The Onyx Vial (Shadows of The Nine Book 1)

by Lampley, Alexis

  Hunter steeled himself. I can be this brave. I’ve faced worse in my dreams. All I have to do is act like I do there. He squeezed the hilt of the dagger tighter.

  The Commander’s blade disappeared with a swish of black cloth as a wicked smile spread across his broad, panther-like face. “Bring him.”

  Grizzly stalked forward with careless confidence. Hunter held his breath as he backed into the root. He was outmatched in strength and power, with nowhere to run—not that he would get far. Hunter would be trapped—with or without a fight—in seconds. And they all knew it.

  But they didn't know he had a weapon.

  He forced the cold air to reenter his lungs, took a step backward, then held steady.

  One touch with the dagger and Grizzly would be dead. Hunter wouldn’t even need the stealth Harold Stratton had used to kill the other Huntsman. That image was a vivid stamp in his memory. He’d been glad to see the light leave the man’s eyes. But would his feelings be the same if he had to deal death with his own hands? Most importantly, would using the weapon, even as a dagger, be risking too much? If any one of them recognized it, he would have to kill them all. And who knew if the Mustang would survive long enough for Hunter to reach it.

  He shifted his gaze from Grizzly to the Mustang snorting and digging its hooves at the ground behind him.

  A last resort. I’ll only use it if I have to.

  Grizzly opened his arms for an embrace, twisted into malignance by the downward angle of the blade in his hand.

  Hunter exploded his weight off his back leg, launching himself, shoulder-first, into the brick-wall gut. Catching the Huntsman mid-stride, Hunter’s momentum sent him stumbling backward.

  But the brute didn’t fall.

  No time to panic. The Commander would strike faster than he had last time.

  Hunter surged toward the Mustang as the grunting shout of his would-be-captor sent the others into visible fury. They lunged at him, their blades engulfed with hissing heat. Hunter slid, feet first, through the rough gravel path, stalling out beneath the Mustang’s middle.

  It reared and neighed. The Huntsmen’s move toward Hunter had left their ropes slack. Suddenly, the fear of fiery blades was stamped out by the prospect of hooves lodging into his skull.

  Hunter rolled out from under the frightened beast. The Huntsmen pulled back and the ropes drew taut again, making it clear their priority was the Mustang.

  A blazing python of fire seared through the semi-darkness, heading straight for him. He leapt to his feet, but the flames split, encircling him in swarming, blinding heat. The flames climbed higher, arched inward, and encased him in a half-sphere of fire. It was like a snow-globe warped into something wicked, the buoyant white flecks replaced by black smoke. The noxious swirl crawled into his lungs, its sharp claws digging at his flesh.

  Hunter choked. Two sets of bright yellow eyes flashed between the flicker of flames, accompanied by vile, nasty grins.

  A boulder settled at the pit of Hunter’s stomach. His mind raced in search of a etâmic defense and found nothing but dark, empty fear. He hadn’t had enough training. But that doesn’t mean you can’t fight.

  Burns could be healed—worse burns than the quick slap of a fire. He gritted his teeth. If he moved fast, maybe it wouldn’t hurt at all.

  He dove toward the sneering men, ignoring the heat against his skin. This time, when Hunter burst through the flames and hit him, Grizzly fell. Hunter scrambled to remain upright. The Commander backpedaled gracefully out of Hunter’s path, clearly expecting him to attack. But Hunter was aiming for the ropes.

  He launched his weight onto one, his hand sliding across the horse’s side to catch hold of the rough braided twine. For a moment, Hunter was suspended. Then the rope went slack and he slammed into the ground. Dirt flung into his mouth and eyes. He flipped over, rope in hand.

  The Huntsman released it. A wide, gnarled smile billowed on his face. He stood in his place, looking smug.

  Hunter’s legs rooted to the ground. His body locked in its position. He couldn’t obey his desire to run.

  A flash of light on his right.

  Hunter raised his hands in defense against the roiling stream of flame. The fire rushed over his head, deflected. But not by him.

  “Over there!” One of the Huntsmen pointed toward the tree root.

  Fear shot through Hunter’s spine. He turned, disobeying the voice in his head again, which told him with sincerity: do not look.

  It was Finn.

  His face looked pained, his hands extended slightly in front of him.

  Before Hunter could warn him, fire streaked toward Finn. The boy’s face contorted. A foot before the flames collided with him, they were snuffed out. For a moment, Hunter couldn’t process what he saw. Then he realized: Finn had managed to create some sort of shield.

  The Commander growled, “Hadeon. Gruon. Get him.”

  Grizzly thundered toward the root with Gruon, the thick Huntsman Hunter remembered, on his heels.

  Finn’s concentration faltered. He took a step away from the ledge as an arrow plunged into Grizzly’s left thigh. The man barreled forward, not even fazed by the shaft protruding from his leg. And then he stopped cold.

  His left foot had, literally, taken root to the ground. He roared and swatted at the shaft, but whatever etâme was in those arrows had turned his leg into a tree trunk.

  More arrows rained from the sky.

  Hunter looked toward the canopy, catching a splash of color like an autumnal sunset midway up the tree—then a flicker of yellow gold farther in the distance. Tehya and Perry. Somehow, they were moving into the safety of the treetops, Dilyn likely along with them.

  The Sentrees had finally come. He couldn’t see them, but then, that was part of their defense. The arrows fell as if from the trees themselves.

  The Huntsmen scrambled for their horses.

  Hunter didn’t hesitate. Disregarding the fact that he’d never ridden before, he leapt to his feet and grabbed hold of the rope still around the Mustang. A Huntsman—the reptilian one—would not release his end of the rope. Using that stubbornness to his advantage, Hunter balanced a foot on the rope and hauled himself onto the Mustang’s back.

  The cord tightened dangerously around the Mustang’s neck. Without thinking, Hunter snatched the dagger from its sheath and slashed at the rope until it fell away. Only then did he realize that the hilt was glowing.

  “Get that boy!” the Commander yelled over the chaos of whirring arrows, neighing horses, and thudding hooves.

  Hunter met the Commander’s eyes, and the truth was as plain to see as the written word.

  His heart dropped. He fumbled to stow the dagger away, the voice in his head chanting, I'm the target. Somehow, they followed me.

  He had to get away.

  As if the Mustang understood, it lurched forward, aiming straight for the darkness of the trees. Hunter wrapped his arms around its neck instinctually, barely catching hold before he slipped off.

  Someone let out a strangled scream.

  Hunter whipped his head around in time to see Gruon and Grizzly dragging Finn off the root before he was swallowed in the underbrush of the forest.

  Chapter 26

  Killian leaned on the railing of Xalen’s office balcony, his hand on Baron’s head, his eyes on the darkness filling the rock tower’s tunnel sky. If only Fenix was allowed to fly in that inky emptiness. But the sight of a Stoalvenger above the city would stir Bolengard into the very panic Ariana threatened to cause.

  He searched the glittering black perimeter for the tree where Xalen’s daughter expected to find her. It was nothing more than a blurry speck of golden light. But he somehow doubted she was there. She’d been missing for a while. The city had slept and woken in the time since she’d stormed off. She seemed smart enough to know how to stay hidden. But what if she’d been spreading accusations about him instead?

  The thought distracted him. It kept him awake. Not even Baron’s return to heal
th, nor the warmth and comfort the dog provided, could ease him into the realm of dreams. He knew how important it was to sleep—to watch over his brother—but he woke often, always with another contingency plan for when things in Bolengard went bad.

  A heavy knock sounded. Baron’s head dipped away from Killian’s hand. He followed the dog’s gaze through the dimly lit office as George emerged from behind the thick wooden door, his face haggard from sleeplessness.

  Baron lunged toward him.

  “Ally,” Killian said sharply.

  Baron skittered to a stop, one word changing him from an attack dog to a peaceful pet. The dog planted his furry hind-end on the woven burgundy rug, just a stride from George’s feet, and lifted his wolfish snout like a soldier awaiting commands.

  George’s faded green eyes widened, then lifted to meet Killian’s. “Xalen’s not already here?”

  Killian shrugged.

  George raked a hand through Baron’s scraggly black fur and offered Killian a weary smile. “Where are we with your brother?”

  Finally. Something to focus on that was still going according to plan. “He has the Vial and he’s on the move. Uneventful journey so far. He spent the whole time alone in a coach, fiddling with the dagger and thinking about a girl.”

  George heaved a sigh, nodded, and dropped into the ornately fashioned couch on the opposite side of the room. “Seems Harold is on schedule, then.”

  Killian frowned. George was not relieved, as he should be. Was Ariana’s disappearance really affecting the hardened Elite Operative that much? “Did you find Ariana?”

  George tugged at the ends of his grey-black hair, cinching the band that kept it bunched at the back of his head. “It’s Mahdis all over again,” he muttered.

  "Who?”

  Baron shot into a stand and his ears pulled back. Voices drifted from the hallway.

  “…are my conditions.” Was that Ariana’s voice? “I won’t be persuaded to—”

  Xalen’s low murmur.

  “Of course I understand the gravity of the situation.”

  Yes. It was her.

  George perked a bit with recognition. Baron stalked toward the door.

  “Hup,” Killian commanded.

  Baron hesitated, turned his eyes to Killian while he kept his face pointed to the voices. Killian narrowed his eyes. Baron slunk back and planted himself at Killian’s side.

  “…this on my terms.” Ariana tramped through the door a half step in front of Xalen, as if she were leading him. She ground to a halt at the sight of Killian, Baron and George. She clamped her lips together. A hundred different emotions crossed her face, lighting her sapphire-grey eyes like ashes dancing in hot blue flame.

  Killian tensed, twitching his wrist instinctually, finding comfort in the sharp-edged pendant that dropped into his palm. What terms was she trying to establish?

  “George. Progress with Ionia?” Xalen asked, his face clouded with impatience as he maneuvered around Ariana and continued toward his desk.

  Killian kept his eyes on the girl. Her chest rose and fell with the steady pace of a tempered anger. She looked… powerful. Capable. Different. Her dark, wavy hair hung to the lace edge of her crimson camisole. The scars on her forearms gave her the distinct air of a warrior. Her soft taupe pants were tucked with precision into her roughened leather boots.

  She had something to bargain with. The tells were ones he’d learned early, and they were easy for him to spot.

  “Killian. Is this confirmed?”

  Killian tore his gaze from Ariana, quickly piecing together the conversation he’d just blanked out. Ariana surveyed him like a hungry falcon, though confusion crept into the corners of her eyes.

  He ignored her, turning to see Xalen flipping through a pile of messages on the desk. They were asking about Hunter and the Vial. George had said they were on schedule. “Yes,” he answered.

  Xalen’s acknowledgement was barely a nod. “Proceed, Ariana,” he sighed.

  Her eyes lingered on him—confused about his knowing what Hunter was doing, most likely—then her focus snapped to George. Killian returned to examining her.

  “You said you could get me reinstated at Ruekridge,” she said. “Did you mean it?” Her voice was calm. Even.

  But he could tell how tightly she was wound. She held her arms down with too much awareness of them. He could imagine the voice in her head, commenting on how uselessly they hung by her sides. He could almost feel how the more she focused on them the more she itched to move them, to make them somehow useful.

  It seemed she wanted Ruekridge as badly as he did. Why?

  Ariana crossed her arms over her chest, playing at impatience, but Killian knew she’d given in to that voice.

  He covered his snicker with a cough.

  George stood slowly, his gaze not meeting hers until he reached his full height. He spoke solemnly. “Would you believe me, Ariana, if I said yes?”

  Ariana’s swirling sapphire eyes narrowed. She regarded George with a cool calculation she’d lacked completely when he'd tried asking her about Hunter—as if, with George, she knew exactly what to say.

  Maybe she did. There was something familial about their interactions. They were a lot like Xalen and Asrea, actually. Though Ariana was clearly not the obedient type.

  “You’re taking him there, aren’t you?” She glared at Killian.

  He faked a yawn, holding her gaze with all the boredom he could muster. Answering a question with a question… a tactic of hard-headed diversion. It hadn’t worked on him, of course, but the way Ariana turned George into something weaker than the Elite Operative that he was, Killian wondered if she might not succeed.

  “Ariana.” George spoke her name with a warning.

  She was clearly willing Killian to drop dead on the floor. But when he remained standing, she turned her frustration back on George. “I’m not as null as you seem to think,” she said. “He knows about Ruekridge, and I know you can’t keep him here in Bolengard. Where else can you take him?”

  All true. She had a fearlessness he’d never admit he admired.

  “That leaves you two choices: take him there personally, or risk him alerting his…” she wrinkled her nose… “father and let him find it on his own—which won’t be hard, considering you’re letting his brother in.”

  Clever. Such a change from the laughably excessive dramatics she’d shown him yesterday.

  “So you might as well tell me. Option one, yes?”

  George sighed, cast a brief look to Killian and Xalen for approval, then nodded.

  Ariana settled her weight into her hip. The look on her face said her suspicions were confirmed, and the color in her cheeks said…

  That’s strange. She’s pleased by it.

  “Does that affect your answer to my question? Would you believe me?” George asked.

  Ariana regarded him coolly.

  She was a deeper study than Killian had expected. If he wasn’t careful, she’d turn this game she was playing on… No, she’s not in the same league.

  “In any other circumstance? I would. But in this case,” Ariana shrugged, “I think you’ll reinstate me, whether you were lying or not.”

  George cocked a peppery brow. “Oh? And why is that?”

  Because she knows something you don’t.

  “She knows how to destroy the Onyx Vial,” Xalen said, his voice a mixture of agitation and weariness.

  George drew taut. Killian straightened.

  “Or so she says,” Xalen added.

  Ariana pinched her lips together, trapping the emotion in her eyes. She was struggling not to retaliate. It was important for her to remain in control.

  He could empathize.

  She took a slow breath, kept eye contact with Xalen, and spoke evenly. “I do say so. Because it’s true.”

  “How could you know something like that?” George questioned.

  Killian cocked his head. He hadn’t figured her as a liar, but he couldn’t help wonderi
ng the same thing. No one, not even his father, knew a way to destroy the Vial.

  She turned to George, her eyes flitting past Killian’s face with obvious avoidance. “I have never lied to you. Left out a few things, maybe. But never lied.”

  “You going to leave out a few things now, too?” George asked.

  Ariana considered him for a moment. Devising a way to deflect his inquiry.

  “If I tell you everything, what use am I to you?” she reasoned, letting her arms uncross.

  He hiccuped a breathy laugh of admiration. Smart girl. She could definitely play this game. But how good was she? Could she take it as far as he could?

  “What would stop you from leaving me here again?” she went on.

  “The record of your behavior here so far,” Xalen answered.

  Ariana turned to him, her hold on the calm façade slipping. Her widened eyes and rounded open mouth revealed her true emotion. Indignant.

  He’d expected better of her somehow.

  She regained composure in the next instant. “Just because I’m unwilling to tell you doesn’t mean I’m not telling the truth.”

  Decent counterpoint. One that cast her in a better light without revealing anything further. Something he’d have done. Then what about the slip? Was it intentional? That was no method he’d ever used. Maybe she was that good after all. If so, she’d be a worthy asset. But he had to be sure. It was time he tested her himself.

  “My family has been searching for that truth for ages,” Killian said, playing up the arrogance she’d accused him of before. "There's been nothing anywhere."

  George and Xalen both shot him a look of surprise, as if they hadn’t expected him to enter into the discussion so abruptly.

  "Well your family must have forgotten about Hunter, then, because he was the one who had them."

  Killian couldn't cover his surprise. "What are you talking about?"

  "The pages." George's words were both question and answer.

  "That's why you kept them," Ariana said, full of a surety and conviction now. "You saw the drawing of the Vial, thought the pages were mine. But you couldn't read them, so you didn't know what my intent was. That's why you threw me in a cell."