Disobedient (Rise of the Realms: Book Two)

by D. Fischer

She shakes her head, closing her eyes. Running her index finger over the bridge of her nose, she continues. “You’ll die. I’ve seen you in the death realm, Katriane. I’ve seen you a shade.”

  “What if –” I pause, frowning and disliking my train of thought. “What if I kill them? All of them?”

  “You can’t do that.” She drops her hand, her expression steel. “You can’t kill the fee. All the realms will merge. They are the only thing keeping the realms separate. The living, the dead, the warriors and creatures of all likes, cannot live together in harmony.”

  Frustrated, I sag in my chair. I’m out of ideas.

  “I have no advice for you,” she adds in a whisper. “But that’s not all I’ve seen.” I look at her from under my lashes. “Someone will come for you. Soon. You must go with him.”

  “Go with him where? You just told me to keep myself hidden!”

  “I do not know,” she murmurs. “But I know it’s important. That’s all my vision revealed.”

  I nod, closing my eyes.

  “The future is uncertain, but right now, I can’t help you, and I can’t hide you.” She leans in, tipping my chin up with her knuckle. Her eyes hold such sorrow it breaks my heart. Unshed tears wait within the lids, and her bottom lip quivers. “Do you know how much this hurts, my daughter? To know the life I created will soon dwell with the dead?”

  Tears prick my eyes in return and trickle down my cheek. One runs to the corner of my lips, spilling inside my mouth and coating my tongue with the bite of salt.

  I sniff as I feel something . . . odd. It’s a metaphorical tap on the shoulder, and I feel as though I have eyes on the back of my head. Twisting my torso against the seat to look behind me, I try to discover the cause, but nothing is there.

  “It’s him,” she whispers. I turn back to her. “He’s here for you. You must wake.”

  “I’m not ready yet,” I confess, my voice on the edge of hysterics.

  She grabs my jaw with both hands, her fingers brushing my cheeks. “You must. You are strong, Katriane. Even I do not know the strength building within you, the power you have become. But if anyone can fix this wrong, it is you. You must remain strong.” She shimmies to the edge of her seat, her mouth inches from my forehead. “Resist the dark,” she whispers, placing a kiss on my forehead.

  With that single peck, the dark dream - my conjure - fades.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  ELIZA PLAATS

  DEATH REALM

  I grab the tray from the counter, the smooth bones grinding against the gritty concrete surface. Shuffling toward the dining entryway, I turn to Mrs. Tiller.

  She looks so concerned, her eyebrows pulled toward eyes filled with grief and anxiety. She tugs at her fingers. This action has become such a habit with her. I try my best not to comment about it, to let her comfort herself with repetition. She fears for me.

  “You should stay here,” I whisper.

  Swallowing, she nods with reluctance, dropping her fingers to her side and clenching them into fists. I bite my bottom lip and turn from her with a deep sigh.

  I know what I’m doing. I know why I have so much concern for the well-being of Mrs. Tiller. I’m grasping for anything - anyone - to protect, to feel like I’m doing something. Everyone around me is fighting for their life and what’s to come in the very near future. It’s my duty to guard Mrs. Tiller like it’s the one thing I’m positive I know how to do. Even if she’s already dead, I’m not taking any chances. I failed her once. I’m not doing it again.

  In the back of my mind, the sandman’s words play on repeat, echoing in the chambers of my skull. If I could figure out how to channel Kheelan’s power without him discovering, I may have a chance.

  Could I do it, though? Could I marry him for my own revenge? To free myself? I squash the revulsion that’s settled in the pit of my stomach.

  This could be my part in the rebellion I’m now willing to fight. Aiden would have wanted this for me. He would have wanted me to continue, to fight for the heart within my chest. This is my last chance. There’s no other road for me to question if it’s the right course.

  Taking a deep breath, I totter through a carved, rounded stone arch. The contents on the tray wobble like my inner turmoil. Oh, how much I want to flee right now. That stubbornness I used to have when I was a doctor, a high level of pure determination, has abandoned me. I find myself swimming in a sea of weakness and terrified each breath I take could be my last.

  The dining room is brighter than I expected it to be. All the candles are lit, and the stone floor feels smooth beneath my shoes, unlike the last time I came through here. Someone must have cleaned and lit the wicks in record time.

  It is difficult to keep up with the vampires that move faster than my eyes can register. It’s like trying to see the wind; practically impossible. I’d bet they did this – they cleaned for the visitors.

  I swallow with a numb tongue. Kheelan seems to be going out of his way to impress his guests, which does nothing to settle my nerves.

  Seated at the table, Kheelan folds his hands in his lap as soon as we catch eyes. He waits for me to deliver the goblets for himself and his arriving guests, to serve him like his willing slave or dutiful wife.

  The slapping of shoes grasps my attention, providing the perfect excuse to drop Kheelan’s gaze without seeming as weak as I feel.

  To my surprise, Yaris walks in at a human pace, straightening his clothes and wiping blood from the corner of his lips with the cuff of his sleeve. He leans against the wall, closest to the arch of the throne room, and scratches his chin as though he’s bored. A lit candle above his head reflects in his hair with a dull hue, making his hair seem golden.

  My gaze travels across the black veins along his arms to the pointed teeth poking out of his top lip. How long ago were those teeth sunk in innocent skin? A shiver runs up my spine, igniting every nerve with an unpleasant tickle, and goosebumps raise on my skin.

  A fire is lit, the blue hues licking the stone within, trying to consume something impenetrable. I’d love to be like the rock right now – I’d love to be that firm and indescribable, both inside and out.

  The smell of sage fills the dining room. It’s not an unpleasant smell, but it’s one I am now associating with cruelty. Every time I smell it, it’s when I’m around Kheelan.

  Kheelan beats his fingers, one by one, against the table. I gulp and glance at the tray, steadying my shaky grip. It’s as though his fingers are a drumroll of what’s to come. I do fear him and his impatience. But not as much as what I fear is coming next.

  I fear the fee who creates demons and what possible purpose he has here. I’m not entirely used to Kheelan’s antics, but I’ve never met nor heard anything about this newcomer. Something makes him special, something which requires this to be a formal occasion. Or, do they always entertain the other fee this way?

  A shade I didn’t recognize came to the kitchen earlier, handing me a silky, black, long-sleeved dress with a mandatory corset. I’ve never seen nor worn anything like it, and I reluctantly slipped it on as soon as he left the room. Mrs. Tiller was kind enough to compliment me, but I could see the worry behind her eyes. Her troubled and questioning expression mirrored my own. What does this man and the colosseum have to do with one another?

  The tray clinks as I set it down and begin placing the goblets even with the stone chairs. My hands are trembling with adrenaline. I pause to fumble with the hem of the dress, pulling the sleeves further down my wrists.

  The breaths traveling through my nose sound rushed and heavy, and the blood pumps, pulsing within my ears. I try to slow them down, to quiet them and gain better control of my senses. I need to remain sharp. Yaris and Kheelan are watching me like prey. Surely, they can hear my anxiety whistling through my nostrils, too.

  Yaris speaks, and I nearly jump out of my skin, the hair prickling on the back of my neck, as goosebumps freckling my skin, harden further. “They’ve arrived sir,” he alerts, his words hissing aro
und his fangs.

  With a huff and a final yank on my sleeve, I glance up. His head is averted, watching through the other archway leading to the throne room. Butterflies beat through my stomach, and I fight the urge to run.

  Kheelan chuckles, glee glittering his black eyes. “Scared, are we?” He blinks innocently.

  I choose to tuck my chin, to busy myself setting the delicate and light foods across the round stone table, than to play his game by giving him the satisfaction of answering his tedious question.

  We were told our guest enjoys tiny tea sandwiches, so that’s what Mrs. Tiller and I prepared. I grip a small plate within my fingertips, placing it to my left. I set it down as gently as possible, but the sound of china against stone still fills the room.

  Their footsteps come first, the pitch changing from a slapping echo to a dead beat once they cross the archway into the dining room. A wave of heat and the smell of sulfur follow, wafting in like a humid breeze.

  Turning my head toward the kitchen, I wrinkle my nose discretely, refusing to draw unwanted attention to myself from creatures who master fear. Fear is the only thing consuming me right now.

  Keep calm, Eliza. Set the table and get out of here.

  The scent evolves, replaced by a sweeter aroma I can’t name. It’s alluring, inviting, promising sweet relief; a hot tongue against chilled skin. I fight with myself to maintain my control instead of the pull these guests summon. I grip my fingers around the edge of the table to steady my balance and center my core.

  “Corbin, always a delight,” Kheelan greets, pausing after drawing out his last word.

  Clenching my jaw, metaphorically holding myself together, I wrap my fingers around the tray, lift, and turn to leave, forcing myself to be fully aware of my actions.

  “Is this the guest? But – But,” Kheelan splutters. “He looks precisely like -”

  Frowning, I stop in my tracks, my lips parting as I hang on the reasoning for Kheelan’s unease. He’s not a man who’s ever caught off guard. But, do I really want to know?

  No, I answer myself. Yet, I remain rooted, frozen, still as a statue.

  “The shade twice dead?” An unfamiliar voice asks.

  Oh, that voice, filled with much mischief yet licked with liquid pleasure. Such a poetic tone would turn any girl’s legs into jelly. But that’s not what causes me to suck in a breath and hold it. The blood drains from my face. Shade twice dead?

  The poetic voice continues, “You’d be correct. I’d introduce the two of you, but I hear you’ve already been acquainted.”

  Kheelan splutters. The white noise within my ears prevents me from hearing the words slithering from his mouth.

  I turn, slow, exaggerated, time standing still. It takes me back to the tween before I died, to the time I met the man of my dreams . . . literal, devastating, heart-quenching dreams.

  My eyes find what I’m looking for, the rest of the room blurring in my peripheral vision as though it melts from the background. There, standing with a straight back filled with pride, exactly as I remember him, is my Aiden.

  I gasp. The tray leaves my fingers and crashes to the ground.

  TEMBER

  GUARDIAN REALM

  I pop through the portal with no grace, my arms flailing. My destination is unknown until I’m buried in a downy drift of deep, wet snow. My fingers curl into the familiar white fluff, packing into my palm and creating a firm ball as I gather my bearings.

  The breeze is chilly, a few flakes melting against my skin. It’s moments like these that I relish the absence of pain.

  Lifting my head, I prop myself up on my elbows and climb to my feet. I feel the portal close behind me, the breeze rushing through the now empty space, and tickling the loose curls on the back of my neck.

  I rake a hand through my hair, my fingernails scraping my scalp. I know where I am. I know where she sent me. I stand in the forest belonging to the elves. The woodland smells of the guardian realm are familiar – it’s an aroma that’s hard to forget, and there isn’t another smell like it. I’ve fought wars here, fought for my people, watched the blood splatter along the mud from both lines of battle.

  The fact she knew where to send me is chilling. All except for the fee and most powerful, who transport themselves to wherever they wish, need to have been to a destination in order to travel there on their own via portal, shimmer, or sandstorm. It is why the fee built portals for their own creatures who frequently leave their realm. Though she may have sent me to my realm, she did not send me to safety. Whether that’s on purpose or by accident, I’m not sure.

  I glance up and to the east. There, floating in the sky, obscured by a pleasant downfall of snowflakes, is the Angel’s ground. A glittering, never-ending night sky looms over it, whereas where I stand, it’s bright, the snow descending from nowhere.

  This is the realm filled with guardians – with warriors capable of protecting themselves, this realm, and much more. The wars here are brutal, and me being on territory that isn’t mine could cause another.

  I often wondered why Erma created beings built for war. She and Erline are close. Erline created beings who were defenseless, for reasons I can’t fathom. They’ve thrived and are now capable of such, though it could possibly lead to their own demise someday, but in the beginning, they were weak.

  Perhaps Erma created us to defend those who couldn’t – to defend Erline’s creations, at least in the beginning. Now, we protect them from themselves. However, with the revelations about Sureen and the possible complications of her probable future actions, we could be defending them against their wildest nightmares.

  I arch my back, straightening my spine and limbering my muscles. Being tossed from a portal came as a surprise. I didn’t have a chance to ease into it, and my muscles suffer the consequences. It won’t do me any good to come across an elf, stiff as the trunk of these forest trees.

  Erma used to live down here with the Yoki Elves, walking amongst them like she does now on the Angel’s Ground. Perhaps that is why they are bitter, why they don’t get along well with angels. Jealousy is a root to a gnarled tree.

  Scanning the forest, I quiet my breaths and sharpen my eyes. An angel hiking this forest is an angel asking for trouble.

  “What are you doing here?” A voice whispers behind me. I whip around and scan the many trees smelling of lemon and sandalwood. My eyes fall on a figure treading my direction.

  Erma’s tiny red ringlets whip in the wind, a whipplemonk wrapped around her shoulders. She wears a white rawhide, a partial shell of an Oxtra.

  I remember the Oxtra well from the battles of the past. They’re the animals who carry the freshly chopped wood of the Yoki Elf tribe. Their heads resemble a goat and their bodies are covered in long white fur. As large beasts, several human heights, they stand on their two back legs which adds to their musculature. Oxtra’s are equipped for a hardy job, but they are as deadly as they look, and difficult to kill.

  A part of me is shocked that the fur adorns her shoulders. Though the Oxtra work for the Yoki, the shawl was gifted to her by the Igna Elves, the hunters, when she walked among the elves. Since then, it has hung in her closet and collected dust.

  I tilt my head. If she’s wearing it, she wants something from the elves.

  The whipplemonk chirps, the sound of a high-pitched tiny bird that ricochets a tiny song with one squeak. I smile, my fondness for the palm-sized animal swelling within my chest. Back when I’d have missions in this area, I always adored them.

  Holding many similarities to animals on the earth realm, they have a face like a small monkey, six legs with delicate feet like a tree frog, and a long, whipped tail scaled like a rat. They’re loyal and loving, but when crossed, they can be a nightmare just the same. All Erma’s creatures are defensible and rightfully so.

  Shaking the fresh fallen snowflakes from my hair, I answer distractedly, feigning indifference, “I didn’t ask to come here, if that is what you question.”

  A small smile plays
at the corners of her full carmine lips, smugness puffing her cheeks. “She sent you back, did she?”

  I flare my nostrils and sniff. “Apologies have never been a skill I excel at.”

  “Humanity doesn’t suit you, Tember,” she responds, quick-witted and full of deep sarcasm.

  “I’m aware.” I pause, disregarding the ping of offense which stabs the heart within my wrist. I frown instead. “What are you doing down here? You know it’s not safe.”

  She laughs, stroking the head of the whipplemonk with her index finger. With each caress, the tiny creature’s skin wrinkles, his eyes contently hooded.

  “You forget who I am.” Her tone is like dripping blood from a fresh wound. “It’s not safe for you, but it is for me. I created the Elf Tribes, Tember. I can put them right back where I found them.”

  Closing my eyes in annoyance, I feel a headache beginning between my pinched eyebrows. “They’re hostile, Erma. There’s a reason the angels and the elves have no ties with one another.”

  “Don’t you think it’s time to rectify that?” she hisses, the wind almost carrying it away. “Time and time again, I’ve watched the elves and the angels destroy one another. And for what I ask you? The affections of your creator?”

  I ignore her questions, because we both know the answers, and instead, ask another. “Why? Why are you here?”

  “Do you think me a fool, Tember?” She kisses the whipplemonk on the forehead, his black eyes disappearing when its double-fold eyelids close in affection. She lifts him up until her arm can reach no more and uses her power to lift him in the air, settling him on a white branch above our heads. His body blends so well with the bark, his skin camouflaged from the threats lurking within his forest.

  Erma had a sense of drama when she created the creatures who roam this land. Perhaps she was in a dark place. The Erma I know is filled with light and hope. Maybe she wasn’t always so. The many creatures who lurk this land would frighten any child.

  She continues, “Sureen has never held the power to have warriors herself. With the coming light of Erline’s powerful daughter, and the reasoning behind it, she’ll be more than determined to build protection for her realm. And that’s the least of our worries, Tember. She could do so much more.” She begins parading deeper into the forest, and I, traveling behind her, hang on every word.