Son of Erebus gol-1

by J. S. Chansellor

  "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

  Garren 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 tri
vial 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.

  As he waited, he paced back and forth through the hall. It was a habit of his. He'd worn furrows in the floor when Genny was ill. But this was so different. He'd at least known what to expect with her sickness. He couldn't begin to prepare himself for an enemy who could injure from afar.

  Michael had stopped pacing and was leaning against the door when it moved behind him. He turned to see that her eyes were red and puffy. The gown she'd changed into was a deep navy blue with a silver beaded bodice and a white fur-lined cloak. Her hair fell in blood red ringlets past her shoulders.

  It took him aback to see her in the dress, having only seen Genny wear it on one occasion — the ceremony for Michael's father. There'd been no body to bury, so they had held a vigil, lighting candles in his honor. All of Adoria had been united on that day.

  "Ariana…"

  "Not right now, please." She looked tired.

  Nodding, he started to put his arm around her shoulder when she stepped out of his reach and walked ahead of him.

  It was for her own good that he remained distant in his sympathies. As rightful ruler of Adoria, he couldn't entertain any notion of Garren's virtuousness, no matter how much it pleased his sister to do so.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  A THOUSAND YEARS

  The room was filled with people. Michael had told her that it would be, but somehow it hadn't readied her for their reception. As she and Michael entered, every Adorian fell to his knees. He held her hand outstretched as they descended a wide set of steps. All eyes were on her and she felt vulnerable, naked. As upset as she was with Michael, she gripped his hand like it was the last thing she'd ever do.

  The room was vast, stretching three stories to a cathedral ceiling made entirely of stained glass. Tall, white columns framed the edges of the room and set off several sections in the middle. Open balconies were mounted on all sides. She was in the process of wondering about the stairs when she saw several Adorians fly to take their places. It certainly explained why the ceiling was so high.

  The decor was intricate from the doorways down to the designs on the marble floor. Painted tiles were scattered across the walls among paintings and tapestries, much like those in her room. She heard music and singing coming from somewhere behind the crowd.

  The elders greeted them at the foot of the stairs. Their robes were dark navy, matching Ariana's cloak. She recognized Jenner, who emerged from the group first. He took Ariana's hand in his as he bowed, and kissed it. She wasn't sure how to respond, and was grateful when he rose to face them.

  "Lady Ariana, begotten of Gabriel Briony of Leiden and Caelyn Edessa of Lipsius, we are honored to welcome you home. Antu oinai worno ethomos."

  All of the elders then came to her, one by one, to grant her the same Adorian blessing. When they were finished, everyone cheered.

  Michael leaned over to quietly inform her they'd be moving into the dining hall. She walked beside him, still keeping a firm hold on his hand. Although she was anxious about being the cause for so much fuss, she couldn't get Garren's face out of her mind and it brought heat to her cheeks. Michael mistook it for nerves.

  "It's alright. You should feel loved. You're a part of this realm now, a daughter of Adoria." He smiled, but she couldn't even bring herself to nod in acknowledgment, nor could she force the feel, from the dream, of Garren's hand on her cheek. Her cuts stung despite the salve that had been used and she wasn't in the mood to hear Michael's idealistic banter. It wasn't that she didn't think he believed what he was saying, he appeared to take every word of it as absolute truth, but after seeing the dissolution of so many promises in her life, Ariana couldn't recall the last time she'd had faith in anything substantial. How could she just accept that everything was going to be fine when nothing ever was?

  They walked through a large set of doors into a room of identical proportions, filled with long rows of tables. A separate table was set on a large platform at the far end of the room, no doubt for Michael's and Ariana's use. Michael approached the table and pulled out a chair for her. They sat down, facing the room.

  Servers brought out many kinds of game — pheasant, venison and quail — and other animals that she couldn't begin to name and had no interest in learning. It was a shame that she still had no appetite. Scores of Adorians came to speak to her as the night progressed, repeating their names over and over in the hopes that she'd remember them. It was hard enough to appear interested in what they were saying, much less keep track of their identities and the purpose they served in Cyphrus.

  Michael must have sensed her state of mind and leaned over to check on her several times throughout the meal. She nodded respectfully each time, but declined to enlighten him further. She was pleased to see Duncan, who came around the table to hug her. She held on tightly this time, happy to see a familiar face.

  He kissed her cheek. "I know this is all strange to you. It's nothing like home, but you'll come to love it here, I promise. Are you settling in alright?"

  Ariana shrugged, hoping that her lack of a response would answer his question.

  "If you'd like, we can ride sometime soon. I can show you a bit more of Adoria."

  "I would love nothing more," she said, giving him a genuine smile in return.

  "Then it's settled. Tell me when you're ready." He gave her one overzealous pat on the back, unaware of her wounds, before he turned to leave.

  "Wait, Duncan?" She swallowed back the newly revived pain that spread now from one side of her back to the other.

  "Yes?" he asked, kneeling down in front of her.

  "Do you think any of them are still alive?"

  "Garren had a particular loathing for Palingard." He leaned against the wall behind them and looked away for several moments. "I wish I could tell you differently, but I seriously doubt that if they're alive, it's a good thing." A profound grief clutched at his words as they left his lips. He'd loved Palingard and though the other Adorians she'd met had expressed regrets, it wasn't the same. None but Duncan, Roahn and a handful of Braeden understood what had been truly lost. It was more than just a stronghold, or a name on some map. It was home.

  She could tell by Michael's attitude toward the Braeden that he felt they were languid in their character, simply by not disagreeing with the elders. This aside, when she'd finally let go of her initial anger, their presence here above all others made her feel at ease. The Braeden had been in Middengard with them — or with the humans. She still couldn't think of herself as an Adorian.

  "I have so many questions, but I suppose now isn't the time."

  He nodded and looked as though he wasn't going to speak again, but turned back just before leaving. "I'll make time to answer anything you want to know later." He cleared his throat and absently swung his hand, hitting the door frame, as he breezed out of the room.

  Michael leaned toward Ariana again. "You barely touched your food."

  "I'm alright."

  He kept his arm on the table beside her, unimpressed with her answer. "It seems you and Duncan have made amends."

  She nodded in silence.

  "I was never able to see Palingard except at a distance," Michael noted. "Tell me, what was it like?"

  She'd been playing with her fork, and when Michael finished his question, she dropped it beside her plate. She still wasn't
interested in talking, but realized that he was going to press her until she gave him some sign that everything was alright.

  "It was different. It's hard for me to explain how. Everything was simpler, less elegant." She took a deep breath, pausing before saying anything further. "I was raised by a friend of our mother's, her name is Bella. I've known her since I was born. She helped mother around the house and in the fields in return for room and board. Then, when mother died, she tended to me while Father was gone. Eventually, she was all I had left."

  "What about your lessons, what were they like? Is there a school there?" He seemed genuinely interested, but she'd have preferred to finish her meal, or rather play with her meal, in peace and quiet.

  "There were few children left after the first siege, so we were all taught by the same teachers. It was a small building near the center of the village. The older children helped the younger ones, and though it was nothing like what you have here, it worked for us. Mother read to me when I was little, and while he was still there, Duncan taught me all sorts of things." A slight smile forced its way to her lips. "I tried to teach Sara a few words of what I now know was Adorian. Certainly explains why she was never able to grasp it. She'd tell me stories that she'd heard over the years of winged men. It was all fun and games to me, nonsense, but she really believed it."

  "I take it Sara was a close friend of yours?" He asked.

  "She was my closest friend." She was terrified for Sara, and though Duncan had said it would be worse if she were alive, Ariana desperately, selfishly hoped that she was. She pushed the thought of what Sara would be going through out of her mind; it was too much to bear at the moment.

  "She told me once that she'd seen an Adorian. We'd just finished celebrating a wedding, and just as everyone had readied for bed, she came tearing through our house yelling for me. I'll never forget her face. At the time I thought she'd gone mad, but, I suppose she could have seen one of you."