And even though it was in the negative form, I believe I generated some fascination when he came to my quarters back when I was first imprisoned in his manor. The destruction I caused back then had to have left him awestruck along with another dose of the potential of my power. Otherwise, he would have had me slain right then and there.
As for fear, he has no reason to fear me. Except possibly what I have yet to achieve. He does seem to think I have potential, which is why he’s reaching out to me. In a way, I suppose that demonstrates fear. Fear of the unknown greatness I’ll one day achieve.
That leaves elegance. Elegance is what he is interested in tonight, and unfortunately for me, it is what I struggle with more than anything. Elegance is something this man never strays from. He is refined in every way. I have never seen the man lose his temper or walk with a slouch or dress down in anything less than stylish. The man even eats seared elephant trunk in a way that others aspire to. His elegant persona is polished beyond comprehension, and that is what I must demonstrate tonight. But how? That is the challenge.
I continue eating my meal, fearful I might insult the man if I don’t finish what is on my plate. Not that my appetite would allow any less, but I am reluctant to even leave a crumb of bread.
The two servant boys enter the room once again. This time, they approach with one larger covered platter that takes one boy on each side to carry. I thought the trunk and the honey rolls were plenty. I can’t imagine what is being served that requires such a large silver platter.
The boys steadily approach the table, proving they’ve done this on numerous occasions. Sasha rushes in to collect the first two platters to clear room for the main dish. When they ease it onto the table and remove the lid, they reveal steaming shellfish. Just as my mother had cooked the last missed opportunity I had to sit and dine with her. Seared prawns, buttered crab legs, and a variety of steamed clams, all decorated by a colorful garnish for presentation.
The Taoiseach is served first but politely waits for a plate to be placed in front of me. “The weather has been quite abnormal as of late. Have you seen some of the trees? They’re acting as if summer has already ebbed. And rumors are spreading the northern Ceruleans have received their first snowfall. Quite odd, don’t you think?”
Now I’ve certainly lost him. The man has started speaking of weather patterns. There is nothing more stagnant than the common, everyday weather that acquaintances tend to make the highlight of their day. No. I will not have us discuss weather. I’m better than that. “Yes, odd indeed,” I say politely.
A plate of seafood is placed in front of me. Having missed out on the last opportunity to eat a meal that looks as disgusting as this, I’m not quite sure where to start. I watch the Taoiseach for a moment to make sure I do it correctly. He eloquently picks up his knuckle-crackers and snaps into the first crab leg. The sound of it agitates me, sending a shiver through my body.
Then, a dim glow presents itself in the shadows of the room. I force my gaze to the food in front of me, trying to ignore it, but it won’t go away. She won’t go away. “Not now,” I say quietly but, unfortunately, loud enough for the Taoiseach to hear. “You’re not welcome here.”
“Take a bite, Jay. You’ll love it, I promise.” My mother’s voice calls out unnervingly. As always, she is a mere apparition, like a wisp of mist, but I can make out her physical appearance as if she were standing in this great hall. She radiates beauty and warmth, which doesn’t seem logical to me. But then again, seeing ghosts isn’t logical to begin with.
“Please,” I say with more subtlety and control. “Not now.”
I fail to look at him in the moment, but I know I have lost the Taoiseach. He might see my power, have a fascination for my uncouth behavior, and fear the unknown of my potential, but without the display of discipline and elegance, I have already lost him. Why is she visiting me now?
“Pardon me?” the Taoiseach inquires and looks over his shoulder to see whom I am speaking to.
There is nobody there. At least nobody he can see. I have yet to conclude as to whether she is real or simply the result of a disturbing childhood. I do know I am the only one that sees her, which makes me lean toward the latter. The Taoiseach looks back in my direction, puzzled.
“Jay, dear. Why are you so upset?” my mother asks, but I ignore her. She is standing just behind the Taoiseach now, so it will be difficult, but if I can ignore her, I might be able to salvage this disaster.
“Uh…um…my apologies. I thought I saw a rodent…”
He looks at me strangely. “There are no rodents in my household. None I don’t wish to be here anyhow.”
“Again, my apologies. I have a thing with rodents…” I pause. That’s not something to brag about. If I am trying to impersonate someone who is so great, powerful, and fearful, why would I be afraid of rodents? “…while I’m eating. I’m sure you can understand.” I try to salvage the lie as best as I can.
“Yes. Well…there are none.” There’s irritation in his tone.
I pick up the knuckle-crackers—wondering what the formal name for these things is—and grab a crab leg.
“Jay, please don’t do it.” It’s a soft and eerie whisper. Her tone has changed. There’s fear in her voice. “He’s not the one, Jay,” she whispers again. I pause, holding the cracker in one hand and the exoskeleton in the other. “You know it. You can feel it in your heart. He’s not the one that will give you retribution. Don’t do it.” I look up in her direction. Her hands are placed on her heart. A glimmer runs down her cheek. She’s crying.
I squeeze down on the crackers and break through the crab leg. Her face distorts and changes into somebody else. Her skin, although ethereal, curdles into something ashy. Her eyes go white, and tattoos pen across her face. “Sweet Jay!” Her whisper escalates into something louder, causing me to stir in my seat.
“Is there something wrong?” the Taoiseach asks. “You’re acting rather odd.”
“Sweet Jay!” A terrorizing scream in a voice so piercing it sounds as if a falcon is getting its wings ripped off.
I jump in my seat and let the crab and crackers fall to my plate. “Yes,” I reply bluntly. “Of course there is. You appreciate honesty, do you not?”
He nods his head. “As should everybody.”
“Then why are we doing this? Why are we sharing this stale evening together? There is blood between us. You murdered my parents, and you’ve made threats toward my brother, and there is no easy way for me to let go of that.”
“What’s your point?” he interjects with anger brewing.
“You’ve seen my potential, and you fear it. Otherwise, I wouldn’t be here.” I can see his temper darken even across the dim-lit table. “I am capable of remarkable things. However, I know not what I’m doing or the direction I should be heading. My ambition is nothing more than dark shadows, which is no ambition at all. I need the training and discipline to master my talents the way you have. Your Shadow can only take me so far. Her heart has been consumed by the blood of the innocent, and she can no longer function without that blood. Although extremely talented and skilled in many ways, she does not have the greatness you possess. If you take me under your wing, I give you my word I’ll let your inevitable death by my hand be seamless and forgiving. Teach me how to be great.” I retrieve my fork and crab then proceed to crack down on the exoskeleton where I left off. “Mm… This stuff is good.”
The morbid apparition that my mother changed into separates from her ethereal embodiment and forms into a second apparition. This is new. I’ve yet to see any ghosts other than my mother. The morbid figure, standing behind my once again beautiful mother, chokes her with gruesome flaking hands. It’s a bald, sickly looking man with ashen skin peeling away. He proceeds to strangle her with a disgusting smile on his face. It’s disturbing, but I know it’s not real and I refuse to take my eyes off her. The apparition fades away.
The Taoiseach picks up his napkin and dabs at his mouth before unseating h
imself. He approaches in silence and stands above me for a moment. My hands tremble. What have I done?
His hand grips my throat, and my cheeks are no longer placed in my chair. I hardly realize my lungs are no longer working with the amount of pain that has enveloped my body. I heedlessly struggle to free myself from his grip. His strength is incomprehensible.
“Agreed,” he starts, “however, if you ever talk to me in that manner again, don’t think I won’t end this deal, and your life early. Maybe your brother’s as well. And just so I clearly set the expectation, Ellia and I are similar in our tactics, except for one thing. My heart is not consumed by the blood of the innocent because they have already devoured it. I no longer have a heart.” He drops me, and I rake my back on the wooden chair as I fall to the ground, sucking in as much air as my lungs will accommodate.
So many have died. So much has been lost. The Taoiseach and the People’s War may have brought the realm to a place beyond repair. I am tempted to remove him. But it may be too soon. The knowledge of the ages is dissipating with each death. It will allow us to wipe away the old and start anew.
40 Stone
W atching. Waiting. I linger outside the Taoiseach’s grand estate, leaning up against a nearby structure that presumably is a storehouse for one of the mainstay traders in the city. Hoping to pass as a beggar, I’ve donned the tattered tunic and soiled trousers I arrived to the city with. It shames me my own wardrobe is capable of such a disguise. I wasn’t aware at the time how slovenly I appeared when I disembarked the Phish Skooler, and I can’t help but wonder what Ash thought of me. Not that it matters now, but she’s rather strong-willed to put on such an act and disregard the filth I brought through that door. The fishy smell alone should have caused some ribs to fly my way to afford a bathhouse, but somehow, she managed to take the lot of mine instead.
That isn’t important now. I should be concerned whether my location will bring more attention than my smell. The industrial district isn’t a common place for a beggar, but it’s the only place outside that immense wall of roots that has any visibility of the Taoiseach’s manor itself. Thankfully, the traffic is light.
There hasn’t been any sign of Jay. She’s so close, yet so far. I must find a way in. Climbing isn’t an option. The wall is much too high. And it would take seasons to burrow a tunnel, which I wouldn’t know how to go about making undetectable anyhow. It’s impenetrable. How did the Taoiseach construct such a thing?
I watch the wall closely, inspecting it from a distance in search of anything unusual, any point of weakness. The lack of Crimson Guard is unnerving. Either the Taoiseach is overly confident or there is absolutely no way through that wall except the one gate behind the Redwood Chamber where a handful of guardsmen patrol. There are four primary towers, one at each corner of the wall, with several abandoned keeps in between. Without any guards patrolling the wall, I’m not sure what the purpose is. Does he not believe someone can simply scale the wall?
Astor can come and go as she pleases. Harris has her in his grasp, so the guards know her. But she doesn’t know where Jay is being kept. In a maze of corridors and a plethora of chambers, it would take an entire season to sneak about undetected. But she has an ally on the inside. Her sister Sasha will be able to get a message to Jay. But that is all. How do I get her out? And how do we evade the Taoiseach if he’s marked all of us? I rub my fingers across my deep-rooted scar at my neckline. How immersive is the connection, I wonder. Can Harris control my emotions like Astor suggests? Is it powerful enough for him to control my actions? Can he read my thoughts too? No, that would be absurd. But there is a connection. I can feel it when I’m within sight of him. Though, maybe it’s just my unique hate for the man.
I startle from a movement in my peripheral. It’s a swallow flying toward the wall. It peaks high above, dips, and dives. It turns a sprightly dive toward the wall and vanishes. Not quite sure what I witnessed, I rise from my watching hill to get a closer look. With no Crimson Guard above or around the rampart, I stroll right up, unchecked. My focus dissipates as I fix my gaze to the sky and the wall. It appears to have no top with all the bulges and weaves of roots intertwining one another. Obviously manipulated, but to imagine a tree with roots so magnificent is otherworldly. A scene from the Old Races.
I carelessly run the palm of my hand across the roots, and it gets stuck in the wall, yanking me back as my feet continue to move forward. I somehow wedged it beneath a small root. How did I do that? When I go to pry it free with my other hand, more roots climb over me. And before I realize it, I’m engulfed into the wall, staring back toward the post I had taken at my watching hill. I attempt to shift my head, and it slams back against the wall, leaving me with an immediate headache. I’m suddenly immobile. And surely tethered to the wall.
What in Susy’s four hells just happened? Relax. I attempt a few deep and steady breaths to calm myself, but I’m restricted by the roots fastened around my chest. Instead, I can only muster short, painful breaths. A root tightens around my throat with each inhale. I don’t know what to do. I attempt once more to wiggle free, but I’m completely immobile. It’s hopeless.
“It is not quite midday, and you’re already taking to the shade, eh, Elder?”
I shift my eyes to the man speaking, and my stomach sinks.
“You were supposed to be mounted atop a harpy this morning, but I see you decided my aeronautics course is next to whatever mischief you have going on here. Shall I bother to ask what your goal is, trying to scale your way into the Taoiseach’s estate, and why it is more important than your lessons? Or shall I have you report directly to the Taoiseach for your tardiness?”
“I…eh…I…” The roots squeeze tighter.
“Astor gave you a good word to get you into the Academy. If you aren’t successful, you’ll take that ambitious and beautiful young lady down with you. I won’t allow it.” Master Sephyre unsheathes a blade from his belt and slides it across my chin before placing it at my throat.
He’s close enough that his flowery scent is strong. And his scars are vivid, tearing across one side of his jaw and into his hairline where his ear is hardly recognizable. But it is, and his eyes… I know Master Sephyre from my past, but I cannot pinpoint it. Perhaps my father worked with him. He presses on the blade. The sting of the cut makes me want to wince, but I am utterly immobile. I have no choice but to bare the pain as he presses deeper.
“Though…” He lowers the blade and effortlessly slices through the root tightened about my neck. I gasp for air. The Master of Flight restricts me from moving, careful not to touch the roots with his gloved hands. “For some odd reason, the Taoiseach is distracted by you. My role is simpler when the Taoiseach is distracted. So, unfortunately, I must tolerate your insufferable choices and trust it won’t interfere with young lady Astor’s wellbeing.” Master Sephyre looks to the sky then swiftly slices through the remaining roots. Following his lead, I am cautious as I slip away from the wall. “Now, I believe you have a lesson to get to, in which your instructor won’t be so forgiving of your tardiness. And we can’t have that, or he might lose interest. Go. And for Susy’s sake, rid yourself of those soiled rags before you offend somebody.”
I sprint away without hesitation.
Who is that man? There’s clearly something vile about him. He’s certainly more than just the Master of Flight. His course is going to have an added weight that I don’t need. Something nobody needs when flying. Since my accident in the flight chamber, he’s allowed me a pass from climbing atop one of those winged beasts, but now… I can’t expect such immunities. I tried to tell Astor about him, but she would never listen. Swooned by his charisma and his beautiful smile. What’s his agenda with her? And what will she say to this debacle?
Erg…I can’t tell her about this. She’ll be furious when she finds out I bailed on his course only to risk being discovered by the Taoiseach. Even more so, she’ll be irate about a missed opportunity for me to learn something.
As I j
og back to my quarters, or Master Sephyre’s guest house rather, I shake my head at the entire situation and attempt to dismiss my suspicions by pondering what today’s lesson in etiquette will incorporate. It’s painful every day I sit through it. Particularly having to call him Master Martelli. I must find a way to rescue my sister and rid myself of this place. Thankfully, it’s a course that only takes place every fourth day. The Taoiseach doesn’t have time for anything more. Not surprising when you’re also the tyrant of an entire civilization. But what is surprising is he can fit etiquette into more than one lesson. Each time he has a new topic about what we’re doing wrong. How to properly have a discussion while at a formal dinner, how to present yourself while attending a ball—because I find myself at so many balls—or how to properly cheer while at an event. Who stops to think how to properly cheer while at an Ironball match? Nobody. What will he come up with today? How to properly wipe your own ass. I wouldn’t doubt it’s in his syllabus. If only there was a way to avoid the Taoiseach’s class instead. But I can’t. The consequence would be severe, and it’s the best way for me to get closer to him. To learn his secrets. Even though he’s aware of my identity, I must be his pawn until the time is right. Until I have the perfect opportunity to do whatever it is I’m going to do.
The Taoiseach, as always, stands just outside the door to his lesson hall with a greeting, patiently waiting for everyone to arrive. His glare is a bit off today. Very uncharacteristic. His eyes follow me as I remove my shoes and sit with proper posture at my assigned seat. Susy forbid we taint his pristine lesson chamber. We make eye contact, and we share an understanding in the moment. We both know what is happening here. We are keeping one another close. Watching and waiting. But why would he take part in this game? He is the Taoiseach. He has the power to do what he wants. He is immortal. He schemes. But what?
Season of Sacrifice (Blood of Azure Book 1) Page 52