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

by Hayley Reese Chow

  Makeo nodded. “I’ve never seen one, but I heard the Heirs describe it as both a farewell to the last generation and a blessing of the next. Perhaps we could—”

  “No,” Aza cut him off. Her wounds had only just scabbed over, and she refused to let them break open once more. “There will be no greeting of any kind until my parents’ fate is more than just a rumor.”

  Shoulder-to-shoulder they chewed their bread and listened to the rain tapping its cold nails on the ledge above them.

  Finally, Shad swallowed the last of his paltry meal and sighed. “Well, I’m too tired to argue.” He curled his tail tightly around himself in the corner of the shallow cove. “Don’t wake me until you’re ready to carry me the rest of the way.” With that, he closed his good eye and tucked his small head against his haunches.

  Aza looked down the path to where the abbey carved into the side of the cliff awaited them. Would she find the secret of the Shadow Plane somewhere in those walls? Would she even be able to cross over without drawing the Lost to them? And if the Plane were a place for the dead, would she find her parents wandering the gray grass with the grotesque shadow dwellers? She could already see the disappointment etched onto her parents’ faces.

  She squeezed her brow to dispel the somber image, her arm brushing Witt’s in the close space. Makeo breathed in and out slowly on the other side, the pulse of his life rising and falling against her shoulder. Fatigue looped around them all, but Aza couldn’t even begin to imagine sleeping in this crevice.

  She let her hands fall to her lap. “You can rest. I’ll take first watch,” she said to no one in particular.

  Witt fidgeted beside her. Discomfort obvious in his tense shoulders. “I’m sorry about your parents, Aza. They were heroes of Okarria.” His hands clenched the loose canvas of his bag. “And they were always good to me.”

  Aza’s arms tightened around her knees, but she didn’t reply, and he didn’t press. She almost wished he would. That he’d go into one of his pointless, long-winded tales. That he’d go down some rabbit hole that made him laugh at his own stupidity or ask her for something silly. Because that would be the normal she needed.

  Eventually, Witt’s body loosened with sleep, and his mop of curls fell onto her shoulder, breaths slow and deep. Aza’s fingers closed around a weed growing up in the sandy rock under her. She pulled it up and twirled it between her fingers. Had her parents been surprised by the Rastgol Lost? How many did it take to overwhelm two people who had faced down a demon necromancer’s army? Had anyone witnessed it?

  She stiffened. And if on the off chance they were dead… what had happened to the bodies? Unless they were burned or beheaded, whatever necromancer was responsible for the hunting Lost could raise her parents as part of their army. Sweat beaded on her temple as she pictured the ravaged corpse of her mother spinning a tornado of fire toward her. Her fingers flew to her neck at the thought of her father’s unseen black blade at her throat.

  Makeo leaned into her. “Are you okay?”

  The words flew out of her mouth in a tense whisper. “My parents aren’t dead, my parents aren’t dead, my parents aren’t dead.”

  Or was she just incapable of accepting a world in which they were?

  “It’s okay to grieve the possibility, Aza.” Hesitantly, he placed a large paw on her shaking hand. “Sometimes our grief doesn’t care for the facts.” His shaggy shoulder was warm beside her clammy skin. “That doesn’t mean we shouldn’t feel it.”

  Two silent tears escaped Aza’s eyelashes and trailed down her cheeks. Odriel take it. She wanted to scream and rage. She wanted to storm back to Ivanora and demand the truth. She wanted to fly across the mountain to warn her brother. She wanted to cross to the Shadow Plane and plead for answers. But she was stuck here in the rain with a wet Maldibor, a kitchen boy, and an irritable cat.

  She wiped at her eyes with a fist. “Can we talk about something else?”

  Makeo’s ears twitched. “Like what?”

  “Anything. I don’t care.” She turned her face to the ledge above them. “Why don’t you talk about you? Isn’t that something people like to do?”

  Makeo’s chest shook in silent laughter. “I don’t think most care to hear about a reeking Maldibor.”

  “Well, I do.” She sniffed. “Were you trying to find Ivanora to break the curse? Why risk that?”

  He scoffed. “I would think that would be obvious.”

  “I thought the Maldibor were a happy people.” She shrugged. “Besides, you’d have to be pretty desperate to seek out Ivanora after the way she looked at you the first time.” Like you weren’t even human. Aza shook her head. “She even makes Dorinar nervous.”

  Makeo lifted his paw from hers, folding it in his lap. Water dripped from the lip of the ledge onto his boots, and for a moment she thought he wouldn’t answer her. His chest rose and fell in a silent sigh, and his voice vibrated through the night air. “You remember the Maldibor boys are born human?”

  “Of course, I remember.” Aza snorted. She had spent years running around with him when they were younger. How could he even ask such a thing?

  “We don’t change into a beast until we’re nine, ten, eleven… depends on the child.” His paws flexed and loosened. “And every generation, we wonder if perhaps the line is too diluted to hold the curse. Maybe at last, these brand new, beautiful children will be free of Ivanora’s hatred.”

  Aza swallowed, turning toward his bulky silhouette.

  “My mother is a fourth-generation Maldibor, and I was the first of Elika’s twice-great-grandsons. The village waited on the tips of their claws as I turned eleven, then twelve, then thirteen.” A rueful grin flashed across his face. “I walked on air thinking I was free. That Odriel had chosen me to shed the curse.” The grin faded. “Then, when I was fourteen, shortly after…”

  Makeo’s story faltered, and Aza nodded. There was only one thing that split their lives into before and after. She put a hand to her scarred cheek.

  “I changed, just like the rest of my cousins and uncles.”

  Aza flinched, her fingernails digging into her scar, and she thought about its matching brother that crossed Makeo’s chest. The memory of Mogens’ bony smile and the knife flashing in his hand sent a stab of guilt through her. The tiny Time Heir almost hadn’t been able to keep him alive… and he had been the lucky one that night. Was it that trauma that had caused the change somehow?

  “My human father couldn’t bear the disappointment and left soon after.”

  Aza racked her brain for the image of his father. It wasn’t hard when Makeo looked just like him—large shoulders and thick blond hair, with a quiet way about him. How could he just run off?

  “That wasn’t your fault,” Aza whispered.

  “I feel like that’s one of those things we can’t really know.” He paused, turning his muzzle to her. “But our emotions don’t care for facts either way.”

  “The facts matter, Makeo. There’s nothing wrong with becoming a Maldibor.” Her hand balled into a fist. “There’s a lot wrong with someone abandoning their family.”

  Even as she said it, the words made her sick. Hadn’t she abandoned her family? She swallowed the thought. No. She had left to protect her family. It was different. Of course it was.

  He went on as if she hadn’t spoken. “So, I decided even if I wasn’t the chosen one, maybe I could choose to do something about it.”

  To free his people? Or to bring his father back? Aza’s eyebrows rose as another piece fell into place. “So, when you heard I was set on visiting Dorinar, you were going to ask him about Ivanora?”

  “No.” His emerald gaze met hers. “I left because I couldn’t let you go alone.” He shrugged, a sheepish grin revealing his white fangs once more. “But it might have occurred to me later. Though I wasn’t exactly expecting to meet the delightful magus in the flesh. Got a bit tongue-tied in the moment by her charming presence.”

  Aza put a hand to her mouth, stifling the strangle
d giggle that threatened to burst out of her.

  “Really, that’s the saddest story I have, and you’re going to laugh?”

  But Aza could feel his shoulders shaking in the dark too, even as fresh tears of silent mirth streamed down her face. “No. I’m glad, really.” She wiped the tears away once more. “I’m glad you got a chance to see what you’re really up against. And that you held your tongue.” She blew out a breath of emotion, sorrow, and laughter all tangled up in one exhalation of lightening. “Shad’s right. Who knows what she would’ve done if you’d actually challenged her.”

  “When I see her again, I won’t lose my nerve,” he said quietly, serious once more.

  A deep unease roiled through Aza’s gut, but she said nothing. She didn’t have to tell him the danger of crossing a magus with Shadmundar murmuring in his sleep not two paces to her left. And the odds of him ever seeing Ivanora again were nearly nonexistent.

  “Even if you don’t…” She swallowed, resisting the urge to grab his hand. “You’re enough the way you are, Keo.”

  “No.” His unwavering gaze met hers as if trying to communicate something she couldn’t quite read. “I’m not enough for the things I want, and I refuse to pass on the curse. It’ll die with me.”

  “Don’t say that,” she whispered, her sorrow trembling in her fingers once more. She couldn’t think of Makeo dying. Not right now.

  For a moment, they fell silent. The rain still beating its steady rhythm into the stolid, unmoving mountain, wearing it down drop by drop.

  “Is it wrong to want more?” he asked, his big voice so quiet she almost couldn’t hear him.

  She snorted softly. “If it is, then I’m afraid we’re both in trouble.” Aza flexed her numb fingers in her gloves. “But… my father says that’s how we grow.”

  Witt snuffled against her shoulder, and Makeo leaned in closer. “Aza, I—”

  A loud thump crashed through the night.

  Aza snapped to her feet, daggers out, peering into six pairs of golden eyes a hand’s breadth from her face, the creature’s breath hot on her cheeks. The dim light of the moon reflected off two long black beaks protruding from heads of naked red flesh. A goat-like body anchored the two swaying necks, and its giant wingspan spread out before them like a cloak billowing in the wind.

  Immediately awake, Witt scrabbled on the sandy ledge. “What is that?”

  The creature snapped its beaks, and Aza’s muscles tensed, ready to sever the first neck that lurched her way.

  “Easy, Aze,” Makeo said, stepping close to her side.

  “No way,” Aza whispered. “That thing could run you through with one of its beaks and pluck out your heart.”

  Another crash and then another, and more gold eyes lit the darkness. The clacking of beaks punctuated the still night.

  Aza glanced at Shad, blinking owlishly from his corner, exhaustion still glazing his sapphire eye. “Care to weigh in, Shadmundar?” The necks swirled and swayed together like a pair of snapcobras. “How close to death are we standing right now?”

  “I’ve never seen one before,” Shad said, his words thick with sleep.

  Aza clamped down on a swear. Why had they dragged him up here again?

  “But…” he continued, “it looks like a grizzard flock.”

  “So, are these things here to eat us or what?” Witt gripped his bag to his chest with pale hands, pressing his back to the cliff wall.

  The grizzard in front of Aza opened its long black beak in a hoarse squawk. “Follow.”

  The scratchy voice raised the hair on Aza’s neck. “They can speak?”

  “Yes, but they’re just imitators.” Shad rose to his paws with a small groan. “It’s repeating something it’s heard someone say.”

  The bird nipped at Aza’s arm, its sharp beak cutting through her sleeve. “Follow.”

  Aza flinched back. “I’ll pass, thanks.”

  In a violent movement, the strange birds shook out their wings at once, clacking their beaks in fervent rejection. “Come now, or not at all.”

  “You think the Wraith-Called sent them?” Witt whispered.

  Impatience tightened Aza’s grip on her daggers, her eyes not moving from the grizzard’s. “You want us to go down the rocks in the dark?”

  “Eyes deceive.” The grizzard’s head bobbed and twisted. “Feel your way.” The wings all snapped closed. “Follow.”

  Soundlessly, the grizzards leapt into the air, one by one, until just the creature in front of Aza remained. Aza hadn’t moved as her mind calculated, trying to weigh her options. The rain had subsided into a thick mist, but going down the sheer cliffs in the dark was madness. Was this some kind of test? But why?

  They could just ignore the creature and find their own way in the morning. She doubted these Wraith-Called or their grizzard pets could really do anything to stop her. But would they answer her questions if she had to bust down their door?

  Shad hobbled on stiff legs out from under their pathetic ledge. “Well, this is what you wanted right? What are you waiting for?”

  “Really, you’re going?” Aza slowly lowered her daggers. “You’ll be the first one to fall off this cliff.”

  “Then at least that could put an end to these blistered paws.” Shad’s puffy tail belied his calm words. “Come then, Grizzard, lead the way.”

  But the creature didn’t flinch, its yellow eyes still on Aza. Expectant. Challenging, almost.

  “Oh, all right.” Aza wrinkled her nose and sheathed her blades. “Don’t get your necks in a twist.” The birds clacked their beaks with satisfaction and turned away, one head facing her to make sure she was coming. “But I’m going first.” She turned to Makeo. “Try to make sure no one falls off the cliff.”

  Witt bobbed up beside her. “And me?”

  Aza’s lips twitched, and she lowered her voice. “Keep an eye to our backs.” She scanned the rocks around them. “This is the perfect set-up for a trap.”

  Witt nodded, his eyes lighting up with the responsibility. She resisted the urge to smack her palm to her head. Had she really sunk so low as to depend on Witt Corser of all people?

  The grizzard strode away on its strange legs—the front two flush with hawk talons and the back two equipped with neat goat hooves. Its rat tail whipped behind it, beckoning her. She leveled her arms out to her sides, eyes straining in the almost-dark to find her footing. Shad’s weak legs scrabbled on the slippery rock shelf, and she turned to see Makeo scoop him up into the crook of his arm. Under different circumstances, the sight of the huge Maldibor with the huffy cat in his arms might’ve made her smile.

  Instead, a knot tightened in Aza’s throat. If one of them fell, they could end up pulling each other down with them. The grizzard daintily tripped down a slope of stone, its gold eyes taunting her as it pressed on. She pressed her lips together. When she got there, these Wraith-Called had better have some answers. Her foot slipped, and her arm lurched out to the rock wall beside her.

  “Careful, Aza,” Makeo rumbled from above.

  “This is madness.” The rocks cut into her as she slid on her backside down the incline, hoping it didn’t lead to a drop off. “I can’t see jack-all.”

  But they couldn’t stop. Not after coming all this way. She skidded and crawled on the precipice. Her toes found nothing but air more than once, and her heart jolted with every misstep. The creature wound up and down the cliff like a lazy river, but whether it knew where it was going, she couldn’t tell. She cursed every cloud that obscured the moon’s weak light and urged the sun to rise faster. But it didn’t seem to help.

  She tried to look ahead for any hint of the abbey and the lanterns she had seen at sunset. Surely, they should be seeing it by now. She edged around yet another corner after the glowing eyes, fatigue and impatience mixing into a cold fury. Two grizzards awaited her now. One on a path that led slightly up, and one that led down. She swore.

  “Now which way?” She turned to where Makeo still held Shad behind her.
“What if these things aren’t leading us anywhere?”

  “Why in Odriel’s name would it do that?” Shad asked, his tone sharp with annoyance.

  “Because it’s a demon bird?” Aza threw her hands up. “I don’t know.”

  “Didn’t the grizzard say our eyes would deceive us?” Witt asked, peeking around the cliffside.

  Aza squeezed the bridge of her nose. “Then how else are we supposed to find this place?”

  “Didn’t it tell you to feel your way?” Makeo scratched at his floppy ear. “Would the Shadow Plane show you the way?”

  A coldness welled in Aza. Yes, she had thought of asking the shadow dwellers for help. But she didn’t like the idea of being left helpless with the grizzards leering at them. And then of course… what if her parents were there?

  “But surely not every person that comes here can enter the Shadow Plane.” She shook her head, thinking aloud. “It’s difficult even for me, and I’ve been training in yanaa my whole life.” She folded her arms and glanced at the two grizzards with their many matching eyes waiting in the dark.

  “Then perhaps you’re supposed to be feeling something else?” Witt said, his brow creased with confusion.

  Like what? With a sigh, Aza let her heavy eyelids fall reluctantly closed. She breathed in the cool, soggy mountain air—the scent of Maldibor mixing with stone and petrichor wafting on the gentle kiss of the breeze. She listened to the breaths of her companions: Shad’s ragged, Makeo’s slow, and Witt’s quick. Talons scratched on stone and wings fluttered somewhere farther away.

  But feel? She flexed her toes in her damp boots, the mountain steady under her leather soles. Her eyes flicked open with a growl of frustration.

  Witt cocked his head. “Anything?”

  “No, I’m just wasting time because I like it.” Aza steadied herself on the side of the mountain. “Let’s just try the higher path and see where it goes.”

  She turned on her heel, a prickle of guilt needling her. Had she brought them all this way for nothing? The narrow path crumbled beneath her foot and her hands lunged out toward the cliff wall, looking for holds on the sheer face.