by C D Beaudin
Kaniel ties up his horse. Opening the door, he swallows nervously.
Revera sits at his table, sipping a cup of tea, wearing a red silk dress, her crown of red leaves sitting over her brow. She sets the cup down, looking up at him, a smile coming to her crimson lips.
“Hello, Kaniel.”
The Delcah gulps, closing the door behind him, trying to be calm, but shaking. He sets his bag down on the messy counter.
“Would you like a cup of tea?” Revera stands up, gesturing to the kettle above the fire.
“Sure,” he says hesitantly.
She smiles, pouring the red liquid into a blue teacup. “Here you go.” She sets it on the table, sitting down herself.
Kaniel sits as well, grabbing the cup. As he puts it to his lips, he hesitates, setting it back on the table. Revera may have poisoned it.
She smirks. “Smart man. Now, where are your friends headed?” she asks in a sugary sweet, but threatening voice.
“I do not know where they are headed,” he says truthfully.
Revera studies him and seems satisfied he’s telling the truth. “I see. Do you have any idea where they might go?”
He glances at her, his heart pounding. “I-I do not know.”
Revera’s eye seems to twitch in frustration. He watches her jaw tighten as though she’d like to snap at him. She starts tapping her foot against the wooden floor. Putting down her tea, her whole composure changes.
“All right, listen. I will give you anything you want. Gold, a new house, a place in the court. Name it, and I will give it to you.”
Kaniel chuckles at this feeble attempt to persuade him. Revera’s eyebrows crinkle in confusion at his quiet laugh. “What is funny about my offer?”
Kaniel picks up a spoon, stirring his tea with it, and scoops up a small, poisonous root. “One, you weren’t planning on letting me live if I told you. This Greenroot makes that clear. Two, I have no need, no wish, for any of the things you offered me. Three, I would not tell you where they might be going if you had a dagger to my throat.” He looks her right in the eyes, his fear gone.
Revera’s lips tighten in rage. “Fine, you want to be like that. I can arrange for that dagger.” She stands up, and reaches forward, touching the tip of her finger to his forehead. It takes only two seconds for his eyes to roll to the back of his head, and he drops limply to the ground.
Light shines into the dark cell. Kaniel’s eyes flutter open. He winces in pain, rubbing the back of his head, feeling a bruise. “What-what happened?” He sits up, clenching his teeth in pain and finds himself on a hard, wooden bed. Light comes from a small crack in the wall. The door is wooden, with three bars on the window. A desk stands across from the bed, and a ratty rug lies on the stone ground.
Kaniel stands, walking slowly over to the desk, and sitting in the chair. He opens the drawer, seeing a doll. White hair. Brown skin. He places it on the desk, looking at the needle and pieces of stray thread. But under all the knickknacks, there’s a name carved roughly into the wood.
Awyn.
That’s when he realizes he’s locked in her old cell.
Chapter Fifteen
Mary walks to the back room of her husband’s tavern, tired from the day, her feet sore from standing for hours on end. She runs her fingers through her brown curly hair, as she opens the door to the workers’ lounge, where her waitress Arlie smokes a small pipe.
“Arlie! That is not proper. A woman smoking.” She scoffs in her thick accent as Arlie rolls her eyes. Mary walks up to her, grabbing the pipe straight from her mouth.
“Hey!” Arlie yells.
“You don’t smoke while working.” Mary puts her hands on her hips. “It’s not healthy, even outside of work.” She shakes her head, placing the pipe on the table, wiping her hands of the ash on her white apron and recoiling from the smell.
Arlie sits there, pushing up her red hair, the loose up-do falling. “The day is slower than a turtle. We have one customer,” Arlie points out, rather lazily.
Mary straightens up her plump, short figure in her brown dress. “Then we will serve that one customer with even more hospitality than we would a room packed with paying men.” She pulls the young girl up, brushing the spilled ash off her light blue dress and white apron. “Now, go out there and offer him a drink. And service with a smile!”
Arlie puts on a show smile, flashing her teeth.
Mary smiles. “Good girl.”
The redhead sighs, walking out of the lounge, and into the main room.
Mary trails behind her and takes a seat at the back of the bar.
The man who sits there is blond, tall, and muscular. His hair is short and cropped with a tightly chiseled jaw.
Arlie bounces falsely up to him. “Hello, sir. Welcome to the Setting Sun Tavern and Inn. How may I serve you today?”
He looks up at her, his brown eyes looking into her hazel ones. A charming smirk grows on his face. “A tankard of mead, please.” His voice is smooth and silky.
Appearing charmed, Arlie walks behind the counter, preparing his drink. She stares at him while she does this, looking at his handsome face. He lets out a short chuckle.
Obviously, embarrassed, her cheeks look hot and red, and she hurries over to his table, placing the green mug in front of him. “There you go, sir.”
He nods, taking a sip. “Mm, you make a good drink. What’s your name?”
“Arlie, sir,” she says, clearly flattered.
“Well, Arlie, thank you. I’m Saine.”
Saine eyes her the whole time he drinks. He watched her hurry back to the counter, and now he’s watching her scrub mugs and blush at him. When he finishes his drink, he flags Arlie back over. “Anything else, sir?” she asks.
“No, but do you by any chance have five silver coins? I only have a gold coin.”
“Oh, um, of course.” She walks to the counter, grabs the money box, and takes out the coins. “Here you go, sir.” She hands them to him, and he gives her another smile he’s used to great effect over the years. You can never be too charming.
“Thank you.” He gives her the gold coin. He flips on his red hood, grabs his bow, and walks out of the tavern. At the threshold, he smiles, tossing another one of his gold-painted copper coins in the air.
Saine enjoys scamming people. It shows the power he holds over an individual. And these days, that’s invaluable.
Plain stealing is fun too. Eron is good for thieves and criminals. The king doesn’t care too much, that young fink. Being a Nomarian, Saine can rob and steal without any consequences. Free to roam and do as he pleases and sees fit. And that’s exactly how he likes living life. No consequences. Of course, robbing isn’t the only thing he knows how to do. He’s got blood on his hands. A lot of it. But for reasons he still doesn’t know, the killing doesn’t bother him.
He walks over to his horse, mounting the black stallion, and rides off in a gallop. His red hood blows back as he rides along the red plains. The town of Tema behind him, he’s satisfied with the fortunes of his visit. He’s gained fifty silver coins—enough for two slaves—and lost nothing in the process.
The wind blows through his blond hair, his red cloak flying behind him. The arrows in the sheath swung around his back rattle with the galloping black stallion, a stallion as beautiful and dark as the sea.
He was given to him by a grateful warlord. Darkeye. Sure, some would think that’s an odd name for a horse, but Saine likes to stray away from normalcies. He smiles, thinking of the man who’s strayed even further from the strictest traditions in Mortal. His old buddy, Kepp the elf.
Wonder what he’s doing. Probably wreaking havoc in his perfect brother’s world. No doubt wrecking the heart of an innocent woman too. A short chuckle leaves his crooked smirk. Sly dog.
In many ways, they were alike. Good friends usually are. Saine might not be an elf, but Kepp is his brother. A brother that is somehow always in trouble it seems.
Saine comes to a stop at a river. He watches
as the rapids roll like thunder, spraying him and his horse. Cold wind blows through his hair. The smell of last night’s rain on the breeze. In Eron, it always smells like rain. He looks up at the sky as an eagle soars above. He closes his eyes, remembering what she said when the eagle soared above them.
Adriel had run through the red field, up the hill, the vast blue sky behind her. She’d twirled like a child, laughing, as wind whipped her dark brown hair, her violet dress blowing in the cold breeze. Her beautiful smile had grown on her pink lips, and her fair skin sparkled in the sun. Adriel’s violet eyes had looked upon Saine, her long, black eyelashes touching her cheek when she blinked. The purple gem in the center of her forehead twinkled in the sunlight.
Saine had run up to her, and the two of them had knelt in the grass, looking out onto the rolling hills of Eron, and Shining Lake had sparkled as the sun danced across the sapphire surface.
“It’s so beautiful, Saine. I want to live here. I want to look upon this view every day.”
Saine had admired the daughter of Lord Aiocille. Adriel had grown up an only child, without a mother. Her father had spoiled her, but Saine had known her father wouldn’t have let his only daughter live away from him. He’d been too protective.
“I’ll build a house for us, right here.”
A charming laugh left her lips.
“What’s so funny?”
She looked at him. “You? Build a house? You can barely hammer down a nail. Face it, sweetie, you’re good with a bow. But that’s about it.”
Saine knew she’d been right. Once, he’d tried to build a chariot for Lord Aiocille. It looked good, but when Aiocille had ridden in a parade it might have…collapsed—leaving Aiocille with a broken arm.
“Yeah, I’ll just pay Kepp to do it,” he’d said, wrapping his arm around her.
Adriel had chuckled at this. “You get him to do all your dirty work! I’m sure Abigail would like to have him to herself.” Saine had raised an eyebrow, and Adriel’s face had dropped. “He’s moved on? Already?” She’d sighed. “I liked Abigail. She was nice. Baked delicious cinnamon rolls.”
“Well, when we get our house, I’ll pay a baker to make you all the cinnamon rolls you could want.”
Adriel had smiled at his kind notion. “You are the best. I love you.” This was the first time either of them had said it. They knew they loved each other, but the words had never left their lips, and Saine had smiled.
“I love you too.” Their lips touched, and Adriel’s lashes tickled his cheek. Above them, an eagle had soared, the peal high-pitched. They broke their kiss, and Adriel pointed.
“Look. The eagle. When you see one soar, think of me and our love,” she’d said.
Saine had smiled down at her. “The eagle,” he’d repeated. “How romantic.”
Adriel smiled, and leaned on his shoulder. They’d looked up at the sky, watching the magnificent creature soar above them, the sky a never-ending journey.
Saine smiles at the memory, and the eagle flies away, out of sight. But within the memory holds pain. When Aiocille disappeared, so did his daughter. Saine had looked for them for years, but he had given up hope. That was when his life changed, and he became who he is today.
The Plainsman.
And Saine couldn’t be happier.
At least, that’s what he tells himself.
Kepp shoots up, a yell escaping his mouth. His eyes tear open, wide and alert. Beads of sweat drip from his forehead, down his neck, and slide onto his bare chest. His breathing is rapid and heavy, and his whole-body shakes. His hair feels tousled and the soaked bangs stick to his forehead. He’d been tossing and turning in his sleep, sweat soaking the sheets under him. His jaw feels tight from where he’s been gritting his teeth. There’s blood seeping from his palms, where his nails dug into them.
Ever since he joined Revera, he’s been having nightmares. Nightmares that seem so real, so true. Eldowyn is in every one of them, and so is his father, who then chooses his brother over him.
Revera will tell anyone she recruits that joining her will bring life and power. But it has a catch—consequences. Kepp has nightmares. And look at Karak. He’s powerful, can’t be killed by a mortal blade. And yet he’s trapped in a coffin called immortality. When one joins evil, their lives change forever.
Regret can’t even begin to describe how he feels. Had the time been different, he would have stuck Revera with a sword there and then. Instead…he joined her.
At the time, I wanted to hurt my brother, and my mother for leaving me. But now, I wish I had just let the wall of fire devour me. These nightmares are destroying me. Slowly. Painfully. But I can’t leave my mistress. She has a hold over me, and I will die if I try to run.
At the moment, dying seems like a pretty good option.
A loud scream sends Kepp into fight mode. He grabs his sword, jumping out of bed, and runs into the main room, where a bright light shines over the cowering Revera.
The light speaks.
“Why are you doing this? You are too dark for Mortal to survive. If you let him free, you will destroy the entire world!” The voice is like the sky, smooth, but filled with hot anger.
“I am doing this because of you!” Revera cries.
“Do not blame me! He did not want you. You are doing this because you have an evil inside, one you were born with.” The light sighs, and the shining softens, revealing a woman.
Kepp can feel his eyes widen. The White Lady. It’s really her.
“Sister, please, show mercy,” Revera pleads, a side of her Kepp has never seen before.
“I do not want to kill you, Revera. But you want to destroy all the good in our world. I can’t let that happen.” She lifts up her hand, a white light forming in her palm.
“Raea, please!” Revera puts up her hands in surrender.
Kepp can see the struggle in Raea’s eyes. But the light in her hand grows bigger, and Kepp runs toward her.
“No, Mother!” he yells. Raea turns her head in surprise, her white eyes wide, and the light vanishes.
“Kepp. What are you doing with her?” says his mother. Kepp’s face must betray him because Raea blinks in obvious disappointment. “I had a feeling. You were never loved like you should have been.” She goes to put a hand on her son’s shoulder, but he moves out of the way.
“I haven’t seen you in eighteen years. And yet Awyn has,” he says bitterly, hearing the spite in his voice.
Raea’s eyes light up. “How is the young princess?” Her voice is worried, sending Kepp into a flurry of anger.
“Why do you care more about her than me? I am your son. I am your child!”
A shining tear falls down Raea’s sparkling fair skin. In the corner of his eye, Kepp sees Revera stand up behind Raea, the gleam of a knife in her hand.
“I love you so much. Please try to believe me. Ple—” Red blood spurts out of her mouth, trailing down her neck, dropping onto her white dress. Her eyes look wide with surprise. She crumples to the ground, her eyes closed.
Kepp looks across at Revera, whose dagger is covered in her sister’s blood, the decorative handle she holds stained red, her fair hands equally so.
Anguish overcomes him, and tears fall down his cheeks. He drops to the floor, silently scooping his mother’s head in his arms.
“I’m sorry.” He strokes her white hair. “I’m so sorry. Please forgive me.”
Raea’s eyes open slightly. “I do.” She takes a shaky, wheezy breath. “Please, go back to your brother. He needs you.”
“No, Mother. You are who I need.” More tears fall and land on her cheeks.
“I will be back. Darkness can’t live without light.” With her last words she sags, her body evaporating into floating lights that vanish in the air.
Kepp’s bangs hang over his eyes, and his shoulders droop. Raea’s blood spreads over his brown pants, his skin underneath will be soaked crimson. He looks at Revera, who stares at him, a smile on her face, but a hint of regret in her eyes. She
inhales calmly, a triumphant air of control surrounding her.
“I did it. She’s gone. It will be centuries before she will be able to return.”
Kepp jumps at her, bashing her against the black wall. “You killed my mother!” He brings Revera’s own dagger to her throat.
The sorceress gulps, and her eyes plead with him. “You-you have to understand. In order to win this war, she needed to die. Light needs to die.”
He shoves her against the wall again, and she winces. After a moment, her lips tighten, and she opens her eyes, the blue of the iris, and the white completely gone—only two black eyes stare at him. She speaks in the old language, her voice enchanting.
After a hazed moment, her eyes return to normal, and Kepp breaks her gaze, blinking harshly. He takes a shuddery breath, but straightens, looking at his aunt.
“I will serve you until the end.” His voice sounds dutiful, and his back is straight, with his arms at his side. Every emotion is drained from his face, his eyes blank.
Revera smirks. “Excellent.”
“Hey! Let me out. Karak!” Brega’s screams are deafening, even to her. Her ears feel like they have exploded, she can no longer hear herself scream and yell and cry. But her thoughts are like thunder. Her throat hurts, it’s raw. She’s coughed blood, she can smell its metallic scent, and she’s sure she has stains on her hands and clothes to prove it. Her cell smells like a dead body. Two weeks without being let out will do that. Her stomach growls, a sickening, hurting hunger. Karak hasn’t given her anything to eat for days. Her cheeks feel stained with salty tear tracks and dirt. Brega’s limbs hurt and ache from the tiny, cramped hole she’s in.
“Ugh, shut up, mole! Stay in your hole and be quiet,” he yells, shutting a book loudly. He had been reading it aloud, probably on his throne. “This is truly a great book. So frilly and happy. I feel like painting this whole room pink!”
Brega’s teeth clench. “What a disgusting man,” she mumbles under her breath. “Can I at least have something to eat? I’m starving!”