Son of Ereubus
Page 11
Smiling, she picked up a warm, round loaf of bread, dropping a coin into the Adorian woman’s palm. Then, surprised by a whirling gust of wind that whipped around the corner of the street, she gasped, clutching her hood too late to keep it from falling back, revealing fire-red ringlets that tumbled in long strands well past her shoulders.
There was no doubting who she was. She had been told that red hair wasn’t common in Adoria’s capital, appearing mainly in those who were related to her mother’s kin.
All talk hushed into whispers, which alone made her feel uneasy, but when they fell to their knees, her stomach lurched.
Bowing her head, she tried to will the blood that welled in her cheeks to leave them a more reasonable color than the vibrant scarlet hue they no doubt displayed. Mumbling apologies as she pushed her way past the masses, she ducked into the darkest doorstep she could find, discarding the bread as she entered.
The crude wooden sign that hung from rusted chain above the door should have warned her, but at the time, she didn’t care where she was going as long as it was away from the unwelcome attention.
Inside the establishment, the Braeden stopped their chatter. The tinkling of glass mugs being set down on tables forced a groan from her. Please, let me just get out of here without further notice.
Duncan stood from where he sat near the front, a gentle smile gracing his usually grumpy features. He was thinking that she’d come to find him. Sighing, she didn’t have the heart to refute what his face plainly showed he believed. He was lucky she’d had a little while to cool off.
“I’d hoped you would make your way down here at some point, though I can’t say your brother will be too pleased you’re here.”
“Is that because he is supposedly my brother, or because I am a lady?” she asked dryly.
Before he could answer, another voice — one she hadn’t heard since she was very little — answered for him.
“Can a lady not be her brother’s ward as well? Not that any man or Adorian will ever have any hope of keeping a true eye on any female in your family.”
“Roahn,” his name fell solemnly from her lips, breaking her heart as the enormity of her sense of abandonment washed over her.
His hair was much lighter than when she’d last seen him, gray streaks blended with chestnut, the scar that ran from brow to cheekbone far less prominent and his skin much fairer now than when the harsh sun of Palingard had tanned him.
“Ariana,” he rose from his seat, his walk slow and deliberate as he made his way to her. “Were it within my ability to ask your forgiveness I would, but I know, as do we all, how deep was the love your father felt for you, how limitless, and to ask for such a thing would be to deny what I know was a decision made out of great strength. He wanted nothing but to have you here.”
“You knew of their advances on Palingard. Did you think of that endless love of his when you knew my fate and decided my life wasn’t worth saving?”
Roahn paused, restraint evident in his handsome features. His face wounded her deeper than she’d imagined it could. Lifting a hand in an angry reflex, her palm was inches from his face when he caught it and lowered their clasped hands to his chest. He held it her hand there for a moment, stilled against his heart beating in his chest.
She closed her eyes, wishing away the memories of how many times she’d been held there as a child, letting out a breath only when he pulled her to him. A steady arm held her waist while he rested his cheek on the top of her head.
Duncan touched her back. “Don’t think for a moment that we wouldn’t lay down our own lives for you.”
“I know you are wounded, Ari,” Roahn whispered. “I also know there are no words that are strong enough salve to mend what you believe to be broken. But you’re here, and if there were ever a time to remember the faith you once had in him, it would be now.” Roahn lifted her chin. “You were spared for a reason.”
Still in his embrace, tears spilled down her cheeks. Perhaps her tears were for those she’d long since mourned and laid to rest in her mind, or for the realization of the magnitude of how much of her life had been a lie, maybe even a little of both. She cried until her throat was raw, fears for Sara and Bella — for all of Palingard — mixed with the overwhelming grief of losing nearly everyone she’d ever known.
Eventually, a mug of ale was placed in her hands; she emptied the glass in seconds.
Duncan laughed louder than the rest of them, patting Ariana on the back. He looked at Roahn and smiled. “I once fancied you merely brave. Had you spent the last fifteen years in Middengard, I’d call you irrefutably fearless.”
Roahn’s laugh rolled from his belly as he chuckled. “And why is that, if I may ask?”
Duncan grinned, ducking his head as if he were about to share a secret of great importance. “If you had, you would’ve known what you risked by pulling a furious, armed Ariana into your embrace.”
Roahn stepped back, looking her over in mock horror. “What’s this?” He shook his head, clicking his tongue in disagreement, “I think our friend has had too much to drink, eh?”
Duncan took a step back, holding his hands up in a helpless gesture. “I warned him.”
Roahn looked at her sideways as she pulled a dagger from her belt, letting it play in a nimble dance through her fingers, snatching it away as soon as he reached for it.
He looked at Duncan, then back to Ariana, astonished. “Dare I ask, but can you use it?”
She smiled, all the while taking aim at a gamesman’s board that hung on the wall. Letting the hand blade go, she crossed her arms as it hit dead center. “What would you say?”
Laughter abounded and another drink was sent her way, leaving her feeling light-headed and, for a short while, relaxed.
“So, you were supposed to have wings?” Ariana asked Duncan.
“We all were.”
“And, you’re not furious about that? I’d be furious. You have to ride and walk everywhere while they get to fly? Seems unfair.”
Roahn groaned. “Well, there are moments where it chaps. There are games we can’t play for lack of wings, but at the end of the day it isn’t so different. It’s not like you think, Ari. You ride horses and walk, even though you are fully able to run. Why? Because running wears you out. So does flying. The wings aren’t like birds’. Adorians have arms and shoulders and a human body structure, but you won’t notice too many flying unless they have to or unless there is some immediate benefit in it.” He paused, something unreadable in his eyes. “You definitely won’t see your brother fly much. Your father instructed Cademon and him to fly in retreat the day he died and though Michael had no choice in the matter, he’s never forgiven himself for it.”
“I don’t want to know the details, not now.” Ariana was already feeling woozy and wasn’t in the mood for such talk.
“Then tell us what you’ve been up to since we’ve seen you last,” Roahn said. “I’m sure you caused all sorts of trouble for Bella.”
She entertained them with stories of what had changed in Palingard since they’d last been there and in turn listened as Duncan told his own tales of teaching Ariana the weaponry her father had forbidden.
“It amazes me that the very beings who left my sister for dead, by decree of what they believed my father swore them to, would so flagrantly go behind his wishes to educate her on what he plainly wouldn’t have allowed.”
Michael’s voice silenced the pub. Roahn cleared his throat and bowed to Michael.
“My Lord. My discretion was questionable. I should’ve reasoned that you wouldn’t appreciate her being here.”
Ariana looked up at Roahn and then to Duncan, whose hand rested on her shoulder. She’d had far too much ale to take any of them seriously, let alone someone she’d just met days ago, whether he claimed they were related or not. Duncan cringed as she opened her mouth.
“I resent that.” She hiccupped, giggling softly to herself. “I am a free woman and can go anywhere I please.”
She giggled again. “Creative. I think I might like to see that — it could prove rather entertaining. It’s quite dull around here isn’t it?”
The Braeden tried not to laugh, but Ariana’s irreverence toward Michael proved too much. Their restraint crumbled, leaving Michael’s face stern as he walked her out of the pub, pulling the hood of her cloak over her head as they entered the street.
“Are you ashamed of me as well?” she mumbled.
He stopped, whirled around, and took her face in his hands, steadying her unsure gaze. “It’s your comfort that concerns me, not hiding who you are.” He paused. “You’re drunk.”
She shook her head. “I believe I was drunk an hour ago.”
Flustered, he dropped his hands and turned back toward the keep. “I suggest you lie down for awhile lest you wake with the headache I fear will keep you close company this evening, though I question your ability to do much of anything reasonable at this point. Kaitlyn will call for you when the feast begins.”
“I resent that, too,” she quipped, proud of herself for holding what she hoped was a reprimanding scowl on her face. “I’m reasonably able to call myself to the feast!”
CHAPTER TWELVE
BLOOD IS BLOOD
G
arren walked into the chilled night air, his boots scraping against the dirt and stone, the sound echoing in the stillness. His head felt clouded and heavy, his vision hindered by disorientation. He could recall nothing of where he’d been before then.
Eidolon was illuminated by the glow of the moon. Shadows were his only company as he wandered past one deserted building after another. After a while, he found that he’d wandered to the oldest part of the dividing wall, made of iron and covered in thick ivy. It was unremarkable for a few paces, but as he approached an aperture, he caught a fleeting glimpse of red through the leaves.
He tore the ivy away and saw nothing for a moment. Then, just ahead of him, he caught another flash of moonlit red and he ran after it, tearing at the ivy every few feet in an attempt to catch her. Finally, he reached an opening, and though it wasn’t the gate that he’d recalled, he found himself face to face with her.
He was speechless. She apparently was, too. If he could just see clearly — everything seemed so distant, so hazy. She stood in silence, her blue eyes not quite as bright as they’d been the last time he’d encountered her. He pulled his glove from his hand and reached through the bars, certain that she’d shy away.
She remained still as he swept his fingers across her cheek, her skin warm to the touch. He started to speak, but though he stood right in front of her, his very flesh upon hers, her presence felt like a beautiful illusion and some part of him feared that if he spoke, she’d vanish. He’d just parted his lips, willing to take the risk, when he heard a sickening scream.
At first he thought it was coming from the castle, but, to his horror, he saw the Moriors approaching her from behind. He pulled his hand back and tried the iron, finding it as solid as it appeared.
“Garren.” Her voice trembled.
He tried to climb the wall, but every foothold failed him. He attempted in vain to use his powers to remove the wall between. His sight spun as he clung to her through the bars, her hands fastened on his arm so tightly that she broke his skin. As the sharp claws of the Moriors pierced her chest, he cried out.
Sweat poured over Garren as he bolted upright in bed, his heart beating hard. He ran his hands through his hair, trying to get his bearings. As he brought his hands back down to his sides, he felt a sting on his right arm and when he looked down, he could barely make out, in the faint light, a bloody tear where hands had clung to him. He traced it with his fingers, expecting it to vanish at any moment. His pulse quickened further as it dawned on him.
She said my name.
Michael was downstairs with Jenner when Kaitlyn tore around the corner.
“My Lord,” she leaned over with her hands on her knees as she caught her breath. “She’s screaming! She’s asleep, but I can’t wake her. I just know something’s wrong.”
Michael didn’t wait to hear anything else. He grabbed Jenner by the arm and started up the stairs toward the north hall.
As he approached the back corridor, he heard her crying out and ran faster. It was a terrifying scream, sounding more from pain than fear. He reached the doors first and as he swung them open, he could see her thrashing about on the bed. As soon as he reached her, he took her by the arms and called her name, but just as Kaitlyn had said, Ariana didn’t respond.
Jenner stepped forward. “Nor dunto lathoro toul verdet et antonai.” As Jenner spoke, Ariana began to struggle less against Michael’s hold. Her breathing stayed the same, as did the level of distress in her expression. “Navi lavotu ahnorno nigh say entiron laithos.”
She fell limp against Michael.
“Ariana,” Jenner said softly.
She stirred, turning her head, as if she were trying to push the dream away. Once she finally opened her eyes, she saw Michael first and clutched the sleeves of his shirt.
“Ariana,” Michael turned her face to his. “You were dreaming.”
Ariana couldn’t speak right away. He pulled her to him, this time wrapping his arms around her, but felt his skin grow wet and warm. He lifted his hand to the light, and saw that it was covered in blood. Horrified, he looked to Jenner.
The elder reached over and pulled at Ariana’s gown to expose long cuts that tore through her skin. They were superficial wounds, little more than scratches, but quite real.
Michael’s eyes darkened, “Ariana, what aren’t you telling me?”
She tried to speak, but her voice came out as a sob instead.
“Leave us,” Michael said softly.
Jenner motioned for Kaitlyn to follow him into the hall. “Would you have me postpone tonight’s affair until tomorrow?”
Michael looked at Ariana doubtfully. “Begin without us.” He watched them disappear through the doorway before he turned back around. He could see in her eyes the hesitation to reveal anything and almost scolded her for it, but behind her reluctance was clear and unmistakable fear. He swallowed his disapproval and tried his best to be patient.
“What did you see in this dream?”
Ariana shook still but had calmed down enough to speak. “I saw Garren — Moriors — a place that I can only assume is Eidolon.”
Michael’s face hardened.
“He didn’t do this to me,” she whispered.
Michael closed his eyes and bent his head to keep from showing his fury. He could tell she was afraid to provoke him and he needed her to be honest with him. It was frustrating that she would consider the High Lord innocent in any way.
“Don’t be foolish! He has no benevolence. Dark to his very core, whatever poison he is using to tempt you into thinking of him in any other way is straight from Ciara herself. Why didn’t you disclose this before? I assume that this isn’t the first time you’ve seen visions of him?”
“What could you have done?” she asked, quickly showing regret for her words.
“What would I not have done to prevent this?” Michael glanced away, reining in his emotions. “He’s inflicted horrible deaths upon our people out of sheer spite. He’s slain without consideration of gender or age — infants, women, children — it makes no difference to him. Blood is blood.” He let go of her and rose from the bed. He walked to a small cupboard near the washstand, where he withdrew a washcloth and an unadorned green bottle. He sat back down on the bed beside her and motioned for her to lie down.
He moved aside the torn shreds of her gown with as gentle a touch as he could muster and tended to her wounds. He started to comfort her, but he couldn’t say the words.
Anger outweighed his sympathy. In all fairness, she was right, he didn’t know what he could have done, but not telling him was unacceptable. She naturally would be guarded, given her childhood and the events of the last few weeks, but it wasn’t an excuse to harbor such secrets. This, even for Garren, was extraordinary.
The cuts looked much better with the blood washed away. He placed the top back onto the bottle and laid it with the washcloth on the night stand.
“Are you angry with me?” she asked, her voice not much more than a murmur.
“I’m not pleased with your discretion, but I wouldn’t use the word anger,” he lied, not wanting to say much more for fear of revealing his real sentiments. She didn’t respond, but lay still and wordless instead, as though she were waiting on his permission to move. He put his hand on her shoulder. “If you’re well enough, change clothes. I will meet you in the hall. You are under no obligation to go if you aren’t ready. There is always another night.”
She shook her head. “I’ll be ready in a few minutes.” Her back was to him, her breathing still shallow.
He rose from the bed and walked toward the hall. Once outside, he leaned against the wall, his arms crossed on his chest. Blood throbbed in his head, blurring his vision. How could he intervene when the enemy was miles away? He’d expected the Ereubinians to grow in strength with their victory in Palingard, but this was unlike anything he’d ever witnessed. They’d displayed moderate powers of a trivial nature, like levitating objects or a mild persuasion, but nothing this malevolent.
He hadn’t noticed the dog before, but Michael suddenly felt hot breath on his legs. Koen was sitting next to him, whimpering. He must’ve been locked out of the room. He ran his hand down the dog’s head and back. “I think she would appreciate the company.” He cracked the door enough for Koen to go through. Though it was muffled, he thought he heard Ariana cry out Koen’s name and his heart sank. Was it really necessary for him to have been so harsh with her? She was miles away from what she’d known as her home, and though he felt he’d known her forever, she had more to take in than just his existence. She needed time to get used to everything — to get used to him.