“It was not always this way. The name used to mean something very different, but we will save that story for another time. I believe you have an engagement this evening.”
“Don’t remind me. I couldn’t feel farther from home than when I’m near the women in this place. They make me feel downright savage.”
He smiled, patting her hand again, “Don’t let these little things weigh on you. You are of far greater worth than you know, child. Much more.”
“Your kindness I think may be misplaced, but it’s certainly appreciated.” She rose, turning to face him as she reached the door. “What do you think it meant — the temple, and the little girl?”
Bronach remained silent for a moment, “It is said that Ciara sometimes sends strange dreams to toy with mortals. I cannot imagine she would favor the child who has so effortlessly swayed her highest commander.”
“Perhaps … who told you about Garren?”
“He spared your life didn’t he? In Palingard?”
Ariana leaned against the door frame. “Did Michael tell you? Jenner?”
“And he touched you, which was not necessary, when he tried to take your soul?”
She came back and reclaimed her seat at the table. “I never told them that he touched me.”
“You have seen him since, in visions, dreams. You have heard of his deeds and, while your mind may understand the gravity of them, your heart sees someone else entirely.” Bronach took her hand in both of his, clasped it with clear emotion, but didn’t look at her directly. Several moments passed before he spoke again. “Jenner told me.”
She stared at him, his gentle, unassuming features; his quiet, respectful nature evident in the lines of his eyes, and noticed that the pages in the book had turned, likely from the draft she’d felt from the moment she’d entered the room. It had landed on a portrayal of the immortal Bronach.
He let go of her hand and as she rose from her seat, he did as well. “I merely mean to point out there may be far more significance in it than you think. That’s all.”
Again, she made it to the door and turned around. “You aren’t going to tell me what that significance is, are you?”
“If only I could, child.”
“Jenner told you?”
Bronach listened until he heard Ariana’s footsteps fade, before he turned around to address the question. “What was I supposed to say?”
The figure emerged from the shadows, “You saw her reaction to Garren first-hand, why did you need to see it confirmed?”
Bronach nodded, his features shifting in the flicker of the candlelight from the wizened visage of an old man to the ageless features of his true form. “So did you. Yet I know you were watching her response just as carefully as I was. And who went to Garren as a child? Spoke to him in the guise of his guardian, of choices he’d be making in the future? You speak of taking risks, but perhaps you should consider your own indiscretions first.” When he didn’t receive a response, Bronach added, “Why didn’t you tell me that Azrian had found her?”
“Would it have made a difference?” The figure came around the table and sat in the chair where Ariana had been moments before. “The Dark Lord cannot reach her here. Have faith, friend. You’ve said this to me on more occasions than I can begin to recall. Why do you have doubts now, of all times?”
“The winds have changed. If Azrian knows where Ariana is, he knows where Garren is. This may have always been a possibility, but if we had — ”
“There is no way we could have foreseen the effect of their meeting in this mortal plane and that’s the only way the Dark Lord could have found her. But, you are forgetting something — that same unpredictable power means their love is far greater than even you or I could ever have imagined.”
This didn’t lessen Bronach’s fears at all. “Or that Garren’s darkness as a son of Ereubus is so great, the very foundations of the immortal world shook when he touched her. His mother’s Adorian blood combined with that of the lineage may have made things worse.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
WHY IS THERE
NO BLOOD?
G
arren had just fallen into a deep sleep when Tadraem burst through his door. He sat up, rubbing his eyes.
Tadraem stopped just a foot from Garren. “They are all dead, my Lord. One, a mere boy, was left alive.”
“You’re going to have to be more specific.” Garren rose from the bed, and pulled his cloak tightly around his shoulders. He was so cold, his fingers felt numb.
“Jules and all of his men. They were returning from Ruiari when they were slaughtered. Michael spared only one of them.”
Garren’s eyes grew wide. No Adorian had ever behaved in such a fashion. They usually avoided bloodshed as much as possible — it was their greatest weakness. He knew Michael would be angry over the loss of his men, but he hadn’t foreseen this.
“Are you certain it was Michael?”
Tadraem nodded. “The boy has said little else, but he was certain Michael was in command.”
Garren started toward the door. “Take me to the child.”
Tadraem led Garren to a smaller room at the end of a long corridor and down several flights of stairs. Pushing open a heavy wooden door, they passed the humans who were tending to the boy. One was putting away his armor; the other was preparing fresh clothing for him.
Garren looked at them, pointing to the door. “Leave us!” he barked.
The boy’s clothes were covered in blood, though it did not appear be his own. Still, he shook violently in his chair.
“What’s your name?” Garren placed a hand on the boy’s shoulder, leaning over him as he spoke.
“Micah, my Lord.” he stammered. He was so small. It surprised him that Jules had chosen him for any venture outside of Eidolon. As the boy looked at him, he began to recognize some of his features. He guessed the boy to be in his early teens. He had the same gray eyes that his father had, and same mousy brown hair that fell in curly ringlets about his face.
“Jules was your father?” The boy nodded weakly. He looked as though he wanted to say something, but was hesitant to open his mouth. “What happened to the other men, Micah?” Garren questioned him with as much gentleness as he could muster, but he didn’t have time to coddle the youth. If the winds in Adoria were changing again, he needed to know.
“We surprised them after we found their horses tied behind a large set of stones. There were only three of them at first; a really tall one with huge wings and another with light brown hair. Michael, who spared me, was the third.”
Garren assumed the other men to be Caedmon and Jareth.
“We had them surrounded, when out of nowhere there were hundreds of them, a thousand maybe. They came from the forest and fell from the trees.” Micah drew in a deep breath, and then said in nearly a whisper, “He asked that I speak only with you.”
Garren nodded and looked back at Tadraem, motioning for him to leave.
“You cannot be serious, my Lord. There’s nothing that cannot be said in the presence of the High Priest.”
Garren narrowed his eyes. “Do you need another reminder of how to bite your tongue?”
“No, High Lord,” Tadraem bowed with clear reluctance and left the room.
Garren lowered himself to meet Micah eye-to-eye. “What happened?”
“He asked my father to choose one of us in exchange for his freedom.”
Garren was surprised to hear this. “And he chose you?”
The boy’s eyes welled with tears. “Yes, my Lord. When Michael pulled me back from the rest of the group, he told my father that he was freeing him not from death, but life. Then he asked me to deliver a message to you.”
The boy pulled a small scrap of worn leather from his pocket. It appeared to be some shred of clothing. It had writing from coal upon it. “I wrote it down so I wouldn’t forget.
“‘I know not your reasons for sparing my sister, but continue to torment her and it will seal your fate.
This is nothing in comparison to the judgment that will be dealt in the event any further harm is afforded to her at your hands.’”
Micah lowered his head and stared at the floor.
Garren was too shocked to respond.
No. She can’t be.
He could feel pressure building in his head, his heart pounding in his chest. He placed a hand over his mouth, leaning into it while resting his elbow on his knee. He realized his knees had buckled and he was now sitting flat on the floor by the boy’s chair.
“I’m sorry about your father.”
Micah remained silent, fearful. It was a look Garren had come to expect from those who delivered bad news to him. This time, however, it grieved him to see it.
Garren lay back on the ground, placed his hands over his eyes and sighed. What had Michael meant by further torment? His emotions flitted wildly from fury over the death of his soldiers to an unwanted feeling of fear for her — the same fear he’d felt upon seeing her in the dream. He’d naively assumed that she was the source of the visions. She was obviously experiencing the same strange connection.
Michael’s sister. The very thought of it sickened him. Their loathing for one another ran so deep, it was ironic that Michael’s blood was leading Garren astray. He again wrestled with his anger. He’d never felt so lost. Everything that was once so simple had, in such a short period of time, grown so complicated. Though he wouldn’t have dared to consciously acknowledge it, he’d developed a desire to somehow bring her to Eidolon to be with him. This desire now became a stark impossibility. The one thing he was certain of about Michael was his fierceness to protect those who were under his command; the ferocity with which he protected his own blood was even stronger.
Garren lay still. His chest rose and fell with heavy breaths as he tried in vain to push her face out of his mind. He remembered leaning over her, holding the blade to her throat — and yet she’d remained strong. He could still feel the touch of her skin as he’d lifted her from the ground, the look in her eyes as he retrieved his sword. She did not fear him. There’d been no hint of it in her expression if she had. He should have seen the resemblance. Now, knowing, he could place her cheekbones and the tenacity in her voice as almost identical to Michael’s. It made no sense that she had been in Palingard alone, unless she’d been there without his knowledge. Even that didn’t explain her reaction. She didn’t appear to know that she was Adorian.
Then he considered Micah. Garren had thought a lot about his own father since discovering his brutal end. It pained him to imagine being sent by his own flesh to be slaughtered. He looked up at the boy.
“How old are you, child?”
The sadness in Micah’s face was excruciating. “Thirteen this year, my Lord.”
Garren nodded, he’d suspected as much. Micah’s shoulders were narrow, his build not fully developed. He wouldn’t reach his full height for several more years. The boy was far too young to have been on any battlefield. Most Ereubinians didn’t make their first kill or take their first soul until they were sixteen years old.
“I have failed you, my Lord.” Micah said. “I didn’t fight them.”
Perhaps the boy was braver than Garren was giving him credit for. “No. You’ve done no such thing. It would have been imprudent to make any other decision than to do as they asked.”
The boy brightened as Garren spoke, but he could still see the beginnings of a deep scar forming. Micah would now be well acquainted with the burden of betrayal.
Then, from where he sat, Garren noticed a pile of cloth hidden behind the boy’s chair. He reached out and pulled it close. It was a deep royal blue cloak, with two very distinct slits along the back for wings. “Did you take this from one of their fallen?”
Micah nodded. “Yes.”
Garren could tell he was lying. “Then why is there no blood?” he quickly rose to his feet.
Micah looked at him with panic in his eyes, but said nothing.
“He gave this to you.” Garren’s voice softened as he spoke. “You were accompanied on the journey back here.” Garren turned his back to Micah to walk toward the window. He peered through the glass.
Michael was out there. It would take little effort to summon his men and ride out after them. But he couldn’t. A rare opportunity to avenge his men and kill his mortal enemy, and yet his feet were frozen to the floor.
Michael’s sister.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
THE HEART
OF MY PEOPLE
T
he smell of burning flesh hung in the air. Michael walked back toward the rock where he’d told the boy to stay. They’d rounded up the bodies of the twenty-one men and burned them, burying everything that wasn’t consumed in the flames. Several smaller fires had been scattered in various places for the Adorians to burn the blood from their weapons and dispose of their soiled clothing. As Michael walked to where the boy had been, he truly expected him to be gone. As he approached, he saw the boy wasn’t only there but was repeating words beneath his breath. Leaning in closer, he realized that it his own words the boy was trying to etch into his memory.
Michael tore a piece of leather from his tunic. He reached for a small piece of burnt wood that had cooled, and handed it to the boy. “Take this and write the words. This has been a dreadful day, you can’t be expected to remember anything while dealing with your grief.” The boy took the burnt wood and began to scribble Michael’s message down. “What name have you been given?” Michael propped one foot on the rock next to him and leaned onto his knee.
“Micah.” The boy didn’t face him as he answered.
Michael could see the boy was shivering beneath his armor. His clothes were soaked through with blood. After the fight was over, he’d released the boy and watched as he’d wandered for a moment among the fallen men. He stopped when he’d reached Jules’s body, and to Michael’s surprise, he knelt beside him, weeping. He decided out of respect not to question him as to how he could mourn a man who’d so quickly delivered him to what was supposed to be his end. After allowing it to go on for some time, Michael pulled him to his feet. He’d instructed the boy to wait at the rocks.
Eidolon would be a long journey for any man or Adorian on foot, let alone a young boy fresh from a massacre. He looked around, scanning the crowd for a moment, when Kendall noticed.
“Who is it you need summoned, my Lord?”
“Please tell Jareth and Caedmon that I’m accompanying our young survivor back to Eidolon.”
“Alone?” Kendall asked. A voice interrupted them before Michael could say a word in response.
“No. I’ll be journeying with him.”
Michael turned to see Caedmon and nodded, glad for the company. He was well aware it was risky, if not outright daft, for a sovereign to do such a thing alone, or even with the accompaniment of just one other soldier. Kendall’s expression indicated that the fact had not escaped him, either. Yet, something in his gut told him that he needed to. Something about the boy.
Michael mounted his horse and leaned down to help Micah join him; he was about to let go when the boy pulled from Michael’s grasp, then turned to race through the trees to an Adorian whose arms were full of clothing to be burned. Michael cantered to him, watching as the boy tenderly pulled a tattered sleeve from the remnants. It was embroidered with a coat of arms that had somehow managed to survive the slaughter without a trace of blood on it. Michael recognized it as the crest on Jules’ shield.
He leaned over once again and helped the boy into the saddle in front of him. “You don’t have to answer this, but your superior was willing to trade you for his own life — why would you grieve him?” Micah was quiet, and at first Michael suspected pure indoctrination as the root of his apparent loyalty.
“He was my father.”
The words fell like stones from Micah’s mouth. Michael looked at Caedmon, who’d followed him. They both felt pity for the boy, Ereubinian or not. It was a shame they couldn’t take him back to Adoria
with them. Michael desperately wanted to, but no Ereubinian could be trusted, no matter how innocent they seemed.
Michael motioned for Caedmon to follow as he dug his heels into his steed, galloping quickly through the remnants of battle and deeper into the woods. It would be better for them to make as much progress as possible in the remaining daylight.
The boy was quiet during most of their ride. Michael leaned down on several occasions to check on him. Finally, once they’d stopped to rest their horses, he had a chance to speak to him.
“I am sorry that you were witness to this. I did not set out on this day intending to — ”
The boy’s voice was soft and laden with sorrow as he interrupted him. “You had no choice but to do what was best for your people.”
Michael felt uneasy hearing Micah’s words. It was unlike his lineage to say such things. “You’ve been taught many things about us, I imagine. Do you believe everything you’re told?”
Micah seemed to be choosing his words with care. It was a smart tactic considering that Michael, in his eyes, was the enemy.
“Don’t be afraid, you don’t have to answer that either. I am just curious what things Eidolon has taught its youth.”
“What could I possibly fear you’d do to me if I didn’t give you an answer and you’d fancied one mandatory? If you were going to kill me, you’d have done it by now.”
Caedmon laughed before Michael could even smile. The boy hadn’t meant it to be funny, but it had made brilliant light of Michael’s mannerisms. Sometimes he was polite to a fault.
Micah shook his head, irritated, and continued. “We’re taught that you purpose to take the Laionai’s power for your own. I was told that Adorians are deceitful and weak; that you value your own lives above all else. Your reason for being in Middengard is to gain human sympathies in order to use them against the Goddess.”
“Do I seem deceitful to you?” Michael truly hurt for him, for the lies that he’d been taught.
“I don’t know you well enough to make that judgment.” Micah’s voice trembled as he spoke. His eyes were still puffy from crying and he wiped at them.
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