the sun and the smooth rhythm of his steps, it was hard not to drift off to sleep.

“I thank you for not referring to me as a wisp,” I murmured.

“Your kind are far too beautiful to merit such a disgraceful title.” His voice was like velvet, caressing my every nerve. That voice alone brought the heat back into my freezing limbs. I felt color rise to my cheeks.

The basic features of my race are impossible to hide; shocking white hair, caramel skin, and eyes the color of frozen water. Men, even if their lineage wasn't immediately evident, could pass on the traits of Whispers to their children. Women born as Whispers would never continue the race; they were infertile. I was the end of my namesake.

The traits of a Whisper, however, aren't simply a thing of genetics. Despite the drawbacks, all Whispers, men and women both, harbor a menagerie of incredibly heightened senses. My blood incessantly runs hot with a desire not easily satiated. My skin tingles and responds to even the slightest of touches. Unlike followers of the faith of Elwyn, I am free in my creed to love as I see fit.

I was the perfect Ring.

“Hold tight, now.” Lord Markov gingerly placed me onto a cushion. I realized with increasing alarm that I knew nothing of this man. The cleric had regarded him as a Lord and the guard had demanded respect from the other prisoner. But what did that mean to me?

My panic eased as I remembered I'd been ready to die in that cell. What difference did it make if this man would kill me instead?

His touch disappeared and I was left only with the sensation of the soft fabric beneath me. I chanced opening my eyes and was happy to find my vision clear as the door closed beside me. I recognized that I was in a carriage, despite rarely having traveled in one. It was large enough for four and I felt embarrassingly small sitting alone inside it.

“Let’s go home, Sam.” I heard Lord Markov’s voice muffled through the walls before he opened the door on the opposite end.

Lord Markov climbed into the carriage beside me. Upon studying his face, my heart skipped a beat.

He could have been Jeremi Terryn's twin. The silver eyes that glittered in a way that made me catch my breath when he smiled. The same dark, silken hair that begged for fingers to stroke through each strand. High cheekbones that softened his angled face. I struggled to find words as my stomach tied itself into knots.

“Lord Markov--”

“Please, call me Adrien.”

“Adrien... Who are you?”

“I’m Jeremi Terryn's brother. When I'd heard the news of his and Victoria’s untimely passing, I came to Anastas as soon as I could. Jeremi had written to me about you many times in our correspondence, but he and his lady wife kept you very well hidden.”

“You don't share his name?”

“No, my lady, but that is a story for another day.”

It wasn’t the first time I’d heard of someone changing their name to break family ties. I sifted through my exhausted thoughts to recall if Jeremi had ever mentioned a brother. I came up with nothing. If Adrien would speak to me another day on the subject, I at least owed him that courtesy.

“How did you know about...their deaths?”

“I live in Valford, barely a day's ride from here. One of Jeremi's trusted servants had a letter in my hands the next morning. She mentioned you'd been locked away as you were found in their room with the bodies.”

No one believed me when I told them the truth; I'd found them murdered in their bed. I was the only possible suspect according to the guards that found me. I'd not only been Jeremi and Victoria's Ring for three years but in their servitude for nearly ten. And that meant nothing to the masses of Anastas.

“Do you think I killed them?”

He paused for a time. I shifted uncomfortably in my seat as I tried to keep my eyes on him. The resemblance to Jeremi was eerie and my emotions weren't prepared to handle it. After studying me carefully, he took my left hand. He massaged my ring finger, where a small, intricate tattoo encircled the base.

“No, I don't think you killed them. I don't believe you had any motive to. The position of a Ring is one held in high regard, especially if a Whisper obtains it.”

Rings were becoming more of a common occurrence in a married household. They were considered a link between a man and wife; a person that would satisfy a couple's every need whether on an emotional or physical level. I knew the Terryns better than any person alive, and they treated me like a queen. I lived with them, dined with them, reveled in their joys, and shared their bed when they beckoned. They housed me, clothed me, showered me with a wealth I'd never known or needed, and loved me as I'd loved them. I missed them so much...

“Josselyn, are you alright?”

I hadn't realized I was crying until Adrien called my name. I wiped my eyes on the inside of my arm, doing my best to not touch the expensive fabric of the carriage with my blackened hands. I was covered in grime from the cell from head to foot. I felt disgusting. I shook my head to clear thoughts of sleep- I had more questions that needed answering.

Adrien fished a small cloth from inside his cloak and took one of my hands in his. With methodic strokes, he cleaned the dirt from my fingers. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d been shown such a nicety. I watched him for a moment, collecting my thoughts.

“If they'd never mentioned that I was a Whisper, how did you find me?”

“I knew your name. A name stained in blood is not a well-kept secret.”

“Pardon me if it is too bold, Adrien, but if you knew I had been locked away, what took so long to find me?”

“The prison guards spoke as if you were already dead. No one wanted to admit the Temple had taken you until they had a respectable amount of gold in their pockets.”

There would have been no trial. They were trying to kill me in that cell. I felt numb.

“Why did you come for me?” The question had burned in the back of my mind since he'd set foot in front of my cage.

“In one of Jeremi’s last letters I received, he asked me to take care of you and his wife should anything ever happen to him. I couldn’t ignore my brother’s last wish.” He took my second hand and cleaned it with equal care as the first.

“So how do I repay you?”

“What do you mean?”

“Do you want me as a servant in your home? I feel I should repay you somehow for my life.”

“Josselyn… I don’t want you to work at my estate as a servant. I have enough of those. What I need is...something more.” The smile that spread across his lips was all too familiar. I'd seen it on Jeremi's so many times before. I was suddenly curious as to what Jeremi had written in his letters. “I will feed you and clothe you, and you will want for nothing. I believe you have the correct set of skills to fulfill your part of the bargain.”

In spite of the warm sun and the exhaustion that wracked my body, I felt a chill slide down my spine. I couldn't even give credence to what Adrien was proposing; I was too hungry and too tired.

“We can talk about that when we arrive.” He folded the dirtied cloth and set aside before procuring a satchel from the carriage floor. He unwrapped it, revealing varied fruits, cheeses, and bread that set my mouth watering. I began to devour the small meal before he could place the cloth completely in my lap. Laughing, he handed me a skin of water. “Don't eat too quickly, it's not going anywhere.”

I couldn't heed his words; my stomach was doing all of the thinking for me. As soon as I'd polished off the last breadcrumb and drained the skin to the last drop, exhaustion finally took me. I couldn’t keep my eyes open and Adrien noticed.

“We'll be on the road for some time. You're welcome to sleep.”

Without thinking, I glanced at Adrien's lap before my eyes flickered back to his face. The cushions would have been perfectly fine. The carriage was large enough to fit me comfortably if I curled my knees to my chest. Besides, I barely knew this man. But a knowing smile curved his lips and I felt a flush of embarrassment creep up my neck and paint my cheeks. He said nothing, only carefully guided my head onto his thigh and arranged my legs on the length of the seat. He stroked my head and the steady lull of the cart rocked me like a cradle. For the first time in as long as I could remember, I fell into a dreamless sleep.