Idriel's Children (Odriel's Heirs Book 2)

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Idriel's Children (Odriel's Heirs Book 2) Page 11

by Hayley Reese Chow


  Two more figures stood across from each other in the spacious room, a fire crackling between them and a plush rug connecting a broad desk and collection of deep red armchairs. The young man stood near the far wall, his hands crossed tightly across his thin chest, and a deep frown creasing his face below his muss of dark curls. Dorinar. Exactly how she had pictured him from her parents’ stories.

  Aza’s eyes slid to the gorgeous woman across from him, her yanaa almost palpable as it radiated from her in thick, powerful waves. She stood tall and slender, her caramel hair falling to her waist. Distaste pulled at the corners of her plump mouth while her onyx gaze flicked from Aza’s muddy boots to her dirt-streaked face.

  “I thought I could smell a dog.” The honed edges of her melodious voice cut through the silence. “Make sure you tell it to stay outside. Beasts don’t belong in the house.”

  The short-haired woman retreated a step to lean against the wall, her dark blue eyes wary, but she didn’t move to close the door.

  Aza’s muscles tightened. The sharp-tongued one had meant for Makeo to hear her. But unlike the sailors, it wasn’t fear that filled the bitter words. This woman was a different creature entirely. Dangerous, and powerful. Aza’s instincts screamed in warning, and she fought to keep herself from drawing her weapons.

  Shad padded through the open door beside her and then jerked to a stop. “Ivanora.”

  Shock raced through Aza, and she had to force herself not to look at Makeo waiting outside. This was the woman responsible for his curse. The magus who reveled in the Maldibor’s eternal humiliation.

  Ivanora flashed a glittering smile at Shad. “Ah yes. Hello, pet.” She tutted. “Did Everard tire of you already?”

  Shadmundar brushed against Aza’s leg in a silent warning. “Seems like he’s tired of just about everything these days.”

  Aza nodded to him in understanding. Everard’s favor had always granted them a certain amount of protection from his bitter siblings. If Ivanora didn’t know he had abandoned them, they certainly wouldn’t tell her.

  But from the tension that stretched between Dorinar and Ivanora, Aza got the distinct impression the two magi had already been fighting about something before they’d arrived. Something neither of them wanted to keep on about with strangers in the room. But that was normal for the secretive magi. For all Aza knew, Makeo’s ancestor, Elika, may have been the last human to see Ivanora when she cursed him for not loving her.

  Ivanora’s glittering black eyes lingered on Shad. “You could always come with me, Shadmundar. I like cats too.”

  “I appreciate the offer, but I think a century is quite enough.”

  “Suit yourself. But why the Shadow Heir of all people?” She wrinkled her dainty nose. “They’ve always been so… stiff.” Her saccharine smile dripped with sticky disdain.

  Aza snorted. “When was the last time you even met a Shadow Heir?”

  “Just because you do not see me, does not mean I do not see you, Aza Thane.” Her lips twisted. “Although I am disappointed I never got the chance to meet your father.”

  Aza’s stomach dropped, her ears buzzing. Her eyes darted around the room. Dorinar’s face darkened, but he said nothing. The woman by the door paled beneath her freckles, and even Shad seemed to shrink an inch.

  Keeping her countenance smooth, Aza cleared her throat. “I’m afraid you’re mistaken.” She clasped her hands behind her so they wouldn’t betray the shuddering emotions that threatened to rattle her bones. “My father is alive and well.”

  Ivanora’s mouth opened, false shock widening her eyes. “Oh, you haven’t heard?” She put a long-fingered hand to her cheek. “Your parents died in an ambush not two weeks ago.” She shook her head in mock sorrow. “They think it was Idriel’s horde come back for revenge, but no one knows for sure.”

  Aza’s whole body froze over. She thought of their cries on the Shadow Plane, and her heart spasmed with a wild panic. Had they been calling out for her? Shocked static fizzed in her ears. Perhaps if she had gone to them instead of embarking on her own selfish mission, they would still be alive. She swallowed the nausea that rose in her throat in bubbling, burning acid, her faraway stare focusing on Ivanora’s barely concealed mirth.

  No.

  She didn’t believe this woman with her snarling smile and hollow eyes. Aza’s gaze slid to Dorinar, leaning against the corner. He’d saved her parents’ lives more than once. Though he was still dangerous, he was certainly a more reliable source than Ivanora. Aza’s silent regard asked the unspoken question.

  Dorinar’s face did not break from its hard mask, but his tight nod knocked the breath from her lungs.

  Aza fought to keep her expression neutral as she slowly sucked in air. No. Ivanora was lying. This was a woman of jealousy and secrets and bitterness. She could not be trusted. Aza wouldn’t let herself be baited. Her parents were the two strongest people in the land. They’d defeated a demon necromancer and his army nearly single-handedly. They’d taken the powerful Dracour clan with them, and her mother had suspected something. They wouldn’t have been caught unaware. They wouldn’t have fallen to some mere ambush.

  No. Aza shredded through the icy flood of shock and panic and sorrow that threatened to drown her, to suffocate her, to destroy her. Not here. Not now. She could not—she would not show weakness. Not in front of this viper coiled to strike.

  She would mourn no one until she saw their graves herself. Straightening under the eyes pinned on her, she lifted her chin. “If I’m the Shadow Heir now, then you may refer to me as Guardian Thane.”

  For a moment, the room stilled. Ivanora stiffened, the mocking glee in her countenance replaced by a stony mask of rage. Then remembering herself, she bared her teeth once more. “As you wish, Guardian Thane.” She adjusted the collar of her cloak and picked up a pair of slim volumes from the desk. “And I will be borrowing these, Dorinar,” she said, daring him to contradict her as their matching glares locked.

  The air sizzled, the yanaa sparking between them, thick and electric. Ivanora looked away first, punctuating her retreat with a haughty sniff. “You wouldn’t begrudge your sister a little light reading. We are family after all.”

  With that, she whisked past Aza, out the door into the darkening swamp. She paused only a moment before Makeo’s broad chest, bringing a hand to her nose. “Even more repulsive than I remembered.”

  Witt crossed his arms. “Rude, lady.”

  An unexpected swell of affection rushed through Aza. Witt might’ve been an idiot, but he was no coward.

  Ivanora’s eyes narrowed at him, her fingers twitching in a way that made Aza’s hand jerk for the hilt of her dagger. Shad curled his tail around her ankle, his eye widening with a silent “no.” Makeo shifted ever so slightly to angle his huge shoulder in front of Witt, and Dorinar strode to the doorway, his thin frame not filling it by half.

  Ivanora smirked and pushed her long, shining hair behind one shoulder. “My dear, you have no idea.” She spun on her heel, and in three steps, she had disappeared amongst the trees.

  Chapter Twelve

  Dorinar

  “Well, that’s that.” The freckled woman clapped her hands together as if to snap them all free from the net of tension Ivanora had cast over them. She waved to Makeo and Witt. “Come in before the draft does.”

  Dorinar stalked to the plump armchair in the corner of the room, and Makeo and Witt stepped in.

  “I’m Marloa. I help Dorinar with his research and make sure he survives out here.” She gestured to the cushioned seats gathered around the fire. “Please, rest yourselves while I get a bite to eat.”

  Aza’s tongue lay dry and heavy in her mouth. A sudden exhaustion seeped through her, as if fending off Ivanora’s claims had taken some actual feat of strength. The horrified grief she had pushed down threatened to rise again, but she buried it once more with a brute force of will. My parents are not dead. Makeo sagged into the closest armchair, the seat nearly threadbare, his muzzle turned t
o the floor, while Witt watched her with glistening eyes of concern.

  Only Shad seemed unfazed by the strange encounter as he crossed the room to the glowering magus. Dorinar gripped the arms of his chair as if bracing for attack.

  “Well, Dorinar?” Shad began, the two words weighted with unsaid questions.

  Dorinar didn’t give. “Well, cat?”

  Marloa came back in with three steaming mugs gripped in her hands and passed them to Witt, Aza, and Makeo. “Had some crallusk chowder on the fire.” She put her hands on her hips. “Thought it might warm you up.”

  Aza nodded her thanks, but something else stuck to her thoughts. “Have we met?” Something about the cloud of dark freckles on Marloa’s fawn skin seemed familiar. “How’d you know who I was?”

  “I’d be shocked if you remembered.” Marloa’s face softened in a smile. “You could barely put four words together when I first met you at Catalede, and I was but a girl myself.” She rubbed at her ink-stained fingers. “But you look so much like your father; you’re impossible to mistake.”

  “Ah.” Aza tried for a weak smile, but it seemed to catch in her throat at the mention of her father. She swallowed it thickly, a pressure building in her forehead—all the thoughts she could not let herself think demanding to be released. But she could master them. She had to.

  Across the room, Shad still worked at Dorinar. “Are you going to tell us why Ivanora was here?”

  “What business is it of yours?” Dorinar crossed his arms as if to shield himself from the wet cat.

  Shad pressed on, his voice low but urgent. “What about the news of the Heirs? Is it true?”

  “What do I care?” Dorinar shrugged, but an old sorrow tugged at his eyes that belied his flat tone. “If you’ve come for gossip, find it elsewhere.”

  “Oh stop, Dorn.” Marloa rolled her eyes. “Ivanora showed up yesterday demanding texts on curses, yanai barriers, talismans… everything. But you know how possessive Dorn is about his spell books. She was quite nasty about it. Even more than usual.”

  “What about Guardian Dashul and Guardian Thane?” Witt asked, staring into the fire.

  “There’s been talk in the village of trouble up north, but that was the first news I’d heard of the Heirs’ passing.” Marloa brushed a hand against Aza’s arm, her face soft with kindness. “I’m so sorry. It’s been a while since I’ve seen them, but they were always so kind to me.”

  Aza ground her teeth together to stop herself from slapping Marloa’s hand away. Ivanora had been lying. Couldn’t the rest of them see that? She sucked in a breath, but her voice still came out rough. “What about Zephyr? Is he…”

  Marloa shook her head. “She said nothing of your brother.”

  “And if something had happened, she would know,” Shad said, his gaze strangely soft. “She would have mentioned it.”

  Of course she would have, if only to twist the knife. Aza nodded, holding her breath to keep the treacherous sob in her throat—of relief, or sorrow, or fury—she wasn’t sure.

  “I would ask what brings an Heir trespassing into my home… again,” Dorinar grumbled, squeezing the bridge of his nose. “But I simply do not have the energy for whatever pathetic human troubles you’re bringing with you this evening.” He stood and made his slow escape through the hall with shuffling steps.

  “We’ll be here tomorrow, Dorn.” Shad turned his long dark whiskers to the fire. “You know we won’t leave that easily.”

  Dorinar adjusted his robe with a huff. “You never do.”

  ✽✽✽

  After four days of sleeping in the wet and chill of the Tazgar marsh, the dusty room and lumpy mattress of Dorinar’s sprawling house should have been a pleasant reprieve. With fatigue clinging to her bones from weeks on the road, she should have fallen asleep as soon as her scarred cheek met the flat pillows. But with thoughts of her parents and Ivanora’s infuriating smile twisting through her mind, she couldn’t let her guard down in the slightest. If she did, the unthinkable possibility would seep into her. Maybe her parents really were dead.

  They are not, she rebuffed herself furiously, fists clenching as if to batter down the encroaching sorrow. Ivanora had lied to get under her skin for some reason. But why? A predawn bird released a single questioning trill, and Aza couldn’t lay there a second longer. She rose from the bed and made her way out the door into the near darkness. The damp air chirruped with ribbed frogs, mire finches, and who knew what other marsh creatures.

  The hiss of Aza’s blades escaping their sheathes cut through the swamp serenade, and her boots squelched as she whirled and slashed. She missed the extra weight of her training weapons in her hands and Catalede’s firm cobbles under her boots. She breathed in the smell of moss and still water with every strike, willing it to purge the guilt and despair from her disobedient thoughts.

  In. Out. Control your breath. Control your body. Control your mind.

  With each movement she coiled the emotions that threatened to overtake her. Confusion, anger, and sorrow wrapped into a tight manageable ball she could lock away. The scent of musk invaded the air, and a large shadow edged her vision, pulling away her focus.

  Aza sighed, not looking in Makeo’s direction while debating whether to acknowledge him or not. She couldn’t risk his kindness tearing down the shaky walls she was so desperately trying to brace. If she didn’t say anything, he might just take the hint and give up. But Makeo was nothing if not patient. Perhaps if she was short with him, he would leave sooner.

  “What, Keo.”

  “Couldn’t sleep?”

  She stabbed the air. “Sleep is just wasted time.”

  “I expected you to be storming into Dorinar’s chambers this morning.” He paused. “Thinking about your parents?”

  She winced at the too-gentle words, the thought of her mother’s warm arms around her constricting her chest. Stop it. She whirled and kicked out. “What’s there to think about?” She slashed again, and his huge broadsword met her dagger with a clang.

  “We’re all hurting for you, Aza.” His green eyes were soft. “I’m sorry you had to hear it from someone like Ivanora.”

  And he was, the pain glistening in his eyes—reaching out to her. The very sight of them stung the raw open wound she refused to acknowledge. Aza broke away and slashed twice more, his broadsword twisting to block. “I thought the Maldibor were supposed to be able to sense things. She was obviously lying.”

  He nodded, his blade between them. “Perhaps she was. But with what you heard on the Shadow Plane I thought you might be…”

  She feinted and darted under his guard, the point of her blade tickling his unprotected side. Her breath came out in a hiss. “Don’t worry about it. I’ve got everything under control.”

  He shook his head, lowering his weapon. “It’s okay if you don’t.”

  “Not really.” Aza straightened, brushing her hair away from her damp forehead. Her fatigue mercifully leeching away her other emotions. “We have to move forward, Keo.”

  “Are you sure you wouldn’t rather go to your brother?” The point of Makeo’s sword dug into the spongy ground as he leaned on it. “What if he’s—”

  “By the time I reach him, he’ll already be with your tribe.” Flicking a knife from its sheath on her chest, she flung it toward the nearest trunk, spearing a leaf on its way. She latched onto the distraction to keep her from meeting the worry in Makeo’s gaze. “He’ll be safe with them.” Wouldn’t he? Please, for the love of Odriel, let him be safe.

  Makeo hummed, a deep vibration in the back of his throat. “But you don’t think he’s worried mad about you? That with your parents gone, he might need you with him?”

  “That’s a sweet thought.” Aza yanked the knife from the trunk and wiped it against her breeches, her movements slowing from the exhaustion no longer content to be ignored. “But even if he was the worrying type—which he’s not—Zephyr has Hoku and his friends.” She swallowed, willing it to be true. It had only been ten
days since she’d seen him last. Which meant she still had at least another week before he even reached Carceroc. If she moved fast, she could still meet him there. “He’ll be fine, and I’ll find him as soon as I get answers about the Shadow Plane.”

  “Well then, what’re you waiting for?” He cocked his head toward the cottage. “The magus was already at his books when I arose.”

  Aza sheathed her daggers, the heaviness of reluctance weighing her thoughts. With disappointment or vindication looming over her there was a part of her that wanted to stay in this moment of unknown. What if they’d come all that way for nothing, and she had to face her brother and the deaths of her parents empty-handed?

  She shook her head, trying to bat away the hesitation. No matter what, she had to continue on. No matter where her path led, there was no use waiting.

  Without another word, Aza strode past Makeo into the cottage. The smell of roasting fish and honey floated from the kitchen. She was only half surprised to see that Witt had taken over the kettle at the fire. He stirred the pot, and Marloa handed him a jar of spice.

  She noticed them at the doorway and greeted them with a smile. “Come in and join us.” She nodded at Witt. “Your boy there certainly knows his way about a kitchen. Even I’m curious to see what he comes up with.”

  A smile curved Aza’s lips as Witt added a pinch of the dried green plant to whatever delicious experiment he was concocting. But she wasn’t here for that. “We’d like to talk to Dorinar. You know where he is this morning?”

  Marloa’s smirk deepened. “Ah, yes. Let me go drag him out of his cave for you. He needs to eat too, after all.”

  “What smells so delicious?” Makeo asked, sitting on the bench next to the long table that ran the length of the kitchen. A chaotic scattering of dissimilar chairs and stools lined the other side.

  Witt blew on a spoon of what looked like hearty porridge. “Marloa caught a hissing bass in the pond this morning, and I couldn’t just let it go to waste.” He gingerly tasted the spoon and closed his eyes with a smile. “Honeyed hissing pottage.” He rustled around the open shelves for wooden bowls and spoons like he’d lived here all his life. “Good to warm bones and souls.”

 

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