“Welcome, Yoma.” The woman smiled, though the smile did not reach her eyes. They were lined with deep black grooves, and her skin ghastly white even in the yellow light. “I am Adina.” The smile strained her features. “Your aunt.”
Yoma took a deep breath, unsure how to greet an aunt that was royalty, or to greet the first family member, aside from Layl, she had ever met. She remained guarded and simply nodded.
Adina took a step closer, looking deeply in her eyes. Her hand came up, and Yoma refused to flinch. The woman brushed back a strand of hair to see both her eyes more clearly. Hesitation crossed her features for a moment, but she quickly narrowed her eyes and removed her hand. “I’m sorry to hear about your sister.”
“Are you?” She spat. “It seems to me, Mirialers were intent on one of our deaths.”
Adina gave a tight smile. “If things had happened as they were meant to, you would not have had to suffer with the knowledge that your sister had to die. And Mirial would still exist.”
Yoma returned the tight smile. “But I might have been the one murdered as a child.” Adina flinched at the word murdered. “And then we wouldn’t be having this pleasant little reunion now. Would we?”
Layela would have tended the flowers of Mirial, Yoma wanted to scream to her. She decided that she truly disliked the first family member she had ever met.
Adina waved her hand, as if to dispel Yoma’s words. “It doesn’t matter now. What matters is that you are here. My strength fades, and you need to take control of Mirial’s powers before we all perish.”
“I don’t need to do anything you tell me. I’ve only come this far to try to save my sister.” She took a deep breath to steady her hammering heart. “Why don’t you do it? Why don’t you restore the powers of Mirial?”
Adina’s features hardened and her mouth opened, only to close again. She took a deep breath, her voice shaking with anger. “I do not have the power. Only Mirial can choose who of the royal bloodline will be granted that power. The chosen is born into the role, like you were.”
“You mean Layela and me.”
Adina waved her hand dismissively again. The green fabric she wore, probably very beautiful once, was faded, just like her dark hair seemed faded, and her eyes were faded…everything about her that must have once been beautiful was now faded and covered with dust.
“The capital is where you need to go. There, in its largest temple, you will find a source of power that will allow you to control Mirial and lower her shields again.”
“Wait, you want me to lower the planet’s defences?” Yoma shook her head, feeling days of weariness creep into her bones. She wondered how long it would be, if she stayed on Mirial, before she began fading like Adina had. “You Mirialers make no sense.”
Adina looked toward the waterfall as though searching for words or memories buried deep within her; as though only the tumbling water could remind her. “The shields were put up too strongly, and Mirial’s very ether is trapped. The sun accumulates power and then releases it, but it keeps getting trapped, and it is destroying our planet.”
Adina’s piercing gaze focused once more on Yoma. “The night you and your sister were born, the balance was thrown off and Mirial paid the price. Your mother died, the sun released its defences, killing half the planet and trapping the ether, and it remains trapped here still. It’s not just about your life and the life of your twin, Yoma. Without ether, no race can exist. Some will feel it to a greater degree and perish quickly, like the Berganda.” Yoma flinched at the mention of the race, and she suddenly wondered how much Gobran had told the woman. Probably everything, she thought, flushed with anger. “But every race will eventually perish as well. No world can exist without ether, and only Mirial, the First Star, provides it. That’s what makes this journey so important.”
Adina took another step forward and Yoma closed her fists. She debated slugging her. “Your visions will lead you, but you have other powers now that you are here. Let the ether fill you, trust it, and it will guide you, Yoma.” She added as an afterthought, “Just as it would have guided your mother.”
“I have a question,” Yoma suddenly asked. “What’s my name?”
Adina narrowed her eyes. “I assume Yoma has always been your name. It means day, as Layela means night.” She paused. “Your mother would have liked that.”
Yoma sighed. “I mean my last name. Delamores was the name of the old woman who took care of us. What’s my actual name?”
Adina shook her head. “This is hardly of importance right now. Delamores was an old maid who had tended your own mother. I thought she had perished, but I suppose she lived and somehow found you and the captain of the Guards.” She spoke the title with unease.
“I really thought this was a simple question,” Yoma said tightly, and exhaled with annoyance. “So, my apologies if this is so complex. What I mean to ask is, who was the king? Who was my father?”
Adina waved the question off. “It is tradition on Mirial that the father of the royal children is never revealed. It is a matriarchy, full and complete, since the ether courts women more.”
“Nice,” Yoma said. An odd loneliness clung to her heart. Her father might still be alive, and she might actually like him, but she’d never know. “What about Zortan?” Yoma asked suddenly, thinking out loud. “He went to a lot of trouble to save us. Maybe he’s our father.”
“That’s ridiculous,” Adina spat, surprising Yoma with her vehemence. “Some people still believe in keeping their word and duty. Zortan is amongst them.”
Apparently, her aunt had some unresolved issues with the captain of the Royal Guards. Interesting. It could prove to be useful knowledge... But not today. Yoma was weary, and she was tired of having to wage war for every answer, no matter how small.
“Well, it was great meeting you, really. But I want to get some rest.” Yoma paused, and then added, “I want you to know, I don’t intend to stay here. Once this business is over, I’m gone, and you can keep this royalty business. Is that a deal?”
Adina looked into Yoma’s eyes again and her features softened for a moment, as though she was about to say something. Instead she turned and walked away, her strong stride defying her fading body.
“You leave in the morning,” she called back, and Yoma did not bother answering.
A temple in the capital. Yoma could see the temple in her mind, but still her old vision refused to assault her, as though the future it had predicted was no longer possible. She took a deep breath and looked down at her hands.
“They would be covered with your blood, Layela.” She knew it with certainty, and wondered if the quick death in space might have been better for her sister. The fragrance of unfamiliar flowers tingled her senses and soothed her weary mind.
Layela.
She wished she could convince herself that her sister’s unforeseen death had been merciful.
33
Adina Mistolta stood on her balcony above ground, the flickering light of the torches outlining her body through her thin white robe. Her eyes travelled the length of the land as they did every night, as though other survivors might come stumbling from the darkness. She had searched long and wide, and fiercely protected the remaining few with her dwindling powers.
But it had never seemed like enough, and now, as she had gazed into her niece’s green eyes, knowing that one should be the colour of deepest night, she knew that her time had come. She felt no sadness at that. All of her grief had been spent a long time ago.
It was time to pay for what she had done and to take charge of the life she had created.
Hearing the door open and close gently, Adina smiled. She had waited a long time for this. Hurrying was not necessary.
She had all the time in the world.
As much as he would give her.
“Adina,” she heard him say her name. It fell on her ears like the sweetest honey. He did not say it harshly, nor passionately. But he had said it. That was all that mattered.
Closing her eyes, she turned around. She wanted to smell him first. He approached her slowly and she raised her head, bathing in everything her senses could tell her before she could lose herself in the sight of him.
He still smelled as good as he always had, a sweet and masculine aroma that only a lover could truly learn to appreciate and crave. She had always imagined him as a wild creature, untamed except in her arms. His smell reminded her of it. The wildness.
He stood so close that she could hear his breath now. It was calm, as it had always been. The sound that had reassured her during so many sleepless nights. And the sound she had missed the most.
Lightning coursed through her body as he gently brushed the side of her face with the tips his fingers. Tears escaped her and he gently wiped them away, one by one. His coarse skin felt wonderful. So real. So warm.
Bringing up her own hand, she took his and kissed it. She could taste her own tears mingling with earth and sweat. He had always been so real to her. Her anchor in this wild, crazy world.
She fought to control her tears. She felt like a young, foolish maiden again, being courted by the most handsome man.
But that time had passed long ago.
Finally she opened her eyes, looking up at his. They were dark, as dark as the day she had first seen him. The day she had fallen in love with him so deeply that even her soul had cried out for him.
He was still beautiful. Older, with more scars and pain etched on his chiselled features, but those didn’t matter. He was still the most handsome man on Mirial. To Adina, her husband, Zortan Mistolta, would always be the most handsome man in the universe.
“Adina,” he repeated, more softly now. She knew he had expected the worst. It was simply the kind of man he was. But she still loved him, no matter what had happened.
It made her feel good to know that he still loved her, too. Even though he tried to hate her. She put her arms around him, her mouth reaching for his. He did not resist. She didn’t think he could have.
The bitter taste in her mouth was washed away with his honey. How she wished she could stay here, forever. Burn their past and fly towards the future, together.
Perhaps in another life, she could meet him and they could love each other as they had been meant to, simply as two individuals. She wished she had been born a peasant, free from the cares and hatreds that had led them here, to this moment.
How could she explain to him what she had done? How could she explain to anyone her pain?
Her pain had begun when her younger sister, whom the ether courted more strongly, became queen in her stead. It was a pain that had intensified each night her husband, the captain of the Royal Guards, stayed late, helping her sister in her queenly matters while Adina ached for his presence. It was a pain that culminated the day her sister gave birth, and called her captain to her side, instead of her sister.
How could she explain to him the anguish she felt at the queen’s death, at what one moment of anger had done to them all? And the anguish of learning the truth: her sister had given birth to twins. And her sister had known Adina, unlike her soft-hearted husband, would do her sworn duty and kill one of the children.
How could she explain to the captain of the Royal Guards that she had killed the queen because she loved him too much?
She couldn’t. And so she didn’t try. Instead, she lost herself in him one last time. When the kiss ended, so gently, she saw the pain in his eyes. He had tasted the bitter poison that coated her lips. He knew she was dying.
He didn’t ask why. He took her in his arms instead, hugging her so fiercely that his heartbeat became the only sound in her world.
They had become lovers the day they had met. The stars themselves sang at their union. Words had never been a necessity. They communicated on a much deeper level.
Twenty years of separation had not dulled their link. She had known he was aboard the Victory from the first moment the ship penetrated the atmosphere and fought against the wraiths of Mirial. She had known he was coming for her. To kill her for what he knew she had done.
She had killed the queen he had been sworn to protect.
He should have understood back then, as he surely did now, that everything she had done had been for him. And it still was: she would take her own life, rather than have him live with the knowledge that he had killed his wife.
She felt herself slip away. His heartbeat became hers. She was dimly aware of him lowering her onto the bed, lying down beside her and holding her.
She thought she heard him whispering to her. That he loved her. That he always had. And that he always would. No matter what.
But she could barely hear him.
All she could hear was his heartbeat.
Until her own heart stopped beating.
Dunkat landed his shuttle near a cave. His father’s soul lingered at the entryway, a shadow of what he had once been. Dunkat opened the door without hesitation and stepped out, following the soul into the cave.
Rocks crunched under his boots. The glow from his father’s spirit was enough to light his way, as long as he kept his pace brisk.
He was not surprised that his father, or at least a piece of him, had survived. He had always been strong, and stubborn. Dunkat had modelled his own behaviour after him, admiring his quick and steep climb into politics. And his luck: when Mirial was uncovered, as it was once every twenty to thirty years, his father had happened to be leading a survey mission of the area.
It would have led to great heights, had it not all gone so foul. Now, Dunkat could barely convince the council that Mirial existed at all, much less that it posed a threat.
The air in the cave was growing a bit thin, but despite being middle-aged, Dunkat kept himself in superb form and his body maintained its strength.
A faint glow could be seen approaching his father. Dunkat’s gut turned. What if it was his mother? He would be surprised if she had lived, being a weak creature, and he wondered how he would react if he saw her again. He had loved his mother, but had hated her at the same time. It was she, he was certain, who had created his father’s weakness — his love of art.
Dunkat was certain his father had accepted Mirialers so easily because he shared their passion. Everything on Mirial had been finely manicured, from her ships to her gardens, all meticulously tended to and cared for. Had he been more suspicious and not lingered on the planet, even bringing his family to take in the sights…Dunkat stopped his thoughts from heading too far in that direction. What was done was done, and who knew what kind of man Dunkat would have been, had he not had to fight for his survival these last twenty years.
The tunnel ended abruptly in a cavern with an odd yellow glow bouncing off the walls, although Dunkat could not see any source for the light. A small pond, three metres across at most, rested in the bed of the cave, shimmering with yellow highlights and some hints of greens that Dunkat assumed to be algae.
His father’s soul came to rest above the pond, the light of the cavern giving him a sickly yellow look.
“Dunkat,” his father said, his mouth moving just a bit after the syllables reached his ears. Dunkat concentrated on his eyes. They were as stern and hard as he remembered they had always been...except when he had been looking at a fine piece of art, of course.
“Mirial must not be allowed to revive,” his father said, and Dunkat bit back his reply — I told you that twenty years ago, when you were still flesh and blood! His father had been a terrible enough foe when he lived. Now that he was some form of wraith, Dunkat dared not make an enemy of him.
“I can give you the means to stop Mirial’s rebirth.”
Dunkat braced himself for the words that he knew would follow.
“It will require the use of ether.” Of course. Dunkat
felt himself flush, his anger boiling high in his throat. Ether was the source of all their problems.
“There must be another way,” Dunkat spat out. He felt like a teenager again, about to be scolded by his father. But the anger did not come.
“I have looked. It is the only way. If you stop Mirial, all of us will be allowed to rest and we will no longer need to worry about the terrible threat of ether.”
Dunkat clenched his fists. His father had looked, and his father would have been meticulous. Dunkat wanted to ask about mother, but feared that might draw his father’s wrath. He wondered if she lingered in some form, waiting to be reunited with her family, alone and afraid. He wondered how hard his father had looked for her, and he imagined the night wind carrying his cries of anguish when he could not find her.
“How do I stop it?” he muttered, then braced his feet and spoke again. “How do I stop Mirial?”
His father seemed to smile for a moment. It sent a shiver down Dunkat’s spine.
“You must kill the heirs. Two little girls, both on this planet, both heading to the same place. We can do it together, Dunkat.” The shade hissed, and its voice grew smooth again. “My powers in death can take form in your living body. I cannot approach them, but in you, we both can. If we join, an army will follow you, and the opportunity to win is ours.”
Dunkat nodded and walked towards the shade, trusting as he always had that his father would not lead him to his doom.
34
Bridge. Temple. Hurry!
Yoma?
“It’ll be okay, just hold on to me, Layela.”
Yoma?!
“It’ll be okay.”
Blood!
Layela woke up with a jerk, the sound of her own deep breath greeting her return to the world of the waking. She waited, her eyes closed, letting the images wash over her, afraid to move for fear they would leave her. She could see some of them almost as clearly as if Josmere had recalled them for her. Her skin still tingled with the sensation of warm blood; goose bumps travelled the length of her arm at the memory of Yoma’s voice.
Destiny's Blood (The First Star Book 1) Page 27