by Amanda Fleet
I had no answer for him. I wasn’t Aeron. I wasn’t asking to be allowed in.
The guard he’d dispatched to the rock face returned. “Nothing there. Traitors’ Gate is clear. This feels like a trap.”
The rocks in my stomach turned to boulders. How could there be nothing there? The place should have been swarming with police.
Lord Eredan pursed his lips and turned back to his chair. “Put The Realm on full alert. Guards on every portal.” His eyes met mine. “We trapped Aegyir so deep that he should never have been able to roam again. How was he released?”
“I don’t know.”
He rubbed his chin with the back of his fingers. “Why have you returned? Are you here to finish what you started?”
His words battered me and my legs buckled. “I don’t know why I’m here. I was thrown at a rock face and ended up here. I didn’t come here deliberately.”
I didn’t even know where ‘here’ was. Somewhere from my dreams, but I wasn’t dreaming.
He snapped his fingers at a guard. “Take her down to the cells. And summon Faran. He can decide what to do with his wife.”
2
My brain was reeling too much for me to keep track of the twists and turns I was led through before reaching the cells. Another guard stepped forwards and frisked me a little too enthusiastically before pushing me into a small cell with a bed against the wall and a tiny room off to one side containing a toilet and a sink. Like the hall I’d come from, there were no windows, but daylight streamed in through the glass ceiling. Rough stone made up the floor and walls. No fine panelling or paint down here.
The guard shoved me to the floor, and I bruised my knees and skinned my palms as I slammed into the stone floor. The heavy door closed and locks tumbled. I picked myself up and sat on the hard, narrow bed, staring at my maimed hand. I was Reagan Bennett. I was twenty-two. This morning I’d buried Finn, the love of my life. I’d only visited this place in my dreams. Was I dreaming now? The pain had felt too real for that to be the case. And how had that magic ointment healed my hand?
I was still pondering it all when the door opened and the talkative son Orian stood in the middle of the room. His expression was soft but, in my guts, I trusted him as much as a snake. I stood warily, my cuffs clinking.
“Aeron.” A lock of dark, wavy hair fell forward, and he pushed it back.
“Reagan,” I corrected, trying not to sound frustrated. “Why does everyone think I’m called Aeron?”
“Because Aeron is the only Guardian who is banished. The rest of us are all here.” He held out a small leather-bound book. “This is for you. I can’t help you any more than this. You’ll have to hope that Faran doesn’t share Father’s view of you.”
“Why are you helping me at all?” The words escaped before I could stop them.
A smile poked into his cheek. “You intrigue me.”
“What’s so intriguing?”
“You have the eyes of a Guardian. You entered The Realm like a Guardian. All the Guardians are accounted for except Aeron. And yet you insist that you’re not her.”
“I get the feeling that Aeron would be made less than welcome.”
“Well.” He pressed the book into my hands. It was fastened with a thong and looked identical to the one that had been left for me on my kitchen table a few days ago. The one that had spectacularly forgotten to mention that three Guardians were needed to kill Aegyir. “It tells the history of when we defeated the wraiths. Assuming that Father doesn’t have you hanged as a traitor.”
Just like in my dreams.
He flapped a hand. “I doubt Faran would agree to that. He didn’t last time.”
“Faran is Aeron’s husband?” I don’t know why I needed the clarification. I’d dreamed of Faran all my life.
“Yes.” His brow creased, and he tugged at his sage-green jacket, straightening it.
“You don’t seem to like him.”
He leaned against the rough wall. “Let’s just say we’ve had our differences in the past.”
I fingered the soft leather cover of the book. “What do you think he’ll say?”
He pushed his lip out. “Well, I can’t imagine that he’d support your being hanged any more than he did last time. But I doubt he’ll be pleased to see you.”
I swallowed, remembering how much he’d hated me in my recent dreams. “Tell me about him?”
“Faran? Don’t you remember him?”
“Not really.”
Orian blinked. “Oh. He’s tall. A good warrior. Has a hot temper, but it burns out quickly. Clever. Political.”
I’d been hoping for words like kind, generous, happy, loving, caring.
“You’ll find out for yourself soon.” Orian straightened. “He’s due here any minute.”
My heart stuttered. Great. Any meeting with him wasn’t going to be a party, if he thought I was Aeron, too.
Maybe he’ll realise I’m not. My mood lifted at the thought.
“I’ll leave you in peace,” said Orian.
He cast a last glance at me and hammered on the door to be released.
Alone again, I sank down on to the bed. “Finn? Is this real? Did I die when Stephen threw me at the rock and this is someone’s idea of hell?”
Silence bounced back from the walls and I tried to blink away the image of his coffin being lowered into his grave. His spirit might have been around in the cottage after he’d died, but there’d been no sign of him since he’d been buried. Would I ever even see his spirit again?
I rubbed my nose on the back of my hand and turned to the book Orian had left. Like the one that had been left at the cottage, the writing inside was runic. I skimmed through it, slow over the runes. Much seemed the same as the book I’d found in the cottage, and gave the history of Aegyir, the wraiths and the demons.
A diagram drew my eye. It showed very clearly that three Guardians were needed to kill a demon and trap it in a vessel. I read the text underneath. A powerful demon required three powerful Guardians to make a triangle around it to trap it after it had been stabbed and decapitated. For a demon at its pinnacle, the top three Guardians of The Realm were required. Far from resembling a column of smoke – as Aegyir had when I’d beheaded him – a demon killed on Realm soil made a ball of smoke that could then be sucked into the vessel.
“It would have been helpful to know all this earlier!” I muttered.
Before I could read any more, the door opened, making me scramble up from the bed, my heart pounding. Filling the cramped space of the cell was the man Finn hadn’t liked me dreaming about – Faran. Aeron’s – my? – husband.
His coal-black hair was cut shorter than Orian’s. The breadth of his shoulders would have put even Finn’s to shame. Like Orian, he wore a snug-fitting leather jacket and leather trousers, but his outfit was jet black. He had the same green and grey eyes with dark lashes as his brother, but full lips made a clear Cupid’s bow. Sharp cheekbones rode high above a square jaw. He towered over me by a good eight inches, staring straight at me, his eyes burning.
“Aeron?”
“So everyone here seems to believe.”
His left fist connected with my face and I staggered backwards, bright dots dancing through my vision. My back ricocheted off the wall, and I crumpled to the ground.
“You betrayed me. And you betrayed The Realm. How dare you show your face here again?”
He stood over me as I lay on the floor, his breathing fierce, his fists clenching. The ring on the middle finger of his left hand had acted like a knuckle-duster and the right side of my face started to swell. He grabbed me by my top, hauled me to my feet and slammed me into the wall again, knocking the breath from me. The back of my head bounced on the wall. I met his eyes, expecting to die fairly soon.
“How could you have done that to me? And how can you have the nerve to come back?”
“I didn’t do anything,” I said, desperately. I may have practised self-defence with Finn, but Faran was a lot taller t
han me and at least twice my weight. I’d have no chance if he decided to kill me.
I tried to bring my hands up to protect myself, but I was still cuffed. The metal clinking took Faran’s focus away from my face and down to my hands and his eyes widened. In an instant, his grip loosened, and I slumped to the floor.
“Aeron, forgive me. I didn’t know you were cuffed,” he said. “Guards!”
One of the guards scurried in.
“Get those cuffs off her.”
The man hesitated, looking from me to Faran as if deciding who was the bigger threat, and I thought Faran was about to lose it again. I held my wrists up so the guard could free me, keeping an eye on Faran. The cuffs off, the guard stepped back, putting as much space between him and Faran as the cramped confines of the cell allowed.
“Leave.” Faran’s gaze was back on me, though he was clearly referring to the guard, who hovered by the doorway. Faran turned his head, and the guard hurried out, shutting the door behind him.
Faran reached down as if to help me up, but I swatted his hand away. “Don’t touch me!”
He drew his hand back, his shoulders taut. “You don’t remember what you did?”
I touched my swelling cheek and sucked in a sharp breath. “How could I? It wasn’t me that did any of it.”
“You’re Aeron.”
I scraped myself up off the floor. “Until less than an hour ago, I was Reagan Bennett! Anyway, aren’t you supposed to be Aeron’s husband, not someone trying to kill her?”
“I don’t need reminding of our marriage.” His clipped diction sounded exactly like Lord Eredan’s. He also sounded as if being married to me was the worst thing he could endure. I wondered what Orian’s definition of ‘burning out quickly’ was as Faran’s temper showed no signs of abating.
He stared at me silently, then turned on his heel and hammered on the door to be let out. I crawled back on to the bed and curled into a ball. My face throbbed and I couldn’t open my right eye properly. I wished I could leave. But even if I could, what was there for me back through the portal? Finn was dead, and I hadn’t killed Aegyir, after all. I closed my eyes, remembering what the new book had said about defeating the demon. Special daggers that I no longer had. On Realm soil. Three Guardians making a triangle. A ball of smoke getting sucked into a vessel I didn’t have. Without all that, I would merely be cannon-fodder for Aegyir and Finn would still be dead and unavenged. Tears crept out between my lashes and tracked down my cheeks.
The door banging broke my thoughts. Someone sat next to me on the narrow bed. Even with my eyes closed, I could tell from his size that it was Faran. I tried hard not to cower, my pride stronger than my sense of self-preservation, evidently.
“I’ve brought you salve.”
I turned my battered face to him, the bruising from him no doubt matching the battering on the other side from Aegyir and Stephen. He said nothing, but I wondered if I saw regret in his face before he dropped his gaze.
“Forgive me,” he said. A command, not a plea.
The regret I thought I’d seen gave me courage. “Look at me!”
His eyes crawled back up to mine, and I glowered at him as he took in the damage his punch had done. He bit his lips together, his breathing slightly ragged.
“Forgive me?” he asked, sounding far less sure of himself. “I didn’t realise you were cuffed.”
“So, if I’d not been cuffed, it would have been okay to smash my face in?”
“You would have defended yourself.”
I said nothing. Maybe Aeron could have defended herself against him, but I wasn’t sure I could have, even with my hands free. I held my hand out for the small pot he held. He didn’t let me have it. Instead, he unscrewed the lid, scooped a smidgen of cream on to his finger and took hold of my hand, turning it over so that it was palm down. I tried to pull my hand free, but he gripped it firmly.
“Don’t fight me.” He stroked the balm exquisitely gently over the marks the cuffs had left. Pain seared through me and I screwed my face up, gasping. He kept his focus on my wrist but a muscle ticked in his jaw. Slowly the pain died away and my breathing steadied. He repeated the manoeuvre on my other wrist, waiting until my breathing settled again before releasing my hand. His lips parted as if he was about to say something, then closed again. He dipped his finger into the pot of salve.
“This will hurt,” he said, softly. “Close your eyes.”
He took hold of my chin with the finger and thumb of his other hand, but I batted him away as viciously as I could.
“Don’t. Touch. Me,” I spat, holding my hand out for the pot again.
A flicker of annoyance raced across his face and I chopped down on his wrist, making him drop the jar. I caught it lightly. Then I remembered that he had a say over my future. I couldn’t cool my temper though, my brain flooding with memories of my adopted step-brother, Stephen, beating me half to death.
“You can’t see where to apply it,” he said, his flicking fingers demanding the return of the pot.
“I know where it hurts,” I snapped back. I moved to the far side of the cell and smoothed the salve on my lip and cheek.
The pain hit me like a battering ram and I cursed. Faran stayed on the bed, watching me. When I had control of my breathing, he came to my side. He man-handled me so that my back was against the wall and I jabbed out with my elbow. I hit air, the intense pain in my face making me slower than normal coupled with him moving smartly out of the way. He prised the jar from my grasp and scraped up some of the balm. His finger hovered above my face and I fixed him with a malevolent stare.
“Don’t touch me!” I said.
“Don’t fight me,” he muttered irritably, pressing his weight against me and pinning me against the wall. He held my chin in his finger and thumb again and smoothed some salve over my cheek. I tried to pull away, but he held me firm, working his way tenderly over my face until every bruise, cut and swelling had been covered, including the injuries I’d sustained in the fight with Aegyir. Only then did he release his hold on my chin. As waves of pain crashed through me, he bit his lips together, casting his glance to the side. Sighing heavily, he drew my face against his shoulder and cradled me against him, his fingers stroking my neck.
“Sh. Sh… I’m sorry.”
He smelled of warm leather and sun on skin. Despite the soreness in my face and the fact he terrified me, resting against him soothed me. He felt as familiar as Finn, though Finn had never lifted a finger against me in his life. Tears stung my eyes again, and I prayed to be able to contain them. The last thing I wanted was to burst into tears against this man who’d just punched me in the face.
“How’s the pain?” he asked softly against my temple.
“Easing.”
In truth, it was gone, but I was too close to tears to trust myself to move. He shifted his arms, enclosing me completely and a million memories of him holding me like this swarmed through my brain, leaving me reeling.
Except it wasn’t me. How could it be?
It felt so natural to be held by him, but I couldn’t forget that barely ten minutes ago he’d hit me. I pushed him away, turning to stare at the wall over the bed. He touched my fingertips, and I snatched my hand away and folded my arms across my chest.
“Forgive me,” he whispered.
I looked back to him, but didn’t respond.
He sat on the bed, his forearms on his broad thighs. “Why did you come back?”
I eyeballed him. “Why are you so convinced I’m Aeron?”
“You look like her. Mostly.” He snorted. “I know my wife.”
My heart rattled against my ribs. I was not his wife.
“When am I supposed to have left?”
“You were banished more than a year and a half ago. Almost two years.”
I shook my head. “No. Two years ago, I was finishing at college and living in a small town with a man called Finn.”
He sighed. “Two years ago Outside. Perhaps we can talk about your
life Outside later.” He fiddled with the ring on his left hand. “Outside, time runs differently. Two years here are many more years of Outside time. Your original body – the one that was banished – will have died, and your spirit taken to a new one. And since the spirit gives life to the body as well as character, you look like the Aeron that was banished. Well, almost.” His eyes flicked between the stud in my nose and the row of them in the ear he could see. “What are they?”
“Piercings.”
His brow wrinkled.
“For decoration,” I said.
“Decoration? They look horrible. As does all the paint on your face. Is that deemed decoration Outside?”
I glowered, and we lapsed into silence again.
“And what happened to your hair?” he asked, after a few minutes.
“What?”
“What happened to your hair? You look like a…” He tailed away and pressed his lips together, frowning.
I glared. “What? What do I look like?”
He swung his gaze away from me. “Forgive me.”
“What do I look like?”
His shoulders heaved as he sucked in a deep breath and exhaled with a sigh. “A traitor. But your hair wasn’t shorn before you were banished.”
“Why not?” The words were out before I could stop them.
He turned to me, his brows arching. “Because you’re a Guardian.”
“What, and Guardians don’t get their hair cut off when they betray The Realm?”
He straightened slowly, his muscles tense. “No other Guardian has ever betrayed The Realm. Aeron.”
Hatred filled his voice as he said the name. Hard to believe not five minutes ago he’d cradled me against him, full of tenderness. My jaw clenched.
“Well, I hate to deliver such a blow to your ego, pal, but I have no memory of you. Or of what I’m supposed to have done.”
“You invited Aegyir into The Realm,” he said, his voice level. “He slaughtered many people before we could defeat him. You seduced him. You promised him he would reign with you at his side.”
I gritted my teeth. “Aegyir can only be defeated on Realm soil, by three Guardians using swords and daggers, right? And he can only enter The Realm if he’s invited in or if he’s strong enough to storm it by force?”