OF EMBERS
OF EMBERS
Tales of Aranea: Ardellon
Book II
Amily Cabelaris
Of Embers | Tales of Aranea: Ardellon | Book II Copyright © 2020 by Amily Cabelaris. All Rights Reserved.
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means including information storage and retrieval systems, without permission in writing from the author. The only exception is by a reviewer, who may quote short excerpts in a review.
Cover designed by Andrey Vasilchenko. https://www.artstation.com/artmage
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Amily Cabelaris
Visit any of my social media accounts @AmCabelaris or my full name.
Printed in the United States of America
ISBN-9798635482773
For Mom
My writing companion, my encourager,
And the most selfless human being I have ever met
A NOTE FROM THE AUTHOR:
Since Of Frost came out, I’ve learned so much. My characters have taught me little lessons about behaviour and the human spirit that I could not have learned any other way. I’ve also experienced the remarkable joy of knowing my stories are out there, like eager readers asking for the next book, angry about the events of the last one, or just interested in the world of Aranea itself. It’s been an experience like no other, and I’ll forever be grateful for it.
So, as you embark on Part II of Ardellon’s section in this series, dig yourself as deep as is comfortable. Enjoy acquainting yourself with the characters I’ve been so excited for you to meet. Get to know them and love them and hate them just like I have.
By the way, if you haven’t read Of Frost, you probably should do that before reading this one. This book will still be here when you’ve finished it, and you’ll have such a better idea about what’s going on.
All the best as you continue,
Amily
Ante Ortum
Chapter 1
The Countess
Ilvara raises trembling hands to the gods on the mantle above her prostrated figure. Worry wrenches her heart. She woke hours ago from the worst nightmare she’s ever had—Evelyn, body cold and eyes silent, covered in blood. She’s been here ever since. Many have assumed Evelyn and Caius fled the region, but she doesn’t believe it. She still feels Evelyn’s presence close. Very close.
“Clarus, Arx, Medela, I beseech you. Protect Evelyn. Wherever she is; whatever has happened, please watch over her.”
Ilvara pricks her finger with an iron dagger. She rubs the blood into a lavender petal before placing it before Clarus, the high goddess of life. Around her, other gods and goddesses are arranged according to their prevalence in Ilvara’s petitions tonight.
Arx, the god of protection, flanks Clarus as usual, the rough ivory discs across his torso contrasting the frost-coloured gemstones lining the smooth stone of Clarus’ dress. Medela is on Clarus’s other side. Flowers dyed bright scarlet are carved into her form. They ring the crown of her head, lay in a heap on her lap, and pile delicately in her upraised palms.
“My lady.”
A soft voice breaks into Ilvara’s trance. She snaps her head up at her new maid, standing with folded hands and lowered eyes. It must be important, or she wouldn’t have disturbed Ilvara.
“What is it?” Ilvara asks, standing.
“I’m deeply sorry for interrupting your prayers, but I know how distressed you are, and I’d like to help.”
“How?”
“I grew up attending the Shrine in Tarreth, and I learned much from the priests and workers. You’ve been praying here for hours. Perhaps the gods are silent to you.”
“That’s what I have been wondering,” Ilvara says, glancing back at the figures. “I keep waiting for peace to settle my heart, but the gods are not speaking to me.”
“Why don’t you go to the Shrine? Bring an offering that would please our deities. Surely they will give you peace then.”
Ilvara ponders this a moment. Then she furrows her brows. “There is a cult that also dwells in Tarreth.”
“The ministers of Herus? Their Sanctuary is dwarfed by the Shrine’s shadow. They won’t cause any problems, I assure you. That would not be in their character.”
Ilvara nods. She’s noticed the ministers during her few visits to Tarreth. Hadrian always called them poor and dirty. She never gave them much consideration. If they chose to worship in plain clothing, who was she to judge them? She lived most of her life in plain clothes before coming to Lockmire.
She once worshipped Lacetus, the god who provided the soil her feet could travel each day, or Aeris, who danced in the air and gave breezes to cool her skin. There were no large temples for these gods in Ardellon. Just small shrines set up by other explorers, adorned with cave crystals or animal pelts, honouring the gods who drew their hearts to nature.
Herus ministers only worship one god, as Ilvara understands it. She isn’t sure how to worship such a god. Would she ask for healing, protection, or prosperity? Would she thank him for the air? The soil? The sky? Over what, exactly, does Herus reign?
Ilvara rises. “Thank you for the idea. I think we will go. Please tell Grogar to fetch me a young goat from the field to sacrifice at the Shrine. Then instruct Krea to gather a small bottle of myrrh, some yarrow, lavender, and… do we still have mistletoe berries?”
“Yes. I just saw some in your laboratory.”
“Good. Have her get me a pouch of those.”
“And what would you have me do, my lady, once I’m finished giving these orders?” the girl wonders.
Ilvara touches her shoulder with the hand not marked with blood. Ilvara feels a pang when she doesn’t flinch.
“Fetch the charms from my room,” Ilvara says. “The only one I’m missing is the one of Arx I gave to Evelyn. Prepare my travelling bag with three days’ worth of supplies—clothes, undergarments, other necessities—and ensure Krea packs enough food as well. I must attend Hadrian’s gathering today, so we’ll leave at dawn on the morrow. Oh, and pack any personal supplies as well.”
“Oh?” the girl’s dark eyes light up.
“Well, you’re coming with me, of course.”
The maid smiles. “Yes, my lady,” she says, and ducks away.
Ilvara sighs as she watches her go, guilty for being so discontented with her, guilty for not even knowing her name. She turns back to the idols on her shelf. Reverently, she traces Arx’s feet. I must learn to be satisfied. This girl takes care of my needs as well as Evelyn did. She completes her duties perfectly.
The vision returns. Evelyn’s empty blue eyes. The blood glistening. She staggers against the mantle, her breath catching. Evelyn is out there in the wilderness with the trainer. The general, too, most likely. Only the gods could know what they’ve gotten her into…
✽ ✽ ✽
“Thank you all for gathering so quickly.” The boom of Hadrian’s voice echoes across the crowded courtyard. “With Esterden at our gates, we’re in desperate need of men to replace those we lost to the forest. We have rangers combing the woods and mountains in search of them, but time is fast fleeting. In the meantime, I have chosen Achilleo Trent as your new general.”
The count gestures to Achilleo, who steps forward to face the men. Some cheer this decision; others only eye Achilleo and Hadrian with skepticism. Ilvara can trace the distrust in their eyes. She also doesn’t think the army should be in the hands of such an inexperienced, foreign recruit. Achilleo has caused far more harm than good. He
was responsible for Evelyn’s capture and imprisonment. Without him, she might not have gone to prison. She might still be here. Ilvara pushes a fingernail into her thumb, trying to keep away the twisting worry.
“He has proven himself to be of great benefit to us,” Hadrian goes on. “He’s helped us with small crimes, trained other recruits with his knowledge of magic, given us incredible insight concerning Esterden’s position, and assisted with organizing troops during Asher and Caius’ absence. I have no doubt he will lead this army to victory.”
Ilvara rolls her eyes, letting Hadrian’s voice fade away as she scans the horizon. Green treetops peak over the outer stone walls. Evelyn is still somewhere. Perhaps between those treetops and that mountain cutting into the sky far ahead of her. She could be to the west, where trees taper off and ease into Imbrium and the Sea of Kalpine, or to the east, where hills give way to great rocky ranges. How many times she’s rested on the other side of those mountains, watching the sunset in Nequa. How the life of adventure calls to her again. How it makes her despise the stuffy confines of the castle. The town. Ardellon itself.
Hadrian’s voice registers once again. “My wife and I plan to travel to Tarreth at dawn. We hope to bring a seasoned trainer back with us. We will be gone three days, and General Achilleo will keep things in order during our absence.” He turns to the young general next to him. In a voice only he and Ilvara can hear, he says, “I hope.”
Achilleo’s smile seems to lack sincerity. “Of course, my lord.”
Satisfied with the authoritative address, Hadrian says, “That is all,” and gives a wave of dismissal to the group of men as he turns back into the castle. “I hope you have a training strategy working in your mind, General Achilleo.”
“I do, and you may call me Leo. I should earn my title.”
“I wish to keep things professional,” Hadrian replies.
“Whatever you desire, my lord.”
False flattery drips from his voice. Ilvara can’t listen to it anymore. She excuses herself from her husband to be alone in her laboratory.
As she enters the narrow hallway, however, their next words stop her.
“Now, about the missing general, trainer, and recruit…” Leo begins.
“What are you thinking?”
“Do I have your permission to conduct a full-power search? Employ all the men in finding these three?”
“Don’t bother. You’re the general and the trainer until we can find someone in Tarreth to help you. Just ensure that recruits join and are trained. Then complete the construction. Don’t trouble yourself with the lives of three measly soldiers. They’re not what matters now.”
“Are you certain?”
“Do you think I know how to run my city?”
“Yes, my lord. Forgive me.”
Ilvara’s heart burns as she leans against the doorpost. A measly soldier. That’s how Hadrian referred to Evelyn. She’s never been able to understand Hadrian’s disdain for Evelyn. The poor girl never bothered him. She worked quickly and dutifully. And yet, he has almost always been cold to her.
As she heads down to her laboratory, Ilvara recalls a time in the first few months of their marriage that Hadrian was fond of Evelyn. Krea is in the laboratory, collecting things for the trip with Ilvara’s maid. Ilvara fiddles with ingredients as she waits for them to leave. When they finally do, Ilvara takes out her old journals, stuffed into dusty shelves with alchemy books and recipes.
She scans the one she finished her first year of marriage to Hadrian. Entries are filled with adoration for him. She doesn’t speak of the sunsets or the wild arms of nature that she misses so much now. Her finger follows the inky lines:
Secdie, 30th of Ventus, 271 AN
Hadrian won’t stop asking questions about Evelyn. I’m so glad he likes her. He keeps saying how sad her scars make him, and how it’s good we have her here to heal.
She loves her bedchambers. I knew she would. The windows all around glisten with sunshine all day. She ran her hands over the soft coverlets until her palms were numb. I’m going to make her our bookkeeper. Something calm will keep her mind off the past.
…
She skims the babbling about her new responsibilities and several detailed descriptions of Hadrian’s every aspect. Her eyes find the next entry that mentions Evelyn:
Solisdie, 4th of Casum Sole, 271 AN
Hadrian is lovely. This morning, Evelyn brought him a big handful of flowers she picked from our gardens to thank him for her bedroom. We both laughed and carefully instructed her to find other ways to show her gratitude. Otherwise, our gardens are going to be barren!
…
The next entry she finds is written a few days later. Her heart pounds as she reads it:
Medietas, 7th of Casum Sole, 271 AN
Evelyn is very quiet today. She can’t get out of bed. Hadrian moved her to a windowless room off the main hall and made her my servant. That is unacceptable. I’ll change it yet. But she said she doesn’t mind. She’ll stay my servant as long as she can be close to me.
I don’t know what happened, but Hadrian won’t talk to her anymore, except to bark orders. Evelyn flinches every time he speaks. Hadrian told me she’s just upset about being a servant, but that isn’t like her. I’m upset about that too. I’ll change it yet.
…
Ilvara looks up from the entry. The books in the shelf blur as her eyes drift out of focus. A heart-wrenching worry strangles her. What if…?
The thought of Hadrian doing anything to Evelyn makes her sick. She shuts the journal, shoving it back with the others before she has another second to think about it. But as she moves to her alchemist’s table to weigh ingredients for a sleeping draught, her mind wanders again.
Ilvara slices the valerian root into uneven chunks. Gods, if you’re listening at all, please bring Evelyn home safely. I need to know for sure…
Chapter 2
Broken
Caius is holding her again. Her wounded body is clean, torn tunic exchanged for a fresh one from Maven’s dresser. Her face is starry white and still. Any moment he expects her blue eyes to appear again. But she’s dead. Her eyes will never open.
It is evening, twenty-four hours since her death. The day passed quickly, escaping him. The better part was spent extracting oil from cedarwood leaves and bark for anointing. His hands shook when he rubbed her scarred skin with the oil. It was sickening to think of this lovely person buried far away from the sun, rotting like an animal carcass.
Nothing feels real. Maven is gone. He’s surprised at that. She must have known Alesia was injured. Perhaps she’s too ashamed to return, even to see her dying daughter. Asher has been caring for Alesia all day, dressing her wounds, keeping her hydrated. But she isn’t very responsive. Caius doesn’t expect she’ll live long. The bear cut right through her abdomen. If the loss of blood doesn’t kill her, infection will. It’s all falling apart. Everything.
Caius shakes when he thinks about Maven. How he longs to watch the life drain from her eyes—eyes he once loved. He needs something to kill. He can’t focus on anything else. He can’t even consider how to keep going.
He sits in the grass next to her now, staring at her lifeless shell over folded hands. The last rays of sunlight dance across her, as if to entice her to come out again, to shut her lids against the sun and feel its warmth across her skin. But she’s cold. The sun cannot warm her anymore.
Asher’s voice behind startles him. “It’s time.”
Caius knows what he means. Time to bury her.
“Not here,” Caius says.
“Where then?”
“Lockmire. It’s what she would have wanted. Countess Ilvara needs to know.”
“What about Alesia?”
Caius sweeps his eyes over the cabin next to them. “We’ll take her with us. A physician in the city might be able to heal her.”
“Now?”
“Now.”
Asher does not argue. He disappears inside the cabi
n for a few moments before emerging again with Alesia in his arms. The girl is swathed in blankets and homemade bandages. Caius bows to take the other body gently. He rises with her. The feeling of her limp weight in his arms jerks him back to when he buried his mother. Waves of agony wash over him until he can hardly stand.
“Ready?” Asher asks.
Caius draws a deep breath to steady himself. His arms tremble. His stomach aches from clenching it to keep the tears back. For a second, he shuts his eyes. He has to bring her to Ilvara. That’s his next goal. He just has to get there. He’ll think about what comes next when that is completed.
“Ready.”
✽ ✽ ✽
Ilvara tosses in her sleep. The draught wasn’t strong enough, even with two full valerian roots and a hint of poppy. Her dreams are wild and vivid. Glaring sunlight, bloody fingers, crows screeching. She can’t find any comfortable position. The fire in the hearth is dying, and the darkness is too dark. When her shoulder touches Hadrian next to her, she jerks fully awake.
Lightning flashes outside her tall window. The rain pattering against the thick glass annoys rather than soothes. Ilvara looks toward Hadrian, who snores soundly. For a long moment, she just stares at him in the darkness, wondering if she should wake him or not. Wondering if he would be honest if she asked him anything about Evelyn.
She lies back down in defeat. Talking to Hadrian about problems has always been futile. He’ll do what he has planned regardless of her input, and he’ll lie to her face to advance his own will. He should have married a tree for all the opinions he’s interested in hearing.
Nearly an hour later, Ilvara is finally dozing when a knock wakes her. Hadrian rises before she has a chance to turn over. Perhaps he wasn’t sleeping as soundly as she thought.
Of Embers Page 1