“You really love heights, don’t you?” I strained over another mossy ridge, his free hand supporting my spine.
“More than I should, though I did break both wrists once when I fell out of a pine.”
I groaned. “Comforting, Darric.”
My arms begged for relief by the time we reached the steaming flat shelf. The cliff gave way to a level space the size of the Hovel, surrounded by boulders with an opening at the far end. The rumble had increased, and the ledge vibrated under my feet. Singed moss lined the rocks, and the horizon glowed a brilliant orange-red.
Darric placed a hand on the small of my back and led me to the edge. “Be careful,” he warned.
I peered over the captivating chasm. The igneous wind hit my face and dried my eyes. The Riving was magnificent and enigmatic—beautiful in a horrifying way that paintings and books had failed to capture. The ledge sat directly above it, providing a spectacular view.
The tear in the planet split the crust, revealing a massive bright yellow river of magma flowing in a dazzling display of light with no end. The exposed mantle jutted from left to right as far as I could see. The intense heat burned my skin, and the scorched air was difficult to breathe.
Everyone in Athera knew the story of the Riving—how the planet had bared her inner core to save humanity and deliver the Divine into existence—but none alive knew how to heal it. The Podarians had tried to bridge the gap, only to find no material or structure could withstand its distance and heat.
I leaned far over the shelf to seize every detail, but Darric grabbed my waist and pulled me back. A spiral shockwave jolted from my core and into my throat from the feeling of his calloused hand on my stomach. I spun around to face him, catching myself on his hard chest.
“I said be careful. Falling into the Riving would be a sick way to die.”
“It would.” I exhaled heavily and awkwardly took my hands off him. Despite my fear, nothing stopped my body’s natural reaction to my handsome stranger.
I turned back to the ledge and rested my elbows on the stone. Biting my lip, I nervously drummed my fingers on the rock. “Somehow I thought the Riving was a myth. Too impossible to be real.”
Darric leaned into the space next to me and surveyed the mantle. “It’s supposed to be impossible for people to dream, and yet here you are. The Riving is easy to dismiss as folklore for those who haven’t stood at its edge.”
Another wave of heat tossed my hair. “You’re from Vegathyad, right? Bromly and Flint said you traveled from Podar as a child.”
“Actually, I don’t know where I’m originally from. My parents died without telling me much about our family history. We were only living in Podar at the time, but I’m not Podarian. Or Brisleian. Or Duvali. I’m . . . without country.” He flicked a pebble over the edge, and it disappeared into the chasm.
“Can I ask you something?”
“My opposition has never stopped you before.”
I ignored his snide comment. “If you don’t dream, then what causes the insomnia? It’s just . . . you never seem tired. You’re restless. Like me.”
“I . . . uh . . .” He stuttered and pressed his thumb into the palm of his hand. “I never said I didn’t dream.”
“That doesn’t make sense. Do Sights dream?” I asked, surprised.
“No, just me.” He groaned, giving in to my persistence. “It’s more of a curse. Call it a trade-off because I didn’t stay away from the Riving. I tend to have an odd talent for being in the right place at the right time. It’s rather annoying.”
“A trade-off for what?”
He swiftly drew his sword. The bloodcurdling sound of the metal raking against the scabbard sent a chill down my spine, and I jumped back, nearly tripping over the cat as the blade sang into existence. He briefly paused, admiring the miraculous sword. I stared in both wonder and terror at the deadly weapon ringing in his strong, deft hand.
Apart from the blades of Medial Alexandria, Divine royalty had access to the most elaborate swords Atheran blacksmiths could design, yet this weapon was entirely different from any Atheran blade I’d ever seen. It lacked gems or crystals, yet light danced off the metal as if it were inlaid with fine stone. The grip was composed of shimmering black granite with spiraling silver threading. It lacked a cross guard, and the small pommel glistened with an indecisive incandescence. Flowing from the hilt were two lines of ethereal lettering carved into the metal. The foreign text continued all the way to the sword’s point, divided by a thin sparkling indentation running down the center of the blade.
Darric gripped the hilt with both hands and pulled in opposing directions. The indentation illuminated with a fluid white spark, and the blade split into two separate weapons, each holding one side of the carved text.
Starting with the sword in his left hand, he drove the metal into the rock. It scraped out an unpleasant chord as it cut into the granite. He released the grip, leaving the sword stuck halfway in the stone. Flourishing the blade in his right hand, he repeated the action, embedding the sword in the stone an arm’s length away from the first half. When he finished, he leaned onto the ledge with an exhausted expression and rubbed his fingers into his eyes.
My mouth hung open in bewilderment. I was unsure which to react to first: the beauty and brilliancy of Darric’s sword bending the laws of nature or the fact that he had not killed me with it.
“Any more questions?” he said curtly.
I slammed my jaw shut. “Yes!”
“Aya!” Interrupting my interrogation, someone called my new name in drawn-out, panic-stricken howls. “Aya!”
Darric peered over the valley and chuckled. “My brother is looking for you.”
I joined him at the edge. Flint scurried by the river, darting erratically in one direction after another.
“It’s almost noon.” Darric looked at the high position of the sun. Between the Brisleian spring and the heat of the Riving, my chemise was soaked under my dress. Darric had droplets of sweat trickling down his temples, and much of his blond hair clung to his forehead. “We need to get you back before my brother overreacts and becomes hysterical.”
Flint jogged along the tree line, cupping his hands around his mouth to strengthen his call.
Darric pulled each half of his sword from the granite. When he touched the blades together, the weapon re-fused into one piece.
“Is it standard issue?” I asked, watching him slide the sword back into his scabbard.
“What?” He gave me a quizzical look.
“That sword. The Onyx Guard is full of secrets and superb craftsmanship. Is it something they gave to you? Does it help you find people like me?”
“Uh, no.”
“I’ve never seen anyone as talented as you with a sword.” Not even Luken, who was better than any militiaman in Alamantia.
“And you never will.” He hopped over the edge of the precipice and descended several feet towards the valley basin.
I sat down and dangled my feet over the side. Unexpectedly, he ran his hand up my leg and grasped my hip to pull me towards him. I fell into his chest and clung to his neck; my feet tingled with no place to land. “Did the Onyx Guard teach you?”
“Some of it.” He secured his arm around my back and looked down to find his next footing.
“Who taught you most of it?” I tightened my grip, my nails digging into his shoulders.
“Are you really going to trust me as your sole support to stop you from plummeting to your death?” He raised an eyebrow. “I still have not decided if keeping you alive is judicious.”
“I’m starting to believe you might be bluffing.”
He laughed and used his free hand to pry my fingers from his skin. I slid off him, scraping my nails across his shoulder as I fell. My stomach punched my throat. I clawed the air, trying to find anything to grab on to.
Without a moment left to spare, he caught my waist and tucked me back to his chest. I tangled my fists into his shirt, nearly ripping throug
h the cotton.
“Don’t ever do that again,” I gasped out as my lungs attempted to untwist. He smelled intoxicating despite sweating by the Riving.
“Do you want to see it coming, or should I surprise you?” He chuckled, clutching me in a protective embrace.
After scaring me senseless, he used one hand to descend the mountain. It didn’t faze him. We reached the ground in half the time it took to climb. Landing on the grass, he eased me out of his arms and headed in the direction of the Hovel.
I rubbed my neck, taking languid steps. I’d survived the excursion, but something plagued me; my future ended in either death by the hands of Darric Ursygh or eventual imprisonment by the Senate. Neither option was appealing.
Ambrosia never would have suspected how dangerous it was for me outside of Alamantia Palace. Defending myself would be necessary when I finally figured out how to escape this valley. Luken had promised to one day teach me to wield a sword, but during my experience with the bandits, I had not even had the mental wherewithal to draw the dagger he had given me.
“Darric.” I trotted up behind him. “Teach me how to wield a sword.”
“No,” he quickly retorted without looking at me.
“No? That’s it? You won’t even think about it?”
“Absolutely not.”
“If I truly am this rarity, then I need to know how to defend myself,” I argued.
“No, you don’t.”
“I’m tired of peeling potatoes!” I stomped my foot like a child.
He stopped walking to face me. “There is no scenario where I could control my temper long enough to teach you anything. Besides, even if I wanted to, you’re not ready.”
“Not ready?”
“You’re erratic and too impulsive. You have no control over anything you say or do. Not to mention you are naive.” He continued walking.
If that wasn’t an accurate description of my personality, then I didn’t know myself at all.
The brush next to us rustled, and Flint burst from the greenery. His feet caught in the branches, and he stumbled, plowing into Darric. The onslaught didn’t budge my stranger’s balance. He grabbed Flint by the shirt and flung him aside, sending him crashing into a blackberry briar on the opposite end of the grassy path.
Flint sprung to his feet and took hold of Darric’s shirt. “Where’s Aya? Where is she? What have ya done with her?” he squeaky-screamed into his brother’s face.
“Flint?” I said, attracting his attention to where I stood several feet behind Darric.
Flint released his grip with a huff and threw his long arms around me, constricting my chest and plucking me off the ground.
“I was worried sick.” He backed away to look at me. His emerald eyes were edged in red with unfallen tears. “Please, don’t disappear again.” He exhaled a shaky breath and embraced me once more.
I pushed against his chest, trying to pry myself from his bony grip. “I’m fine.” I tossed hair away from my face.
“Did he hurt you?” He examined my head for damage.
Darric raised an amused eyebrow. A thin trickle of blood dripped down his bicep from the three deep scratch marks on his shoulder.
“I’ve been lookin’ for ya all mornin’. I was afraid Darric had—” Flint turned to look at his brother and wrinkled his pointed nose. “Why are ya bleedin’?”
Darric glanced at his shoulder, noticing the damage I’d caused, and laughed. My face turned red, and I put my head down to hide a coy smile.
“C’mon, Aya,” Flint grumbled under his breath, “let’s go home.” He slid his fingers down my arm and tried to take my hand, but I skipped out of his grasp to follow Darric back to the Hovel.
“Where were ya? I looked all over the valley.” Remnants of alarm still riddled Flint’s voice and posture. He walked alongside me the entire way back to the Hovel.
“Darric was showing me the Riving,” I replied innocently.
“Ya were with Darric? The whole time?” His response simmered with animosity. “That’s dangerous for ya.”
We entered the cavern. Bromly sat by the outside fire, spooning stew into his mouth.
“Well, he hasn’t killed me yet. He seems to be able to keep his temper when he tries.”
Darric smirked in my periphery as he strolled into the Hovel.
“He’s a loaded cannon!” Flint squealed. “An’ the Riving isn’t easy to get to. He coulda pushed ya over the edge. Ya shoulda told me ya were goin’. I woulda gone with ya to make sure ya were safe.”
I blinked, astounded by his possessiveness. “We didn’t want to wake you.”
“I wasn’t tired.” He blew a puff of hot air. “It coulda ended really bad. Don’t do it again, okay? Promise?”
Risking my neck by disappearing into the woods with Darric had been my decision. I didn’t run away from a future as the Queen of Podar to have this redhead tell me what to do with my time. “Flint, you do not own me, and after the way you acted last night, be grateful I am even talking to you.”
His eyes widened, and his hand flew to his head in distress. “I didn’t mean it like that.”
“Really? Then what did you mean exactly? Because what I understood was an invitation to spend the night with you.”
Bromly guffawed with a snort, and he cleared his throat. “Sorry, it’s not my business,” he mumbled, unable to suppress his entertained expression.
“Aya,” Flint grumbled, searching for the right words. “I figured you’re from Burge. I assumed Darric brought ya here for—"
“Don’t say it!” I interrupted before he could openly declare he thought I was a prostitute.
“It’s just, you’re really pretty an’ . . . it jus’ came out.”
“If you want a civil relationship with me, you will not insult me so lewdly again.”
He gave a dejected nod. When he looked up, his eyes had caught fire. He snarled at the Hovel door and went inside.
“Don’t be so hard on him,” Bromly advised, setting his bowl on the log. “He has no idea what he’s doing. He hasn’t been around many decent women.”
“How could he accuse me of being a—”
Yelling inside the Hovel silenced me. Then a crash—metal blasting against wood.
Bromly cursed under his breath and pushed to his feet by pressing his hands into his knees.
“What’s going on? What are they fighting about?” I asked, worried.
“Um, they get into it sometimes . . . brothers.” He stuck a finger under his cap to scratch his head. “Could I ask you to stay here while I sort this out?”
I nodded hastily, not wanting to be caught in the volatile confrontation.
After Bromly went into the Hovel, the unintelligible rage abated.
The cat jumped onto the log and softly meowed. I sat next to her and ran my hand along her back. She purred when my fingers dug into her fur. “I’m not afraid of Flint. He is no more intimidating than a bunny,” I confided. “But Darric . . . there is something unnerving about him. I’ve never known anyone so confident in who they are. It’s like he knows his own future.”
She grunted in agreement.
“I wonder what made them so angry.”
The burgundy feline emitted a low growl.
“I appreciate you trying to communicate with me, but it would be easier if you just spoke.”
The fur door flew aside. Darric rushed through the cavern and out into the valley. Flint quickly followed, stopping at the stone entrance. His eyes watered. His fair skin was ablaze. He let out a fitful holler that echoed inside the cavern.
“That’s enough!” Bromly’s round belly puffed, and his bushy eyebrows cast an intimidating shadow over his walnut eyes.
Flint furiously plopped down next to me. He tucked his shaking arms into his belly and stared ferociously into the fire.
I tilted my head, trying to catch his gaze. “Are you all right?”
His chest quivered. “It’s Darric.” He spat the name as if it had a fo
ul taste. “He jus’ . . . he makes me so damn mad.”
I placed a hand on Flint’s shoulder and massaged my fingers into the muscle. Irked as I was by his recent assumptions about my past, I still didn’t enjoy seeing him in such disarray.
Bromly took a seat across the fire, and the cat surprised me by lying next to him. She pressed the top of her head against his hand and purred.
“I’m sure he didn’t mean whatever he said,” I offered.
“What would ya know about it?” Flint seethed. I retracted my hand. “Ya don’t know what it’s like livin’ in his shadow. Havin’ an’ older brother who thinks he can control ya.”
“Stop being so contemptuous and dramatic,” Bromly said, moving his fingers to the cat’s chin.
“And don’t be so quick to assume I haven’t experienced something similar,” I added, sliding away from him. He would never understand the oppression of having a Divine sibling who would be King. I knew well the shadow of an older brother. Luken and Darric weren’t different in that aspect.
“You have a brother?” Bromly perked up, his cheeks warming back into their rosy color.
I nodded. “He always tried to protect me. Isn’t Darric doing the same for the both of you?”
“An older brother?” He ignored my question by asking his own.
“Yes.”
“Just the one?”
I stared at my shoes, avoiding his inquiry. Bromly had noticed my ignorance towards peasant life. I had no intention of allowing him to figure out any more about my past. “It doesn’t matter. I’ll never see my family again.”
“Hmm . . .” He squinted at me and grunted. “It’s frustrating that you refuse to tell us a single thing about yourself. What province are you from? What’s your surname?”
“I don’t have one.” Was that unusual? Divine royals are named after the court of their fathers. Born under the Rose Court, Rose followed my name, but it wasn’t a surname. It simply identified me as Brisleian royalty. As if the Mandala wasn’t enough.
He stroked his beard, obviously curious. “The Duke of Burge has four sons. They are promiscuous.” I did not need to be schooled on the lifestyle of the Sloan brothers. I knew well their love for women. “I’ve heard when they produce a child out of wedlock, the duke takes it upon himself to care for the accident so it doesn’t cause a scandal. They’re just rumors, but the Burge manor is awful big.”
Dreams of the Fae: Transcendence Page 18