by Meg Cowley
With her skin crawling, she slowly wriggled from her dress, holding it up to her for as long as possible before hurriedly dropping it and stepping from the skirt. His eyes raked up and down her body, and his fingers twitched. Wearing only a thin, white shift underneath that did nothing to hide her form, Harper rushed to throw the tunic over her head and squirm into the ill-fitting sleeves.
Her cheeks blazed red as she crossed her arms before her, the only barrier she could place between them.
“Good,” Khyrion said, smiling lazily. “I will oversee your atonement, Initiate. I will bring you back to the light.”
Forty Two
“Go on,” said Solanaceae, cocking Her head and sidling forward.
“That’s it. It’s that simple. You want me, here I am. Punish me, but let my friends go.”
Her eyes glittered at his words, and he knew She was imagining it–the torture he would suffer at Her hands. A breeze rustled around the deathly silent clearing, teasing a whisper from the listening leaves.
“Queen, I will do you one better,” Aedon added as an afterthought, hoping he was not diving into folly. “If you answer our original plea for help, help us take on Saradon, defeat him somehow, I will pledge myself to you for all my days. Do with me as you will.”
A slow death or a lifetime of punishment... Which would be worse? He dared not think on it.
The vines around him loosened, but not enough to shuck off. Groans of relief came from Brand and Erika behind him, signalling the loosening of their bonds, too.
“I could kill you now. I could kill all of you now,” She murmured to him alone, fixing him in Her honey stare.
“You would not be so dishonourable, Solanaceae,” he dared say. “You would not break the oath we swore.” He knew She would keep to the promise of their trials, just as he would, for the price of breaking it would be great and terrible.
“You still offer no proof of your grand claims other than a scar upon your breast and memories that are not your own, thief. Why ought I trust any word that falls from your lips?”
“Because they are true. You know it in your heart of hearts.”
She scowled. “Pledge yourself to me, and I will consider it.”
“No.” Aedon knew he could not give his word and his magical oath yet–not until She gave the inch that he desired of Her, too.
“My Queen,” a low voice behind Solanaceae paused Her brimming rage, and She whirled upon the elf who dared to speak, only halting when he swept into a low bow before Her.
“What news is there?” She asked quickly.
The scout rose and stepped closer, murmuring so only She could hear. Her visage hardened with every word until Her plump, ruby lips were clamped in a thin, pale line, the skin about Her eyes tight.
She turned upon Aedon slowly and stared down at him. He gazed back impassively.
“Well...,” she said, chewing over the word. “It appears you did not lie after all.” She stalked around them, and Aedon felt the weight of Her thoughts with every step. “The goblins of Valtivar are banished, the dwarves broken and rebuilding. And Saradon has overthrown Pelenor.”
Aedon turned to her, almost overbalancing as the vines constricted at his movement. He awkwardly righted himself, still upon his knees.
“The kingdom belongs to Saradon. The Order of Valxiron holds sway in Tournai and spreads like a blight throughout the land. The Indis have invaded from the east.” Solanaceae glared at Erika, for her heritage was unmistakeable. “It seems our neighbours truly do face great peril.”
“So, you will help?” Aedon leaned forward.
The Queen scoffed at him. “The curse has run its course. Thus, no counter-curse will see his work unmade.”
“You must.”
She rounded on him. “You do not command me, petty thief!” Magic crackled in the very air around them at her anger of his impropriety.
“There will be little chance of success without you.” Aedon’s voice was low and earnest. “You have faced him once before, and he is all the worse now.”
She hovered, quiescent.
“Please. I beg you.” The words were hard to say, her smugness at his desperation unbearable.
“I won’t help.”
Aedon’s shoulders slumped.
“On that, I have not made up my mind. My scout is credible, but the threat... I do not yet know. Yet, is it worth being cautious to ensure the threat is false? I will err on the side of caution where he is concerned. I will watch and wait.”
“You must do more than that. Saradon will come for you ere too long. He will not have forgotten you.”
“And I will deal with him when he does.”
“And watch the rest of the world burn?” He bared his teeth in indignance and anger.
She only regarded him coolly.
“Send me.”
“I beg your pardon?” she spluttered.
“I will be your eyes and ears. I will do whatever it takes to convince you the threat is real.”
“I will never trust you,” She scoffed.
“I will give my bond.”
Solanaceae raised her chin. “Fine. If that is what you wish, you will serve me in this. Forever.”
Aedon’s relaxing shoulders froze, and he gaped up at her. “What?”
“If you are so very determined to be involved with this madness, then you will serve me. I have seen evidence enough of your useful skills of magic and deceit to know they will serve me well for now.
“I will permit you, and your little friends, to go beyond my borders once more. Find the truth of what passes. Find a way to defeat Saradon–preferably without the use of my peoples and creatures–and the rhetoric of Valxiron. And when you return,” She stressed, raising an eyebrow, “you belong to me forevermore. Do we have a deal?” She stretched out Her forefinger to him.
Aedon froze, barely breathing, as he untangled Her offer. He had sought to protect Brand and Erika, expecting his own death in payment from Her third trial, yet so much more was at stake.
My freedom is not lost yet, he told himself, even though in his mind’s eye, he once again saw the vision of the Mother, and him kneeling before Solanaceae once more, and knew any hope was slim. I can find a loophole.
“We have a deal,” he said softly, reaching his forefinger out to lightly touch the tip of Hers. Magic ruffled through them both, chasing through the air around them and sinking deep into their skin as the magic bound them.
As it faded, Her hand dropped away. Aedon slowly lowered his own.
“Remember, elf,” She warned him. “You have given your word. You cannot deceive me, cannot betray me, cannot leave me. The world and fates will see you at my feet again.”
Aedon shivered at the truth of the premonition in her words.
Forty Three
“Stop judging me, Emyria,” Dimitri said, his jaw clenched as he stared sullenly into the fire.
“I didn’t say a thing, Dimi,” Emyria said from the other side of the drawing room where she polished some of the silverware, but her tone was clipped.
“You don’t need to. I can feel your disapproval radiating from there.”
Emyria continued in silence for a while, and the only thing Dimitri could hear was the sshing of the cloths and the crackling of the fire.
“Dimi...”
He sighed.
“I only... Don’t sink into that old, black pit again. You have people who care for you very much,” Emyria said gently.
“It doesn’t matter. People like that come and go. They never stay. What’s the use?”
“We’re all still here,” she said pointedly.
His servants were not bound to him. They were free to leave at any time, but where could they go? In truth, they were also trapped. But he had not sunk so low into despair that he would crush Emyria’s kindness, too.
At his silence, she stood, drifting closer. “Don’t think I haven’t seen the way you look at her. You’ve never made such accommodations for anyone e
lse...nor been so happy to be yourself.”
Dimitri propped his chin up on a hand, leaning forward until the fire was uncomfortably warm on his face. “I don’t have any of the answers, Emyria. We’re all in this damned mire, and I don’t see any way to save us.”
Her hand was a light touch on his shoulder. “I have faith in you. We all do, just as we always have, Dimi. Perhaps you’re not meant to know all the answers. Do any of us? It does not stop us from trying our best, no matter what each day might bring.”
With a comforting squeeze, she bustled off to continue her duties, leaving him alone with only his thoughts for poor company.
He could not give up on Harper. Yet no longer was she just his way to freedom and perhaps redemption, if he were lucky. I care too much for her now to sacrifice her, whether it damns me or not.
Despair still lurked, but he would find a way to see her free of Saradon. She is the key to all this, if Erendriel is to be believed. I might not be able to stop this, but she...
He sighed. He was certain there would be no way to save himself. And no way to again earn Harper’s forgiveness, or any shred of her affections.
He roused himself to his feet. Emyria is right. I cannot abandon all hope yet.
Forty Four
Nausea roiled in the pit of Harper’s stomach as Khyrion’s hand guided her arm over the vessel. She longed to pull away, but she was no fool. She was vulnerable. Khyrion had her in his power, and she had seen the way he looked at her. She would not attract his ire any more than she could help.
Her eyes fluttered shut as he drew the knife across her forearm again. Her teeth bit into her lip with as much savage glee as the serrated edge of the knife, but she did not utter more than a whimper of pain.
“Nostri sanguinis est sanguis. Sanguis tuus noster cruor. Carmina nostro fine, nos causam defendat,” they intoned the words together repeatedly, like a lifeless dirge. Our blood is your blood. Your blood is our blood. Until our end, we protect the cause. Blood dripped from Harper’s arm, pinging into the metal container, then splashing into the pool gathering therein.
“Until our end, we devote ourselves to our great Lord Valxiron’s wise teachings. That one dominion will rule all and keep all until the end of time, free of judgment, greed, and sin, free of vice, will, and corruption...” Khyrion continued his drone, repeating the psalms of Valxiron’s teachings for the third time.
With each replication, he made a fresh incision, for blood bound them all to Valxiron’s word, and pain was the suffering they deserved, such temporal punishment for corporeal sins. Two cuts for each psalm, carved in the crossed shape of the four-pointed star up her arm.
Harper could do naught but bow her head and hold her throbbing arm out before Khyrion as his fingers lingered upon her skin and the blade bit again.
HOLLOW-EYED, THE LIGHT blinded her, but Saradon showed no concern for her poor state. Her arm had been bandaged, but magical healing was forbidden. Atonement did not allow such reprieves.
“Sit.” Saradon gestured to the opposing end of the long table. Harper’s stomach growled, tight with ravenous hunger, as she slipped into the chair. Once more, she had been outfitted in the fashion of the court. Gone was the shift of atonement, which had left her skin angry, red, and itching. Now she wore a gown of demure, dark plum, which covered the bandages upon her arm.
“Let it be a lesson to you,” he said evenly, his violet eyes staring steadily at her, his face impassive. She could feel the power rolling over her in waves. It did nothing to still her heaving stomach. “You must learn discipline and unquestionable loyalty.” His eyes narrowed. She did not reply, staring blankly at him.
At last, his scrutiny ended. “Eat.”
She took her fill, unsure where her next meal would come from. Would they send her back to the cell? Had she atoned yet? No one had told her, and she trusted them not.
The banquet hall yawned around them, vast with emptiness. This was a different kind of isolated vulnerability to Khyrion, but anything would be preferable. Even Saradon. She wished Dimitri were there, to her own mixed feelings. He had been a familiar comfort throughout her time in Tournai, and now he was...
She abandoned the thought. She had no idea. Even a mile would have been an ocean away, for all the good he could do her now.
“You are young,” Saradon said between bites, glancing up at her. She lowered her own gaze to her plate, picking at morsels of fanciful dishes presented more artistically than any painting she had seen. “Young and naïve, daughter. You will learn in time, as did I, that you will need no one. Allies are tools, and enemies are to be crushed. The Order will teach you fortitude, discipline, and power. Henceforth, I think I will oversee your shaping personally. This unruly defiance has no place amongst my court, as my heir.”
Harper forced herself to nod, but defiance reared inside her, even as misery threatened to overwhelm her at the hopelessness of her prospects. No! she longed to cry. You’re wrong!
She would have given anything to be back with her companions in the seemingly innocent and simple time when she had first met Aedon and his friends, thinking them nothing more than merry fools and humble thieves. When she had met Dimitri and been unwilling to see him as anything other than a villain.
She would have given even more to see him again. Without him, and his brilliance, she had no hope of escape or reprieve, but that was not why she desired to feel his strong arms around her again, taking them both to a place of safety.
Even though their parting had been harsh, she could not deny her heart. Despite everything, I still want him...need him... Need them all.
No matter what Saradon tried to tell her, what the Order taught her, she would never forsake her friends in her heart, never succumb to the belief that they were nothing other than pawns on a chatura board, even if she were never to see them again.
She held their images in her head. Aedon’s warm grin, Brand’s kind eyes, Erika’s solid presence, and Ragnar’s steadfast nature. Dimitri eclipsed them all, wreathed in shadow, surrounded by darkness as she was, a darkness that tried to suffocate her at every turn. She needed him now, for his shadow could only come into being where there was the light of hope.
Forty Five
Aedon scowled as the two familiar elves stalked into the clearing. Ta’hiir and El’hari shot him smug leers with a taunting glint in their eyes as they circled the dell.
His eyes followed them before snapping back to their Queen. He had tried to argue, but such things were futile when it came to Solanaceae. She had decreed Her will and it would be done.
Solanaceae stalked closer, bending slightly to bring Her face close to Aedon’s.
“Let me make this clear, elf,” She hissed. “I don’t trust you. I don’t trust your friends. El’hari and Ta’hiir will not be charmed by your guiles.”
Aedon resisted the urge to roll his eyes. As if that were not obvious enough. Their mutual loathing ran deeper than rivers.
“At the first sign of any treachery or disobedience, you will be dealt with. Do I make myself clear?”
Aedon nodded, suppressing a scowl. Ta’hiir threw a glittering smile over the Queen’s shoulder, drawing a finger across his neck in a mock gesture. Aedon knew the siblings would leap upon any sign of divergence from the Queen’s orders. I trust them even less than She trusts us. Aedon narrowed his eyes at Ta’hiir.
“Good. Leave at once. I will see you soon.” The smirk She reserved for him was infuriating. She knew that he now had no choice but to return.
Aedon bowed and turned to his companions, who seethed with anger of their own and blazed hostility at their “escorts”.
“Come, thieves,” El’hari said, her tone hard, her hand lingering on the handle of the knife at her hip. “We have no time to tarry.” With that, she turned on her heel and strode off, her long, dark braid swaying with each step as her brother strode beside her, expecting them to follow.
Aedon sighed. “Come on.” If nothing else, at least they would so
on be free of the confines of the forest, the trees caring for no one.
Packs had been made up for them all, but no horses or transport. Aedon shouldered his and frowned. “Surely we will take weeks longer than we ought to, travelling on foot.”
Ta’hiir glared at him haughtily before relenting. “We do not travel on foot,” he said scathingly, as though such things were beneath them. At Aedon’s raised eyebrow, he turned away. “We do not share such secrets with the likes of you.”
Yet when they had all adjusted their burdens on their backs, Ta’hiir turned back to Aedon and extended a hand. Aedon viewed it with suspicion.
“You will see how we travel, even if it is beyond your ken, thief. We must have contact.”
Aedon approached slowly, watching the wood elf warily, brimming with distrust. His companions edged up behind him.
“Oh, for goodness sake,” snapped El’hari and strode over to them. She grabbed a fistful of Brand’s shirt and clamped her iron grip around Aedon’s wrist, then suddenly, the forest fell away with an alarming lurch and they were nowhere.
Darkness surrounded Aedon, the chattering of deafening voices, then silence, before light bloomed.
AEDON STAGGERED FORWARD. They were in a forest, but not like the one they had just stood in. This one was light and airy, the bare trees evenly spaced and open to the chilling winds of winter driving down the bluff toward them.
Aedon gaped at the open sky above, the churning, grey storm clouds threatening, a world away from the hidden summer sun far above the canopy in Tir-na-Alathea. And the cold... Aedon clutched his flapping cloak closer as it struck him, no longer in the muggy warmth, but a biting and unforgiving cold.
“How? Where?” he spluttered.
El’hari had already danced out of Brand’s swinging reach, the furious Aerian snarling at her. She only smiled darkly at him.