Waiting.
After almost a full minute, he finally expelled a long, slow breath that carried the last of the feral’s darkness out with it.
The light I’d summoned continued to settle over his body.
I watched it for as long as I could. But soon my legs felt weak, and I slumped to the floor. And once I lost sight of that magic, everything else seemed unusually dark. Peaceful.
The last thing I noticed before I slipped away was a cold breeze on the side of my face, and then that voice in my head once more—
Take him, then.
At this rate, you’ll be too weak to fight, and so it doesn’t matter anyway. You’ll be mine in the end.
Nine
detours
I was buried.
I panicked at the heaviness around me, thinking of cold dirt and deep graves and death.
But then I realized: Not dirt. Blankets.
A whole pile of them were wrapped around me. But I was still shivering. Still tossing, turning, trying to get away from the memory of that frigid breeze on my face. Trying to get warm. My eyes blinked. Open and shut. Open and shut. My one good eye was always harder to focus without the other one to steady it, anyway, and this time I thought it might never achieve real focus again. I was trying. I was trying so, so hard, but the whole room remained a blur of shapes, shadows, flickering lights.
Then came voices.
“What is wrong with her? Why is she doing that?”
“She’s just disoriented from the fever.”
Fever.
I wasn’t that disoriented, was I? I couldn’t have been, because I remembered talks of magic-induced fever that my first magic tutor, Faolan, had given me. It happened sometimes, when an innate magic user exhausted their power past a certain point. The exhaustion would cause a body to go into defensive mode, which meant things like raising its temperature—like the magic was a sickness that needed to be dealt with before it could kill its host.
It usually subsided within a few hours.
I wanted to tell the worried voices that.
I wanted to tell them that I was still here, that I was not done fighting, that I’d be awake again soon.
But for a long time I couldn’t speak. I managed to keep my self still, though, to stop my tossing and flailing about, to shut my eyes—all of which I did because I didn’t want to worry the people around me any more than I already had.
And then I did what I’d done so often over this past year: I wrapped my arms tightly around myself, and I weathered the storm.
I don’t know how much time passed before the storm finally did; I only knew that the hand I eventually felt against my forehead—the first solid thing I’d felt in what seemed like forever— was warm.
Finally, there was warmth.
And I knew the scent that hand carried with it. I knew the feel of these particular fingertips against my skin, and the familiarity of them gave me the strength to open my eyes.
Kael breathed a quiet, relieved sigh as I managed to focus my gaze on him and, after coughing to clear my throat, I quietly joked, “Well, that was a refreshing nap.”
His hand slipped away from my forehead. He propped up a few pillows next to me, and then he turned and slid back against them, so that we were staring together at the numerous paintings covering the wall in front of the bed. “You know,” he said after a moment, “This isn’t getting any easier.”
“What do you mean?” I asked as he helped me prop a few extra pillows behind me. “What isn’t?”
“Thinking I’ve lost you,” he said, focused intently on fluffing one of the pillows and not meeting my gaze. “No matter how many times it happens, it’s still as hard as the last time. Just so you know.”
I reached for his hand and wrapped my fingers through his. I thought about telling him that he should know, by now, that he shouldn’t worry. It was how I usually reacted when he said this kind of thing; we’d been in situations like this enough by now that it was almost second-nature. The words were already on my tongue, the gentle sigh that would accompany them was building in my throat.
But that wasn’t fair, was it?
I couldn’t ask him to love me and not worry about me at the same time. Especially since, if I was being honest, I was getting more and more worried myself. Because even though my track record of surviving things that almost definitely should have killed me was still at one-hundred percent, at the moment I felt far from invincible.
So instead of telling him not to worry, I glanced over at him and I said, “I’m sorry.”
Sorry for acting more invincible than I am.
I thought it was the right thing to say. But he was quiet for moment, and then he shook his head, his eyes still focused on the wall of paintings in front of us. “For what? For being the one who got stuck dealing with all of this mess? It’s not your fault. It’s just bad luck, I guess.”
“Really bad luck,” I agreed as he wrapped an arm around my waist and pulled me to him. I buried the side of my face against his chest and listened to his heartbeat, even though the sound of it only made me feel worse.
Because it was wrong.
It had been, ever since that curse was laid over it.
I was imagining it, he’d told me, but I didn’t think so; to me it sounded too hollow, like it was beating into emptiness, into an echo chamber, instead of thumping solid-sounding life into his veins.
“Besides,” he said, a bit of quiet hesitation clinging to the words, “I know you were only doing what you had to do.”
I leaned forward a bit so I could properly fix my one good eye on him and give him a teasingly suspicious look. “This is very different from your usual lectures,” I said.
“I didn’t say I was happy about it,” he said drily. “And it doesn’t mean I’m going to stop worrying—”
“I don’t think you’re capable of not worrying.”
“—but things are different, and as much as I’d like to pick you up and carry you away from all of this…” His voice broke toward the end, just a little. Just enough that I noticed it the way I noticed every little detail of him these days. “…I can’t,” he finished, right as a handful of people stepped into the room. I recognized only one of them; he was one of the guys who’d pointed a gun at me earlier.
And I realized then, that I really had no idea how things had turned out with the alpha. My brain had been in defensive mode along with the rest of my body, I guess, determined to focus only on Kael’s touch until I was recovered enough to face the things outside of the two of us.
My thoughts woke up now, though, and my body tensed automatically as the members of the Kerry Pack stepped closer.
“Relax,” Kael said, pulling me close again and resting his head on my shoulder in a tired, surrendering sort of way. “And watch.”
“Watch wha…”
I trailed off, dumbfounded, as one-by-one each of the pack members knelt and bowed their head toward me. They said nothing, and once they had all finished completing that same, respective motion, they all left the room together just as quietly.
I stared at the door they’d disappeared through for a long time. “Okay,” I said. “Um, that was new.”
Kael laughed quietly, humorlessly, and the sound shivered through my shoulder and up the back of my neck. “And that,” he said, “is one reason why I can’t just take you and run away. You’re their hero. Almost every one of the pack came through to pay their respects while you were sleeping, and their alpha has started referring to you by your true name.”
“My true name?”
“Daughter of Aurick.”
“Dad’s real last name,” I thought aloud. Not the fake one he’d given me when he was trying to hide me from the shifter world and all its troubles.
There was no hiding now, I guessed.
“…And they’re adding a second part, too,” Kael said.
“A second part?”
He cleared his throat, and that same quiet hesitation in h
is voice from before was back—like he knew he had to tell me these things, but he still didn’t want to have to think about what they meant. “Mother Alpha, Ascending.”
The room felt like it was caving in around us, suddenly.
“I just thought you might want to hear it from me first,” he said, his voice still soft. “So you could brace yourself. Prepare your coronation speech or whatever.”
I sat silently for a second, thinking of the conversation I’d had with Faolan during one of our trainings a couple months ago.
Your kind once had grand masters, you know…a master Father and Mother Alpha who lorded over even the alphas of individual packs.
And Carrick had mentioned it, too—it was part of the reason he wanted me on his side. Because my grandfather had been one of those masters, and, as his descendant, the power was potentially mine as well. Only potentially though. Life was full of a lot of potential, but that meant nothing unless you rose to meet it.
That’s what I’d been doing these past few weeks, I suppose, without even really thinking about it. Raising armies, saving as many as I could—I had tried to think only about what had to be done, though. Not about what would be expected of me because I’d done those things.
I didn’t particularly want this title that came with my bloodline, and I sure as hell didn’t want people bowing to me, for god’s sake. Thinking about it just made the space around me cave in more completely.
“Are you okay?” Kael asked.
I nodded, numbly. “Fine,” I said. “This is what we needed, right? I mean, not the weird bowing part—but more people on our side. Joseph said this was one of the largest and most powerful packs in Ireland. So they can call me whatever they want, as long as they’re on our side…as long as they’re going to help us, right?”
He climbed out of the bed and offered me his hand. “Do you feel like standing?” he asked, studying me closely. I think he was aware of the mild freak-out going on in my head, but he didn’t call me on it. Which I was grateful for. Because that would have made it a lot harder to stick to my strategy of one foot in front of the other, all the way to the other side of the storm. “The others went to start that discussion of ‘helping us’ with the alpha,” he said. “We can join them if you want.”
“We should,” I agreed, taking his hand and sliding from the warmth of the bed.
Because I’d laid the foundations of this destiny, and now I felt like I had no choice but to rise and meet it.
I heard arguing even before I opened the door. But when I stepped into view of the courtyard, where the alpha and several his pack, along with the members of my own traveling “pack”, were waiting, they all fell quiet.
It was weird.
Because for a moment it actually felt like Kael hadn’t been joking about the coronation part; it was as if I had a crown on my head or something, and the shining jewels in it had drawn all of their eyes toward me, away from whatever they had been so strongly disagreeing about.
My heart was in my throat as I held on to Kael’s arm and walked the cobblestone path to the group. No one bowed at the sight of me, thankfully, though the alpha himself did lower his eyes and dip his head in a respectful sort of nod, and the rest of his pack, including the few in their wolf form— who were flanking the edges of the courtyard as guardians of this conversation, presumably—all followed his example.
Vanessa broke away from the others and rushed into my arms, holding me tightly without saying a word. She didn’t let go until Joseph cleared his throat and tentatively restarted the conversation by looking to me and saying, “Iain has sworn the power of himself and all his wolves to our benefit.”
The alpha nodded again, but there was something cautious in the movement now, just as there was in Joseph’s voice. “Yes,” he confirmed. “In exchange for the great debt I owe to you.”
“Good,” I said, my gaze drifting, confused, toward Joseph. “That’s good, isn’t it? So what are we arguing about?”
There was an exchange of tense glances and whispers in forced solemn tones.
“The problem with having too many generals in your army,” Joseph finally muttered in response, “is trying to get them to agree with a plan.”
“Because you cannot simply charge into the feral’s territory and expect to win the battle—or to get past them and to the source of their power— by sheer force of numbers,” Iain said, indignantly. “That isn’t a plan so much as a suicide attempt.”
“We have others helping, too,” I said. “It’s not just your pack.”
“I know. Your friends have told me about the impressive number that you’ve rallied to your cause.” I couldn’t help but notice the way his tone became a little more respectful as he addressed me, and it made me almost as uncomfortable as the bowing had. But I tried to shake that thought from my head as best I could, because I didn’t have room for more doubts about whether or not I was ready to command this sort of respect.
“We outnumber the feral,” I said.
“Yes. But they are back in that territory of their origin, now. And there is magic in this land that most of your army cannot even begin to comprehend—magic that the feral can and will use against all of you.” His eyes swept around the courtyard, taking in each of his pack members in turn. “All of us.”
“So what are you suggesting as an alternative, then?” I fought to keep the frustration from my voice, telling myself that I at least needed to listen to what he had to say.
“Something that Joseph already knew of,” he said, “and which I’m surprised you don’t already have. Because I know for certain that your grandfather had it before he attempted any of his greatest magic. And your father likely used it, too, when he sealed the feral away all those years ago.”
“And according to every source we have, it no longer exists,” Joseph said, impatience edging into his voice. “Which is why I have not bothered telling her about it. Because she is better off relying on her own inner strength.”
“Does it have a name?” Will asked.
“Criostal Solas,” Iain said, and a shiver seemed to rush through the crowd. The same chill overtook me, too, even though I wasn’t really sure why.
“There are rumors your father used it, but as far as most would agree, the Solas hasn’t been seen since your grandfather died,” Joseph said, his gaze fixing intently on mine. “And most think it died with him; that it was destroyed along with his body, and that rituals were performed to ensure that he took its power with him to the other side. Which was necessary, because if it were to fall into the wrong hands, the results would be devastating.”
“Wrong hands…as in Carrick’s?” I thought aloud. “Or Cerin’s? Or any of the feral? What exactly could they do with it, though?”
“It’s useless to the common being, but…” Joseph still didn’t look like he wanted to elaborate.
“But it calls to the blood of innately magical beings,” Iain finished for him. “It’s an intensifier of their power. In the beginning there were several similar objects, it’s believed, but the Solas—the one your grandfather was known to wield— was thought to be the last in existence. And legends among our kind claim that he was the only one who managed to find it, despite plenty who searched. It wanted only him. Only he could hear it sing, and only he could use it to its fullest potential. Which he did, when he performed those powerful spells to create the Blood Pact and to seal the power of his enemies, and to—”
“Wait a second.” Panic hitched my voice to an embarrassingly high pitch; I couldn’t help it. “So you’re saying my grandfather was a cheater, basically. That the only reason he was this all-powerful being that I keep hearing about is because he had like the one ring of power or whatever it’s called, which I don’t have, and which I won’t have when I face the feral.” I turned furiously to Joseph. “Is that what you meant earlier? When you said different things were working in his favor?”
“So you understand why I’m unconvinced of your plan,” Iain said.<
br />
“She is stronger than Cyrus was,” Joseph replied simply.
His words caused a stirring in the crowd around us, and several people craned their necks or tried to push closer to me. Like they were all sizing me up, wondering Could it be true? This small girl? Stronger? Savior of the world? Really?
I was wondering the same things, but I did my best not to show it, and to swallow that panic in my throat before I spoke again. “I’m going to have to be stronger than him,” I said, voice quiet but determined. “Because I don’t have the Solas, and I don’t have time to look for it. Besides, I have a bad history with magical items.”
“You’re referring to the blood relic that you destroyed?” Iain asked.
“Yeah. The small matter of that. It sang to me I guess you could say; and it made me feel like I was going crazy whenever I was near it. If that’s the sort of calling that even a byproduct of this Solas thing is going to put off, then no thanks. I’ll take the feral out with my bare hands before I mess with any more magical items.”
Iain pursed his lips and folded his arms across his broad chest. He looked like he wanted to argue, but he was still watching me with that respectful gleam in his eyes, still trying to decide whether or not it was appropriate to disagree with the so-called rising Mother Alpha.
Meanwhile, Joseph nodded approvingly. “Artifacts are a dangerous and unpredictable sort of magic, tainted by the creator’s desires, that sort of thing,” he said. “They backfire too easily. Again: Alex is better off simply relying on her own inner, pure magic.”
“That doesn’t mean our enemy will do the same,” Iain pointed out.
He sounded entirely too bleak about the possibility for me not to follow up with, “You think they might attempt to find it first? And that they could actually manage to?”
“They are already attempting it. I have a lot of connections all over this country, and I’ve heard alarming things—it’s why I mentioned the Solas in the first place. Because others are mentioning it. A vicious searching seems to be underway… Strange people, who we can only assume are agents of the feral, have reportedly been asking about it, trying to torture information out of the few innate magic users still scattered around our land. And they may not manage to track it down, but if they do, then consider the war lost.”
Ascendant (The Shift Chronicles Book 4) Page 8