The Onyx Vial (Shadows of The Nine Book 1)

by Lampley, Alexis

  "And Huntsmen in general," Dilyn added.

  Hunter's eyes slid to Ariana at the mention of Huntsmen. But the look he gave her was still like he felt sorry for her. She glared at him, confusion and distrust making her angry. How did he have everyone else fooled?

  Finn suddenly got louder, forcing Ariana's mind to join his conversation.

  “Without Race Studies, how would we accurately determine the lineages that appear in our race marks?”

  “Your entire argument is based on the assumption that anyone cares,” Grant answered.

  “Of course they care,” Finn said.

  Perry turned to Hunter. “I still can't believe you fell asleep in the middle of our game,” he snickered.

  Ariana was thankful for the second subject. Finn could get tedious quickly without another conversation to listen to.

  Hunter blushed and shrugged his shoulders. “I was more tired than I realized,” he said, laughing easily.

  “Traveling will do that to you,” Dilyn added.

  "You fell asleep?" Ariana couldn't help but ask. "How long was I upstairs?"

  Dilyn laughed.

  Hunter's cheeks colored slightly. "It just sort of hit me. I had a busy day." He shot her a meaningful look. She didn't want to commiserate with him, but she did understand.

  “At least it was entertaining,” Perry said, taking a swig of his juice. “Sleep conversations are the best.”

  Hunter's hand slowed to a stop. His forkful of potato hovered in front of his open mouth. He stared at Perry for a beat, his eyes wide, then he blinked and set his fork down. “I... was talking in my sleep?”

  Perry's broad grin accompanied his nod. “Oh yeah.”

  The crease on Hunter's brows deepened. “What did you hear? I mean, what was I saying?”

  “Finn,” Wil sighed. “You're saying that evil is born, not made. But if—”

  “That's because it is,” Finn said.

  “But if that were the case, then you still wouldn't find an indicator in the race marks.”

  “Something about family loyalties, and a man who had answers,” Perry was saying. “And sons who make everything make sense.”

  Ariana straightened, her curiosity at full force. A dream wasn't all that intriguing, but a dream that was making Hunter go suddenly quiet and formal? That was another thing entirely. She glanced at her mother. Madame Emory appeared to be fully engaged in the conversation between Finn and Grant, but she couldn't help feeling like her mother was listening to both, just as she was.

  “You kept repeating, 'I couldn't do it. I couldn't go through with it',” Dilyn added.

  “But you can,” Finn insisted, so loudly that everyone else went quiet. “Look at the Fvudors, Wil. There was a recurring pattern there.”

  Ariana almost laughed, realizing that the two conversations hadn't just merged.

  Grant buried his face in his hands. “So?” he groaned.

  “So. There's your proof,” Finn exclaimed. “If evil was made, there wouldn't be a pattern. There would be an endless line of Fvudors.”

  Hunter didn't appear to be listening to Finn and Wil. He studied the bite of egg at the end of his fork as though deciding whether to eat it or get up and run.

  “Fine,” Wil conceded. “Say you could detect a strand in the mark that indicated evil. Do you kill the child? The tiny innocent being unable to do anything for itself? If so, aren't you then evil, though the strand is absent from your mark?”

  Perry grunted in disgust, clearly having reached his tolerance for today's argument. He turned back to Hunter. “Anyway. We started talking to you. Told you we'd help you.”

  “But you said we'd be caught and killed,” Dilyn chimed in. “'Just like Hunter.' Like you weren't you.”

  Hunter shifted in his chair, his eyes not staying on any one person long.

  "And then you said something about a phoenix and a sandstorm," Perry said through a mouthful of bread.

  Hunter finally put his fork down, then stared at his plate. Ariana watched the rise and fall of his chest grow still for a moment.

  Madame Emory stood. The conversations halted. Her eyes were on Hunter. “I—I must return upstairs.” She looked at William. “I believe your father has tangled himself in his work again. Is there something I could use to bring him a meal?”

  William was about as surprised by this as any of them. He stood and walked to the counter, where a large mixing bowl sat upside down. He lifted it, revealing a pre-prepared plate.

  “Thank you,” her mother said stiffly, and then she disappeared up the stairs.

  Ariana frowned. That was disturbing. Her mother's behavior. She had spent too much time with her eyes on Hunter for Ariana to think there was any other reason than him for her abrupt departure. But why would that be so? Who was this boy? He seemed not to be aware that his presence had flapped the unflappable Madame Emory.

  Ariana was torn between chasing after her mother, demanding to know why she was acting so strangely, or confronting Hunter here and now.

  Slowly, the conversations began again. But Ariana found that she couldn't focus on any of them.

  When dinner finally wound down, and Ariana had tensed to the point of snapping, she finally took action. She stood, feeling reckless, and grabbed Hunter's shoulder. “Could you come with me, please?”

  He startled at her touch, but recovered quickly. “Sure."

  She didn't speak again until they were safely away from the others on the third floor landing, outside the room she shared with Tehya. Then she laid into him. “What is going on? How does my mother know you? Who are you? Why do you keep lying about everything?”

  “Whoa," Hunter took a step back. "Wait. What?”

  "My mother. How does she know you? Tell me the truth."

  He looked at her as if she were scattered. "I have never seen her before in my life, I swear."

  Too worked up to accept this answer, though a small voice in her head told her he was speaking true, Ariana pressed further. "What was wrong with you down there, then? Why did my mother look at you like she'd seen a ghost?"

  "Maybe you should ask her?" He didn't sound sarcastic, but it stung all the same.

  "I'll ask her what I want to," she snapped.

  "Look, I know you two aren't getting along, but you don't have to take your anger at her out on me, you know," Hunter noted sourly.

  For a moment, Ariana merely stared him down, contempt in her eyes. But then her curiosity got the better of her. "Fine. Then what was it you wanted to talk to me about earlier?"

  “Well, I'm afraid to ask, now,” he said.

  Ariana huffed. “Oh, just try me.”

  Hunter took a moment to speak. When he did, his voice was cautious. “Dilyn says your father was Master of Words.”

  Her heart jumped and she stiffened. Gorse, Dilyn. “Yes. That's true. But it's not something he should be telling just anyone.”

  “He only said so because he thought it might be helpful information for me.”

  “Oh? How so?” She kept her voice even, but her heart raced at the thought of the book. He had to be talking about the book.

  He dug his hands in his pockets. “He says you can read the Elder Script stuff you mentioned earlier in the Pass.”

  “Yes. That's right.”

  “And that it's really rare to be able to...”

  Ariana bristled. He needed to get to the point. Faster. “What do you want, Hunter?”

  “Your help,” he said, at least not flinching at her sudden bluntness.

  “What?”

  “I was hoping you could...”

  Translate the book for him? Oh, lawks, maybe this would be her way out. It would be harder, continuing to teach herself, but—of course! Pabl! Why hadn't she thought of him earlier—Pabl could help.

  “...write up a key for me?” he finished.

  The thrill snuffed out. Her skin flashed with heat and disappointment and frustration. “That's it?”

  Hunter frowned. “Yeah.�
�

  “A key for what?”

  “To translate—”

  She scoffed. "It's not that simple. Why not just ask me to translate it and save yourself a step?”

  Hunter shook his head so quickly she wondered if he'd listened past 'why not.' He pulled his hands from his pockets and crossed his arms. “I don't want to get you in trouble with your mom.”

  Ariana laughed mirthlessly, feeling a familiar anger flash-boil her blood. “Thanks for your concern, but I don't buy it,” she snapped. “You just don't want my help. Not really. Why? What are you hiding?” She'd taken three steps toward him before she was aware of doing so.

  Hunter drew back, but set his shoulders and dropped his hands. “Hey. Look, I would really appreciate your help and all,” he said, pointing a finger at her, “but I barely know you. I told you a lot more than you needed to ask about today. Why are you being so pushy?”

  “Because I don't trust you,” she blurted, surprising herself.

  “Then why should I trust you?”

  “Because I haven't lied to you once since we met.” She pointed back at him. “You, on the other hand, agreed to be honest with us and yet you continue to lie, especially to me.”

  “About what?” He was frayed now, too. His eyes morphed to a vibrant green. She knew her own were lit like Fyrrenian fire.

  “Don't play null with me,” she said. “You're from Earth. You lied. You said Kansas in the Pass. Why make up a world if you're trustworthy?” A voice deep down tried to give her a logical reason, but her anger wasn't having it.

  He gaped, then shook his head. “You know, you aren't as smart as you think you are."

  "What?"

  "Kansas is on Earth. It's like your Provinces on Ionia.”

  Ariana's eyes widened, and her response died in her throat. After a moment, as the pieces fell into place, she said, “That's rarer than Tieren twins.”

  “What?”

  “It's an expression. Why didn't you say Earth to begin with?”

  The creaking of footsteps sounded from Bardoc's studio above them.

  “It was the first thing I thought. I've never had to tell anyone what world I'm from before. When people ask you where you're from, do you say Ionia? Or Ladria?”

  She wrinkled her nose in frustration. She hated to admit it, but he had a point.

  A clearing of a throat made them both jump. She whirled to the stairs, pressing a hand over her fluttering heart.

  “Hunter? Ariana?”

  “Yeah,” she managed.

  Dilyn's face appeared around the bend of the stairway. “Um... am I interrupting something?” He asked, lips twisting into a grin.

  She and Hunter regarded each other with varying expressions of distaste.

  “No.”

  “Definitely not.”

  Dilyn shrugged. “You both disappeared. Thought we ought to check on you.” He winked at Ariana.

  Her stomach turned. “Ugh. There's no checking needed.” She glared at Hunter. “He's not my type.”

  Hunter raised a brow. “Same,” he said.

  The landing suddenly felt small and crowded. “And we're done here,” she said, gesturing toward the stairs. “Please go away.”

  Hunter looked at her like she was a disappointment.

  He had no right to look at her like that. She felt the chill shudder through her a moment before Dilyn shivered.

  “Hunter,” he said cautiously, “she's frayed. I'd do as she asks. Quickly.”

  “Gladly,” he said, his eyes still on her. “Thanks for your help,” he added.

  “Not that you even asked for it,” she retorted, planting her hands on her hips.

  Lawks, she wanted to slap that look off his face.

  Instead, she stayed put as he left, taking solace in the fact that his forty thousand Scales were still in her possession.

  Chapter 7

  Dawn had just begun to paint its watercolors across the sky when Ariana snuck out of her room, careful not to wake Tehya as she closed the door. She wanted to be out of the house before the gates opened and her mother awoke. She had changed into a sea-blue dress she'd been meaning to get back from Tehya anyway, and looked less peculiar than she had in her lounge clothes the night before. With her satchel slung over her shoulder, she headed downstairs.

  When she saw the wide-open door of the room Dilyn and Perry usually shared, she paused on the landing and listened hard. No one seemed to be awake. She peeked inside. Hunter was fast asleep on the spare bed closest to the window. His bag was stuffed beneath it.

  With a glance over her shoulder to be sure all was clear, she slipped through the doorway. Dilyn snored softly as she passed him. Perry's foot stuck out from the covers on his bed, his face buried under a pillow.

  She stopped at Hunter's bedside. He couldn't read the book without her help. If he was too stubborn to let her help him, she'd have to take charge. What harm could she really do? She'd take the book to Pabl's, start translating it, and have it back this afternoon. It was absolutely useless to him if he couldn't get it translated.

  Pulling Hunter's damaged tin from her satchel, she knelt beside the bed. If it made him mad that she borrowed his book without permission, he couldn't stay mad long. Not when she returned the Scales he thought he'd lost.

  She lifted the flap of the bag and peered inside, trying not to feel guilty. Really, she was doing him a favor. And, in a way, she was paying him for it. Granted, it was with his Scales.

  She stuck the tin in place of the book,which she tucked safely away in her satchel. Then she left the room and ducked quietly out of the house.

  It was a little disconcerting to be out in the city this early. But it wasn't as scary as it was at night. There was already a lot of activity. The first rays of sun brushed themselves on the white stone and alighted on the riot of multicolored awnings. Merchants called out to one another as they set up their stalls, brimming with bright colors, crammed into the street. Ahead, a plump, frazzled-looking woman threw open the wooden panels of her second-level window. She beat a deep blue woven rug against the oversized face of King Fyrenn plastered on the wall below her. Soft specks of dirt spiraled to the ground. Ariana skirted the impromptu shower, darted through a short alley, and emerged on Page Street.

  It was quieter here—the colors more subdued. The atmosphere more like morning. The gentle scent of flour floated along the cool air, twirled up her nose, and tingled the underside of her tongue. She stopped in front of a fading midnight-blue building.

  Cracks branched from its foundation and stretched along the only painted stone exterior in Eastridge. Above the crumbling doorway, a rusty pole protruded, a worn wooden sign hanging from it. The words on the sign, painted in a silver that had lost its shimmer long ago, read: Pabl Farstat's Slightly Second-Hand Books.

  As she pushed against the chipped wooden door, a tinny bells tinkled. She stepped inside. Books of midnight blues, forest greens, ruddy maroons, coffee and toffee browns lined row upon row of sagging wooden shelves. There were so many books crammed in the small shop that they flooded onto the floor in large piles.

  From somewhere on her right, a musty voice issued forth. "I would tell you we are not yet open, come back when the gates have opened, but I'm in a spot of trouble and could use some assistance."

  She navigated the stacks and found the owner of the voice lying under a thick blanket of books.

  She rushed to help him. The books fell to the floor with thwaps and thuds, stirring dust as he got to his feet.

  He stood, as dingy and tattered as his surroundings, all softly lit by sunlight slipping through the paint-chipped, once-opaque front window. His eyes were large and owl-like behind black, thick-lensed spectacles.

  Clumsily balancing himself on a patch of visible floor, he extended a fist. "Thank you, dear girl."

  His Eerden mark sprawled across his skin like something written on the wind. "Pabl." She grinned, putting her hand over his. "It's me. Ariana."

  Pabl's eyes wide
ned further. "Oh! Oh, lawks. Ariana, I apologize. Being ambushed by my books has knocked away my sense."

  She lifted a tome teetering perilously above him from the top of a nearby stack. "I haven't been by in a while," she said, a little bitterly. "Can't blame you for not recognizing me."

  With a knobby finger, Pabl shoved his glasses higher up the bridge of his nose. "It's not the same without you here." He sighed. "If only your mother would focus on what good your talent could bring the Shadows, rather than the bad it'd bring herself."

  Pabl's words were a kick to her stomach. "I agree," she said, looking away to keep from getting upset about it. She let her eyes soak in the shop to calm her.

  It was her favorite place in all of Eastridge. Books hung over shelf edges as if the stories inside their covers, desperate for someone to read them, might leap at the first person to walk by. At least if she couldn't find a way out of her mother's plans, she'd have this place.

  "Until then, I suppose your visits will have to remain a secret between the two of us."

  She eyed him. "I think you're confusing me with my mother, Pabl."

  "What? You? A Secret Keeper?" Pabl smiled. He set a rickety hand on her shoulder. The jovial gleam in his eyes shifted to something serious. "No. You are your father's child." He squeezed her shoulder. "Though there's a part of you that's very much like your mother."

  She snorted. "Yeah. My reflection."

  Pabl shook his head. "Your mother's heart has been deeply affected by the secrets she carries," he said slowly, each word weighed as if consoling her. "There was once a time when her spirit was as wild as yours."

  He let his hand fall. Sadness, or maybe pity, tugged at the corners of his eyes.

  "Nowadays, she's determined to break mine."

  "Oh, Ariana. I am sure she will come around. In fact, I believe she will very soon."

  Tears sprang to her eyes. She shook her head. "No, Pabl. She won't. She—" Ariana took a deep breath. Then she confessed the awful truth in one swift exhale. "She's banned me from Ruekridge."

  Pabl's eyes widened. His lips pursed in disapproval. For one long moment, he simply looked her in the eyes. Then he gave her a short, sharp nod. "I have something for you," he said, a little mischief creeping into his otherwise resolute expression. "Are you in a hurry? You're here so very early."