by T. G. Ayer
"Maybe it's something in the evolution of the genes though," I said, thinking about Logan. "The Drakyr, the Djinn, the gargoyles, they’re all from different realms and yet they too have a human form and shift after they've grown to a certain age."
"Perhaps you are onto something there. Or perhaps cross-Veil travel may have had some influence on the evolution of the species of the outer realms."
I pursed my lips. "Good point. You may continue."
Mom smirked. "Coming from a fully human mage genetic line, I had little to worry about in terms of my own gene code. Your father though, was a different story."
"He was?" I frowned, my head heating up at the thought of what new revelation Mom was about to drop on my unsuspecting head. "Okay, maybe I'm not all that surprised. Grams is just too hot for an old lady. She's an Immortal, isn't she?"
"Kai, you can calm down. It's not that life-changing." I sighed, relief filtering through me like a warm tide. And then Mom said, "But you're not far off."
"I'm not?"
My eyes narrowed as I studied my mother's face, now certain she was about to tilt me world a little more. I only hoped that whatever revelation she laid before me wouldn't tip the scales too far. I had a number of other things to deal with first. I pursed my lips as she remained silent, not yet offering a clarification.
"Mom?" I said, my tone sharper than I'd intended but Mom didn't appear offended by my rudeness.
She blinked and gave a half nod—a tiny jerk of her head that I'd have missed had I blinked—and said, "Sorry honey, it's been so long since I've delved into these memories. It feels like I'm crawling around in a dusty attic and opening boxes filled with pieces of my past."
I snorted. "If your mind is like a dusty attic then I guess there won't be much hope for me in my old age."
Mom rolled her eyes and let out a weary sigh. "You watch it, young lady. I brought you into this world. Means I can also take you out. Mother's rights," she said with a sniff.
I grunted. "Nice. In case you didn't know, infanticide doesn't look so good on one’s CV," I said curtly, somewhat offended at the thought of being taken out by my own mother.
"You're not an infant."
I huffed, wishing I had my phone on me. Why could I not recall the right word? The harder I tried, the more the word evaded me. In the end, I had to admit that perhaps I hadn't known the right term in the first place.
My expression dark, I said, "Childicide, then. Or Kailinicide. There, that sounds more accurate. And anyway," I said airly and waved a hand at Mom. "That's splitting hairs and you know it."
Mom smirked and said, "Right, getting back to what I was saying, Ivy isn't a purebred walker though she did inherit a very strong alpha walker DNA. The other half of her genetic contribution wasn't Immortal, but it may as well have been."
I rolled my eyes and sighed heavily, as I'd imagine Atlas would sigh when one day the weight of the world was taken from his tired shoulders. Then I said, "Fine. I'll play." I wriggled in place, shifting carefully until I was lying on my back again. "Her mother wasn't one of the Immortals, but she contributed DNA that was as good as immortal. So, if you consider the species who were long-lived enough to be considered immortal, you end up with two options: Fae and Light Elves."
I tilted my head to meet my mother's eyes and say the smile growing on her lips. "Very good. Want to guess which one?"
I bit the inside of my lip and then shook my head. "Well, she doesn't have the whole pointy-eared thing going on," I said, stroking my ear as if to check for any subtle physical difference. Then I waved a hand at my shoulders and said, "Nor does she have the whole faerie-wing deal but even both points are a little irrelevant because...yeah...glamor." I pursed my lips and stared Mom down.
At last she chuckled. "Okay, fine. Grams is half-panther walker half-Faerie."
I nodded slowly, impressed that she'd kept that piece of knowledge a secret all these years. "How come she doesn't talk about it?"
Mom shrugged. "I guess it's a past she'd rather not delve into. Her mother was a powerful Fae who broke many rules in order to be with her father. But the pain in the tale is more in what happened to her mother than the fact that she was Fae."
I sighed deeply. "Mom, you have no idea how to tell a story. You've got to work the tension, yes, but those overly long pauses...they totally kill the suspense."
"Brat," said Mom with a light laugh that filled her eyes as she shook her head. "Ivy's mom was taken away. It's quite a dramatic story, likely something that will be told as a fairy tale in years to come. Trieste had eloped, for want of a better word. Her family refused to give their blessing for the marriage even though her father was an Alpha and possessed a senior status high enough for the Fae Courts to treat him with respect.
“But there were other things at play, perhaps political but it was never made clear. And though Trieste went home with her husband and they were married in a grand ceremony befitting both their stations, the Fae Court's displeasure seemed to increased with time. And then Trieste was with child, which had no doubt been a turning point."
"What? Did they think she'd marry him and get it out of her system?"
"Perhaps. Fae live long, long lives. Both Trieste and Alexander knew their time together would end when he died, and she'd be forced to make a life for herself without him."
"And then as her children grow old and die, she'd need to move on from them too. Man, that's an awful life."
"But it was the life they willingly chose. But, a year after the child—Ivy of course—was born, Trieste's family descended upon the town—"
"Descended," I scoffed, amused at the use of the word. "You make it sound like they flew above the town and lowered themselves onto the ground all over the city."
"Exactly."
"Huh," I said, eyeing my mother in search of even the smallest sparkle of amusement. I found none.
"A whole host of them arrived, swarmed in the air above the alpha's home and then drifted down to the ground, walking the lands of Alexander's family as though they owned the place. Trieste's parents demanded her return or they would wipe out the entire town."
"And they would have done it? Killed an entire town because of one rogue fae Juliet?"
"Of course, they would. When that Juliet is the sole heir to throne of the Water Fae, they certainly would."
I gasped, eyes wide as I whispered, "Shut the front door!"
Mom giggled at that, then composed herself. "At first, even Trieste didn't believe her family would carry out the threat but she learned fast how brutal they could be."
I swallowed hard, afraid of what Mom was going to say next, but then heard myself asking, "Who did they kill?"
"They killed a traitor."
I let out a frustrated groan. "Again with the cryptic twists. Although, I have to say I'm intrigued though I must add that this would be so much better if it were a novel. The whole tense pause and revelation of a cryptic twist thing works way better on paper." Mom sent me a stern glare and I took a breath and said, "Shutting up now," before pressing my lips firmly together.
With eyebrows raised, Mom continued, "Trieste was never alone in her decisions both before she left her family and after she arrived in the EarthWorld. Parts of her family had given her their full support, as well as many of the noble families who'd sworn fealty to her as the future queen. Though I suspect things were a little tense with her father ruling the Water Fae and still knowing he'd have to pass the crown over to her when she came of age."
"Someone warned her that the Fae were coming?"
Chapter 13
With Lyra and Sienna gone, the old general sat back and let out a sigh, the sound drawing Logan’s attention to Vyrian’s bowed shoulders as he stared down at the table.
“Uncle?” asked Logan, tilting his head to inspect the man’s face.
Vyrian chuckled. “Don’t worry about me, Lyandr. I’m merely a tired old man.”
Logan pursed his lips. “Was there nobody else who could
have taken on the duties for you?” he asked, his tone insistent.
Vyrian sighed and lifted his gaze as he shook his head. “Not anyone we can trust. There was a long line of people who raised their hands for the role when you and your sister disappeared. But even then it was clear that far too many of those men had intentions other than keeping the seat warm until the heirs were returned to their rightful positions.”
Logan frowned. “But isn’t the role that of a custodian? Surely they would have known their rights would be limited? Sienna mentioned a joint decision-making process with both custodians as a means of avoiding any wrongdoing.”
Vyrian smiled and shook his head. “Any position of power is a temptation. A number of interested parties even went so far as to contest my custody of the role. Two decades of watching one’s back gets tiring rather fast.”
Logan nodded. “So how do you plan on showing me around without alerting those interested parties of my arrival?”
The general sat back and pursed his lips. “You shall be the Emissary of the Council of Elders. It will not raise too many eyebrows to know that the Elders wish to ensure all is well here after Elan’s attempt to take over. And it’s quite likely to reassure the people that Drakys is not being held responsible for the horrible acts the fae prince committed.”
Hiding a smile at the old man’s delight in his plan, Logan said, “So when do we begin? And where?”
Vyrian nodded and got to his feet. “First, I will give you a short tour of the city, on order to assure the Elders that we’ve strengthened our defenses and have put measures in place to avoid another spy like Elan weaseling his way into our realm.”
Logan followed the old man as he walked stiffly toward the doors. Just before he reached out for the handle, Vyrian looked over his shoulder at Logan. “You will use an assumed name. But not Logan. There are a few ambassadors who were privy to the revelation of your existence. They of course believe you are still recovering in the EarthWorld, and I plan to keep it that way.”
Logan nodded and took a breath. “How about Jordan? Jordan Cassidy?”
Vyrian smiled and opened the door. “Come, Emissary Cassidy,” he said loud enough for a passing couple to hear. “We must show you around the city. I hope you will be able to assure the Elders that we are upholding the Treaty agreements.”
The couple faltered in their steps as they glanced over at Logan who inclined his head and gave them a thin smile. The man’s bushy brows waggled as he returned the silent greeting, but he kept walking, though the woman spent a little longer in studying Logan from head to toe.
Vyrian waved Logan along. “That’s Don Esvin and his wife Elira, both supporters of the Fathers. I’d keep an eye on them, though as Emissary they aren’t likely to spend too much time on your activities.”
The old man proceeded to guide Logan down the long halls and out to a large courtyard where a carriage awaited them, drawn by an unusual creature similar to the eight-legged Sleipnir of Norse myth.
A guard stood beside the open door and bent to place a stool on the ground as Vyrian approached. He climbed inside, and Logan understood then how much the man was in pain. Vyrian let out a deep sigh of relief as the guard closed the door and the carriage began to move.
“As you can see, my boy,” Vyrian wheezed, “my physical strength is fading. I must say your timing was quite perfect.”
“I can assure you my timing had little to do with how I would have wanted it. Had I known the truth, I would have come earlier.”
Vyrian slammed a hand into his chest, coughed again and then cleared his throat. “Now tell me how you are feeling. Is that mind of yours well on its way to being whole again? I must confess that the explanation Synestra gave us seemed quite far-fetched at the time, but she’s endeavored to educate me on the intricacies of how both of your memories have been manipulated.”
Logan pursed his lips. The topic itself was one he’d rather have not discussed, but Vyrian had spent two decades looking after Logan’s birthright. If anything ,Vyrian would be one of the first people to deserve an explanation.
“To be frank, I know only as much as the mindmelder told me. The magic enables them to sift through a person’s memories, the way one would flick through a stack of photographs. They are then able to remove the memory, either completely, or by redirection.”
“Redirection?” Vyrian frowned.
“Yes. The mage takes the memory away, of perhaps your face when I was young, and attaches it to a different memory, so that when I think back to the day, I will not see you, so my recollection won’t include you. But the mage who treated me was deliberate in that she mixed the memories up in such a way that they would be so inconsistent that my mind would question it, and then look for connections on its own.”
“So that mindmage left crumbs for you to follow. By that I’m assuming he did not want his work to be permanent.”
Logan nodded, thinking of Darcy, and her attempts to explain her actions. “That’s exactly what she did. She performed the memory wipe against her will, and wanted to ensure that someday I would have my true memories back.”
“And now they are,” said Vyrian with a smile as the carriage rolled to a bumpy stop. He slid across the seat and was at the door as the guard opened it from the outside.
Logan followed the old man out into the sunlight, and found himself in awe of the building before him. The black stone walls of the small house gleamed, reflecting the sun’s red-tinged rays in hundreds of faceted shimmers. A house built with obsidian was something Logan had never considered as possible. But then, being a dragon shifter had been just as much of an impossibility to him, so he wasn’t about to question his eyes.
Old Vyrian closed in on the double doors, pushed them open, and waved Logan inside. “Welcome to my humble home.”
Logan entered and found himself inside a small, sparsely furnished room, a stark contrast to the glittering beauty of the exterior of the home. A large table sat against the far wall, where the light from the windows was cast upon the rough wood surface.
Vyrian headed for the seat behind the table, and paused to meet Logan’s gaze. “I declined to use the official general’s quarters as my base, but given that the role is truly yours, I ought not to sit in that seat.”
“General Vyrian, as Emissary, I cannot,” Logan replied with a soft smile, grinning wider as the old man guffawed then thumped his chest again.
Logan took one of the stools in front of the table, and studied the room while Vyrian shuffled over to take his seat. The windows were bare of drapery, the mantelpiece over the fireplace holding not a single ornament or sentimental object.
The floors were bare, uncarpeted, and unvarnished, as was every piece of furniture in the room, the only object of any interest being a set of black armor standing silently in one corner.
Vyrian shuffled in his seat and leaned toward Logan. “We must keep up the pretense of a debrief meeting, at least for a few minutes. Then I shall take you on a tour of the city and the barracks.” Logan had barely nodded when Vyrian yelled, “Crostes! Refreshments for our guest please, and be quick about it.”
Logan blinked at the volume of the old man’s voice. Feeble? Logan saw nothing feeble in the man’s vocal chords. Footsteps drummed the floor outside until a guard came to a barreling stop, a tray held aloft. Logan was impressed that he hadn't dropped everything when he’d skidded to a stop and entered the room.
Vyrian smirked as the boy handed out lidded tankards and placed a platter of unidentifiable baked goods between them.
Logan grinned and reached for his drink. Something told him his tour of the city was going to be very very interesting.
Chapter 14
Mom nodded. "A close friend, a fae of the same court from what I was told. His name has been lost in the telling of the story, and I'm pretty sure that Ivy wouldn't know it either. But he'd come ahead of the Fae contingent, giving her enough time to hide the babe because her friend had known that there was a good ch
ance that the fate of the child was in question. Trieste's father was a ruthless man though he'd appeared, until then, to have had a soft spot for his daughter."
"Until she developed a mind of her own. Oh the horror," I said dryly, my expression of fake-shock probably not doing my words justice.
I was shocked. A part of me was listening, enthralled by the romance of this story that was my heritage, but the other part of me was grieving for what Trieste would have gone through, horrified at the danger the infant Ivy Odel had faced.
"Trieste was forewarned and had arranged for the child to be taken away and that she wouldn't know where. The King was also known for his elemental magic, and for his mindreading ability. Trieste knew he'd extract the child's location from her, no matter how hard she resisted."
"In much the same way that he'd taken the truth from the friend who'd warned her,?" I said, already knowing this part of the story.
"Exactly. The King drew the memory from the boy and then killed him in front of Trieste. The horror of it was often the highlight to the tale, but when it's a part of the grotesques history of your own family, it tends to lose the glow."
"Tell me about it," I muttered then shuddered. "The fact that I have some of that creepy Fae King’s blood running in my veins kinda makes me want to puke."
Mom smiled. "The King brought the fae boy to stand in front of Trieste and then created a column of liquid around him that appeared to be water—but from the stories was described to be thicker and stickier. Trieste watched him drown, and when the boy stopped moving, the King touched a finger to the column and turned the it into ice."
"And she agreed to leave with him."
"She agreed. But as she left, rising into the air with the rest of the Fae contingent, the Fae King exacted one last punishment. He sent a bolt of lighting into the column of ice, shattering it into a cloud of tiny shards. Then he spun the cloud of ice crystals into a tornado which lifted into the air until it reached the Fae. It is said that he's kept the cloud of ice spinning in an eternal hurricane, and had set it up in the palace courtyard where a grand fountain used to play."