by Jen McIntosh
Ornak’s face was unyielding as he stared her down. ‘Who is she?’
‘When Thoran cast Kalielle aside, he took their child away from her … It left a void. So when the Priestesses found a baby girl on the Temple doorstep one morning, Kalielle volunteered to take her – to raise her as her own.’
Ornak’s eyes slid to Renila, doubt shadowing that dark gaze. Renila stared back as calmly as she could, trying to keep the confusion from her face. Alvar’s fingers found hers and squeezed reassuringly, but she didn’t dare even glance in his direction. She didn’t understand any of this.
‘So where has she been the last hundred years?’ Ornak asked, looking back at Arian.
Alvar stepped forward. ‘With me. Kalielle and I … we shared a mutual friend. She thought the girl would be safe in my care, so she had him bring her to me.’
‘And who are you? Why would Kalielle trust you?’
‘I am Alvar, Crown Prince of Darkstorm.’
Ornak stepped back as if Alvar had punched him, whistling in surprise, though Arian seemed unperturbed by the announcement.
Renila scowled. She’d had enough. She rounded on Alvar. ‘What are you? You said you’re not mortal, but you’re not Graced either, and you talk about things that happened hundreds of years ago like they were yesterday. Just how old are you?’
Alvar bowed his head, taking a deep and shuddering breath before he spoke. ‘I have lived for so long that my age has lost all meaning. I fought during the Rebellion, witnessed the birth of the Graced and watched with a smile on my face as Sephiron was brought low. I am what you would call an Immortal. Mine is the ancient race who unleashed magic on this world, and all the good and evil it brought with it. We were revered as Gods once upon a time – though we were only the playthings of real Gods – but that power is beyond us now. My people are a shadow of what they once were, resigned to hiding in the darkness, lest they lend strength to those who would see the world burn.’
‘And while your people cower in the shadows, we’re out there bleeding, to finish what you started,’ Ornak said, glaring once more at Renila. ‘What about the rest of us? She wasn’t the only child orphaned and made homeless that day. Why did she deserve your protection and no one else?’
‘My people wouldn’t have welcomed you,’ admitted Alvar. ‘You were all too old, too numerous … too powerful. A single infant I could disguise, smuggle in as one of our own. The rest of you would have been turned away, if you weren’t killed on sight. Kalielle realised that – it’s why she didn’t try.’
Ornak spat out a violent oath and turned his back on them, running a furious hand through his hair as he visibly struggled to contain his temper. Behind him, Arian levelled a pointed look at Alvar. She had warned him there would be consequences to keeping Alvar’s secrets. And perhaps, it was time to find out what those secrets were.
‘Will someone please explain to me what is going on?’ Renila demanded.
Ornak whirled, his eyes blazing. ‘She doesn’t even know?’
‘She used to.’
Ornak looked her over, scanning her as Arian had done. A glimmer of pity entered his gaze. ‘What happened?’
‘It’s a long story,’ began Alvar.
Renila cut him off. ‘Well, I like stories. So tell me this one. Right now. Why don’t I remember anything before Erion was born?’
‘Erion?’ Ornak asked.
Renila didn’t take her eyes off Alvar. ‘My son.’
‘Your son?’ The big man was looking at Arian.
Renila ignored him, staring Alvar down. ‘Why don’t I remember?’
He hesitated. She hated him for it, hated him for the reluctance in those thunderstorm eyes. Even if she had been his wife and not Gaelan, it did not give him the right to choose for her. It was her life. Her decision. After what seemed like an age, he dipped his head in defeat.
‘Because you died,’ he admitted. ‘You died on the birthing bed, bringing your son into the world.’
The silence that followed was deafening. Renila could only stare at him. ‘But—’
‘You’re a Phoenix,’ Ornak snapped. Arian glared at him in reproach, but he just rolled his eyes and muttered, ‘Oh, please – as if there was an easier way to break that.’
Renila stared at him. ‘What?’
‘You’re a Phoenix,’ he repeated, gently this time. ‘One of the four Graced bloodlines. The greatest of the four, if you believe the legends.’
Thoughts were difficult. Words were near impossible. ‘How?’
He seemed to understand. ‘Do I know? Magic always leaves its mark.’
Then he turned to Arian and nodded. She winced and yanked the scarf off her head, running a frustrated hand through the mass of vivid, scarlet hair that tumbled loose and revealed a pair of delicate, pointed ears. Elf. She was part Elf.
High above, the clouds shifted, and a ray of sunshine filtered down; a shaft of golden radiance bathing the forest floor with its warm glow. With a deep breath, Arian stepped into that pool of gilded light.
Her crimson hair came alive, curling and snapping around her face in a fiery halo, ruby flames licking their way over her tawny skin in a burning aura. But most breathtaking of all were her eyes, the deep golden core turning molten until they glowed with the force of the sun itself. She was glorious – a flame given form.
Renila could only gape in wonder. Then Alvar was at her side and with a gentle hand, he guided her into the patch of sunlight beside Arian. Her necklace grew hot and heavy in the hollow of her throat, as it always did in the sun. With shaking fingers, he brushed her hair aside and made to remove the pendant from around her neck. She flinched and reached up to stop him. She’d never taken it off. Not once. Unease churned in her gut at the prospect. Alvar just held her gaze.
‘Trust me.’
Nodding, she lowered her hands. His fingers were warm against her skin as he fiddled with the catch. Then it was off, and he stepped away. She felt the change immediately. Felt the heat sear along her limbs, felt the magic dancing over her skin and pounding through her body. And as their eyes met, she saw herself as he saw her. Her burgundy hair raging about her, flames of brightest amber rippling over her skin and her eyes near incandescent with the power roiling in her veins.
‘It’s true?’ she whispered.
He only nodded.
Arian stepped back out of the light, the magic receding. But even when she wrapped her flaming hair in that ragged scarf, the otherworldliness remained. Those golden eyes – dull now by comparison – watched Renila for a moment, before flickering self-consciously to Alvar and Ornak.
‘Go on,’ she said, jerking her chin towards the cabin. ‘I’m sure you have a lot to discuss. We’ll give you some privacy.’
Then she gestured for Ornak to follow her and melted back into the forest.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Erion was adrift in the darkness. The pain had not been great – only a brief, sharp pulse. Then … nothing. He had slipped from waking into oblivion, as easily as falling asleep. He was vaguely aware of arms holding him, cradling him against a strong chest. But something was wrong. The body was too hot, too hard to be Farran. The smell of smoke and ash clung to it and, beneath that, the faint metallic scent of blood. Erion cringed away …
And was slammed into consciousness as they burst into the light. He wrenched away from the stranger who held him, yelling and thrashing to get free. The stranger let him go, dropping him on the floor with a frustrated sigh. Erion surged to his feet and ran, but within two strides, he fell once more as exhaustion claimed him. He tasted blood in his mouth. A split lip, swelling already. Strong hands turned him over, and he looked up into the handsome face of a man.
But he could not be a man … not with eyes like those. They were eerily pale, almost lost against the whites of his eyes, and they pulsed with a terrible power. Words from a story his mother had once told him thundered through Erion’s mind. Shade, she’d called them. Pale shadows of a once glorious lin
eage. But they were a bedtime story, a tale told by mothers to their children to scare them into obedience.
‘You’ve heard the stories,’ the Shade murmured, ‘but didn’t think to believe them. Sorry to shatter your illusions.’ Crouching down beside him, the Shade cocked his head, considering. His pale eyes flickered to Erion’s bloodied lip, and he touched one long, delicate finger to the wound. Erion flinched away, but the Shade held him fast. ‘Sometimes, not all monsters are what they appear.’ His voice so quiet Erion had to strain to hear it. As though he did not want to risk someone else hearing the words. Erion felt a flash of heat against his lip, and then … nothing. The Shade removed his hand and leaned back, waiting. Eyeing him nervously, Erion risked touching it. The wound was healed, his lip whole, the skin smooth, and the swelling gone.
‘What did you do?’ he breathed.
‘What do you think I did?’ sighed the Shade, rolling his eyes in exasperation. ‘I healed you. It’ll take a couple more days for you to recover all of your strength. That was a lot of power you used protecting your friends … almost too much. But you’ll live.’
Erion nodded, showing he understood and allowed the Shade to help him up to sitting. ‘Why help me at all? Why not just leave me to suffer?’
‘You’re brave for one so young,’ the Shade noted with a sly smile. ‘Smart too. But I’ll be the one asking the questions.’
Erion scowled and held the Shade’s gaze, trying not to let his fear show. Let his voice ring with challenge as he agreed. ‘Alright.’
The Shade chuckled and stood, gesturing to a nearby chair as Erion swayed. It was only then that he looked about him and took in his surroundings. They were in a room. An opulent study with a great wooden desk in the centre and chairs either side of it. Shelves lined the walls and books lined the shelves. Luxurious carpets covered the flagstone floor, and a fire burned in the hearth.
The Shade crossed the room to the door, opening it and snarling orders to whoever stood outside it. Satisfied, he closed the door and removed his sword belt, dumping it on the low bench by the window. Then he dropped into the chair behind the desk and crossed his booted feet at the ankles, resting them atop the papers that littered its surface. His dark burgundy hair gleamed in the firelight and a blood-red stone glinted in his pointed ear, its counterpart on a chain about his neck.
There was a sharp knock on the door, and it banged open, a woman entering without invitation. She was exquisite, Erion thought, with pure-white hair – though she looked no older than his mother – and strange, maroon-coloured eyes. She inhaled, her eyes glowing red, gaze flicking to where Erion’s blood had sprayed onto the carpet. A Darkling. He recoiled, but the Shade motioned for him to be still. Her gaze scanned over them with brutal efficiency before she slammed the door closed, locking it behind her. She looked pointedly at Erion, but the Shade made no move to explain. Something seemed to pass between them and then she nodded, as if answering some unasked question. The Shade relaxed, though there was still a wariness in his gaze as he slumped low in his chair.
‘What’s your name?’ the Shade asked, turning to him.
‘Erion,’ he said.
The Shade smiled. It was not entirely terrifying. ‘Nice to meet you, Erion. My name is Kieyin.’
‘Pretty name for a nightmare,’ Erion noted.
Kieyin gave a bark of laughter and nodded in agreement.
‘I didn’t pick it,’ he said with a shrug, and a quick glance to the Darkling. ‘My mother hailed from a much nobler line than my father, and it was she who named me, though his power claimed me.’
Erion cut over him, emboldened by the Shade’s openness. ‘I want to go home.’
‘I’m sure you do,’ Kieyin murmured, ‘and I do not blame you. Your home seemed like a nice place. But what you ask is not in my power to give, Erion. You are like nothing I have ever seen before. I have a great many questions. It pains me to have separated you from your family. Had they not put up so much of a fight I would have brought them too, so they might shine a light on what you are and how you came to be. Until I have these answers, I cannot let you go. The unknown is dangerous.’
‘And if I tell you everything that I know? If I answer your questions – can I go home then?’
Something like regret flickered in Kieyin’s unnatural eyes, and a muscle leapt in his jaw. He hesitated, glancing at the Darkling woman before looking back to Erion. Then the Shade’s brows lifted in surprise, and Erion knew his eyes must have changed as his mood shifted from scared to angry. It was not something he could control, or even sense, though he’d observed it in the mirror. But he’d learned to read it in the reactions of those watching him. Knew the signs of shock, awe and disgust that so often flickered across even the most controlled faces.
‘Probably not even then,’ the Shade admitted. ‘I’m not in control of my destiny, Erion. My actions are not always my own, my decisions not mine to make. My master may demand much of you. I do not believe it will be more than you can bear. I think you are far stronger than you look but know that I will be by your side through all of it. I will do what I can to aid you. You have my word.’
‘Fate and destiny are for those too weak to make their own path,’ Erion muttered, echoing words he had once heard Suriya speak. Kieyin’s gaze snapped to the Darkling hovering behind Erion, as if the words had meaning to them also. The Shade hesitated again, and something once more passed between them.
‘Kieyin, please,’ the Darkling begged. ‘Don’t—’
‘I don’t have a choice, Seren,’ he snapped, cutting her off. ‘Prepare a room for him – let him rest tonight. We go to Elucion tomorrow.’
For once, it was his sister’s screaming that woke Lucan, and not his own. She thrashed beside him, as if it were the dream and not the blanket she was trying to claw her way free from. ‘Erion!’
Still half-caught in it himself, he shook her more roughly than he intended, trying to rouse her from the nightmare. Her eyes flew open, and her hands scrabbled for purchase and reassurance, fingers knotting in his shirt as she clung to him.
His own heart was racing in his chest, pounding from the fear and horror of the dream. Erion. He had dreamed of Erion. And some pale-eyed monster … a Shade? They were going to … He shook his head as the memory faded. No, he didn’t know where they were going to. He reached for the vision, desperate for any hope. But the tighter he tried to hold on, the faster it dissipated. Like trying to catch smoke with his bare hands. And then it was gone, leaving only raw and inexplicable emotions in its wake.
He took a deep breath, steadying himself while he cradled Suriya in his arms, murmuring soothingly to her. He glanced across their hidden campsite towards their mother – Gaelan, he corrected himself – only to see the glimmer of her starlight eyes staring back at him. There was a whisper of movement, nothing more than a breath of wind in the night, as she rose and crossed to their side. Suriya recoiled from her touch, but Gaelan was undeterred, turning the girl’s face so she could examine her.
‘What did you see?’ she asked, looking between them. Lucan shook his head in frustration, unable to remember.
‘Erion,’ Suriya whispered, trembling. ‘I saw Erion. He was so afraid.’ Her voice broke, tears claiming her, and she said no more as she turned and sobbed into Lucan’s shirt. Hushing her, he peered over her head at Gaelan to find her watching them closely.
‘It was just a dream,’ he protested.
Gaelan frowned and leaned back, lips pursed. Then she stood without a word, dusting herself off and moving to pack up her bedroll and blanket. Storm and Copper were picketed nearby, and Lucan watched in silence while she set about loading the few things they had back onto the horses. They hadn’t chanced lighting a fire, so there was little work to be done to hide the evidence of their camp.
It was still dark, but there was enough light on the horizon to warn that dawn was not far away. They had ridden through the night, desperate to put as much distance between themselves and the castle –
and the Darkling Hunt – as possible. Gaelan had set a brutal pace, and it was only when Suriya had almost fallen from the saddle with exhaustion that she’d deigned to call a halt. She’d hidden them deep in a thicket, far from any paths and hidden from even the sharpest of eyes. But even then, she’d warned they could only risk a couple hours of sleep and had stood guard over them all night.
If she felt any ill effects for her efforts, she didn’t show it. Her movements were as lithe and graceful as ever, her beautiful face unmarred by tiredness. If there was any sign that something was wrong, it was only in the wariness of her starlight gaze and the restlessness with which she scanned their surroundings. Storm was restive, as if she too sensed her mistress’s need to keep moving. But Lucan didn’t share her enthusiasm.
‘Where are Renila and Alvar?’ he asked, once the storm of Suriya’s weeping had passed. That first question unleashed a torrent. ‘Are they alright? Who was that man? Where did he take Erion? Why did he take him? Will he hurt him?’
‘So many questions.’ Gaelan sighed, not looking up from her packing. ‘I don’t know where they are, but I’m sure they’re fine. That man was not a man; he was a Shade. I don’t know where he took Erion, but I promise I’m going to find out. The Shade was there for all of us, and he only took Erion because he didn’t have time to take anyone else. And no, he won’t hurt him. Not yet. He’ll try to use him as bait to lure either myself or Alvar into his trap first. Anything else?’
Lucan wasn’t sure whether to scowl at her tone or gape at the sudden flurry of answers.
‘Will you save him?’ Suriya asked for him.
Gaelan frowned. ‘If I have to give my life to free Erion, I will do so, Suriya. I promise you that. But I will not endanger myself or either of you by making rash decisions when I don’t have all the facts.’
‘And what about Renila? Those Darklings will be hunting her now.’