The Complete Chosen Trilogy (The Chosen #0)

by N. M. Santoski

  Gaius Titus Aeronius, Jupiter said in his lowest rumbling tones, I have chosen you to be the recipient of my might. Your heirs will encircle the globe, and all will have the ability to pull lightning from the very sky. You will be known as Lord Fulmen, and you will rule over the heirs of other gods. Do you accept?

  ‘Why?’ the man asked, still shaken. ‘Why me? Why now?’

  I gasped, amazed that a mere mortal would be so forward with Jupiter Optimus Maximus, but the great god merely laughed. Our influence is waning, boy. Before our ways are forgotten completely, we want to ensure that our legacy remains alive. As for ‘why you’? To be honest, I wanted a soldier for a reason, and you fit the bill.

  Jupiter held the Sword of the Nine aloft just as Juno did, but it was aglow with an eerie blue light. Touch the Sword and accept, or deny me and I will take my offer elsewhere.

  Despite his obvious reservations, Gaius complied. Watching the process as a spectator was fascinating—bolts of what I now know is electricity struck him all over his body, leaving glowing blue flesh wherever it touched him. The glow sank into his skin, leaving perfection behind. When Gaius returned to himself, Jupiter was still standing there, the Sword in hand.

  Listen well, son of Jupiter. A word of caution: the power of the gods is a tempting thing indeed, but it can be like a poison, infecting people with avarice. This Sword is now evidence of your supremacy. Only an heir of your body will be able to wield it for as long as you have heirs, and only one person per generation will be able to tap into its hidden talents. He handed the Sword to Gaius Aeronius, creating the first in a long line of Swordsmiths.

  Thus the Nine families came into being: Fulmen, Artifex, Gravis, Aqua, Ignis, Terra, Medica, Zephyrus, and Tempus. They became known amongst themselves as numen, and their children spread to every people on Earth.”

  Nolan closed the book over and stared off into the distance thoughtfully. Though it wasn’t the specific history he was looking for, Gaius Aeronius was his ancestor. Still, he couldn't help but think of his mother and older brother, whom he had never met. Had word leaked already? Did they know about his arrival? Did they even care?

  Had he only known it, he was the current hot topic in the Water court and elsewhere.

  ***

  Mara quietly closed her door behind her and sighed in relief. Attending Lady Keopelani during the Ignis court's visits was always stressful and demanding, for all of the romance between her Lady and Lord Azar. Ignis and Aqua users harbored a deep distrust of one another that spanned millennia and was almost as fierce as the rivalry between the Lions and the Zephyra. Keopelani and Azar's love affair could never be anything but sexual—their courts would never tolerate a marriage alliance, even after her Heir was declared and betrothed. So they dallied, often, and Azar's nearly constant presence with a retinue of Ignis users was a sticking point among many of the Water elite.

  As she sat at her vanity, pulling the pins from her hair—finally tinted green once more from decades living by the Sea—she heard the unusual sound of heels clacking at a rapid pace down the hallway. A moment later, her door flew open, revealing her Lady.

  "Mara!" Keopelani gasped. "The baileys have been raised!"

  Mara swayed for a moment, grasping the edge of the vanity to steady herself. "John or Nolan?"

  "No one knows for sure. No one can get in or out—Michael is furious. Robert and the students are stuck inside for the foreseeable future—at least until the baileys come back down."

  "So we have to wait another year for more news?" she cried. "Haven't I waited long enough?"

  "I was thinking of sending Alan to see if he can meet Leiani at the gate and get some information."

  "Good idea!"

  It wasn't. When Alan attempted to reach Caer Anglia, he found the entirety of the Council guard marking the perimeter around the building, not allowing anyone through.

  "Lord Artifex's orders, Your Grace," one of the Aqua numen said apologetically, his jaw set. "The baileys are too dangerous—we don't know what the clearance is on them. Someone could get hurt, or worse, killed."

  "My fiancée—your Lady Younger!—is in there! I have to know if she's okay."

  "You'll have to get clearance directly from Lord Artifex. I'm sorry."

  After a few more minutes of arguing, several other guards came over to insist that Alan leave. He spent the long drive back to the Water Court on the phone arguing with his mother.

  “There’s nothing I can do, Mother! Lord Artifex has that place locked down tighter than a drum. No one in, no one out.”

  “Surely there’s some way to find out what’s going on!”

  “Mother, put Lady Keopelani on the phone please,” he said with that air of exhaustion in his tone that told her he was rapidly losing patience.

  Silently, she passed the phone over.

  “Alan, dear, what’s going on?” Keopelani asked the moment the receiver reached her lips.

  He filled her in briefly, concluding with, “So I’m on my way back now… we’ll just have to wait.”

  “Could you see the baileys?”

  “No, they’ve gone clear by now… from the way the guards are talking, everyone seems fairly spooked. Invisible boundaries are a bit beyond their expertise, I think.”

  “Come back to Beachhead, Alan… we’ll make a plan when you get here. Thank you for trying to check on my daughter. I’ve contacted Azar… perhaps Pyrrhus has thought of a way to get some information to him.”

  “It’s possible, but I doubt it,” he said frankly, tucking the phone between shoulder and ear as he merged onto the highway heading south. “Be back in about… six hours. Don’t hold dinner, Mother Keo.”

  “We will wait for you to return,” she said in her no-nonsense tone, and hung up. Alan tossed the phone on the passenger seat and took a deep, frustrated breath.

  “Another year of this,” he muttered, turning up the radio and mashing his foot down on the gas pedal, shooting down the highway toward home.

  Interlude 3: Rome

  Almost five thousand miles away, Michael and Alix were speeding along aboard the Trenitalia from Milan toward Rome. Alix said nothing about his nightly excursions in Wales, but a steady silence was growing between them with every mile.

  Finally, she turned toward him with a frown on her lovely face. “Will you be out much in Rome?” she asked with studied casualness.

  “Perhaps. I haven't decided yet.”

  She made a noise of—distress? Derision? He wasn't sure—and turned back toward the window. “My Sight may be failing me from time to time, but I can still see you with perfect clarity.”

  “And?”

  “Don't ask me to condone what you're doing.”

  “I don't ask you to condone it. Just don't stand in my way.”

  “Have I ever?”

  “Once or twice,” he said with a shrug. “Nevertheless, there's business to take care of in your Roma, my dear.”

  “It is not my Roma.”

  “Is it odd to return?”

  “This is my first time back,” she sighed, eyes locked on the racing landscape.

  “Is anything familiar at all?”

  “Oh, yes. Many things. Many things have changed, though.” More than that, she wouldn't elaborate.

  Ever mindful of appearances, Michael carried their few pieces of luggage off of the train and into the station. Another black car was waiting for them, and they were whisked away through the bustling streets.

  They were hustled into a set of apartments on the Via Condotti, where Domine Fulvio Tedesco sat waiting for them. The moment they entered the room, he rose to meet them, startling Michael when he fell to one knee in front of Alixandra, kissing her hand with a fervor bordering on the religious and murmuring to her in what sounded like Latin. Clearly surprised and a bit flattered, Alixandra responded in kind, gesturing for him to rise.

  “But I am being rude,” Tedesco said with a smile and a bow for Michael. “Lord Artifex, welcome to my home. The nu
men of Roma are at your disposal.”

  Michael shook his hand, face completely bland as he fought back his jealousy and rage. No one could suspect what was between Alix and himself. They'd managed for twenty years; he had to make it to the end.

  “Domine Tedesco, you honor us with your hospitality.” When he saw their driver depositing their luggage in the entryway, he turned back toward Tedesco, eyebrows raised. “When can we head to the hotel to… freshen up?”

  Tedesco drew his head back sharply. “Consign you to a hotel? Never! We have prepared rooms here for you—please feel free to treat the house as your own.”

  Michael nodded. “You are too generous.”

  “And you must be exhausted after your travels—how rude of me! Oria!”

  A young blonde teen appeared and stood in the doorway, waiting.

  “Oria, these are our Council guests. Show them to their rooms, please.”

  “Yes, papá. Follow me, my Lord, my Lady.” The girl led them upstairs to a pair of rooms, facing one another across a hallway. “Please, let us know if there’s anything we can do for you. My father has set our evening meal for two hours hence, if that is acceptable to you.”

  “Very acceptable, dominilla… Oria, was it?”

  She flushed under Michael’s gaze. “Yes, my Lord.”

  “Your family is most kind. Tell your father Lady Tempus and I will be down promptly.”

  “Oria, will you give me a tour of my rooms?” Alixandra interrupted.

  Oria nodded, clearly pleased, then opened the door to Lady Tempus’s room and showed her inside. Alixandra’s eyes sought his for a moment over the girl’s head, and the hurt in them haunted him until dinner.

  Dinner itself was delicious, the discussion was witty, and Tedesco’s wife, Angela, flirted with Michael shamelessly throughout the meal. Tedesco smiled and indulged her behavior once he realized that Michael expressed nothing more than polite interest.

  Once the desserts were cleared, Tedesco rose to his feet and gestured for Michael to join him. “Ladies, we leave you to your gossip,” he said cheerfully.

  Alixandra rose to her feet at once. “If you are off to discuss Council matters, I am afraid I must insist upon being involved.”

  Tedesco hesitated for a moment. “Surely you would prefer…”

  “My place is not here,” she said simply.

  “Very well. We will be in the study,” he said to his wife. “No disturbances, please.”

  Angela nodded and shooed Oria from the room in the opposite direction of their destination.

  Tedesco closed his study door, offered them each a seat, and sat back in his own chair to study this unusual pair.

  “Now that the pleasantries are out of the way, Lord Artifex, perhaps you can tell me why you are here.”

  “We are here to correct an egregious wrong,” Alix began.

  Tedesco nodded slowly, his fingertips drumming restlessly on the desk.

  “Merry Tew called me this morning to discuss your visit—she was full of interesting news.”

  “Then you already know why we’re here,” Michael interrupted. “Why the charade?”

  “I wasn’t sure that the offer you extended to Wales also extended to Rome.”

  “It does. We would like to begin bringing Europe and Asia back into the mainstream.”

  “Ah—perhaps it is America who has left the mainstream, hmm?”

  Michael waved his hand. “Semantics. Either way, we are divided. Certain families—certain numina—are dwindling, so the Council feels a reintegration of the bloodlines and the ways of life is necessary.”

  “And the Swordsmith?” Tedesco stressed, leaning backwards to study them both. “It has not escaped my notice that our annual letter from John Aeron has not arrived this year.”

  Michael fought a surge of panic and lied smoothly, “John, alas, is very ill—the Power sickness, you know. His grandson and Heir is undergoing his teach year at this very moment at Caer Anglia. If your delegation decides to join us in June, you will be able to watch him compete in the Rite of Passage.”

  “The Medica numen cannot help him?”

  “No—they’ve tried everything.”

  Tedesco nodded. “So it is with our Fulmen numen here—once the Power sickness takes hold, they are lost. Has the Swordsmith remained close to your Caer Anglia? It seems that only a place imbued with so many generations of numina can keep the sickness at bay. That, or swearing off using your numina entirely…”

  Michael opened his mouth to continue the lie when Alix interrupted once more. “Domine Tedesco, we assure you that the Swordsmith is in good hands. What is important here is the Council’s desire for a small group of your people—perhaps five? —to join us at Caer Anglia in June for our students’ Rite of Passage. Will you accept our invitation on behalf of your people?”

  “I’m sure I can find that many people eager to see the forbidden mansion,” he teased. “I assume the Council will take care of the travel bill?”

  “Entirely,” Alix assured, treading on Michael’s foot when he seemed ready to protest. “Just give us final numbers and make sure your people have the proper documentation.”

  “Excellent.” Tedesco rose with a smile. “Our business is thus concluded, I think. Do you have plans for the evening?”

  “I’ve had quite the headache since arriving,” Alix said. “My memories are quite insistent tonight.”

  “And you, Lord Artifex?”

  “I, too, look forward to a rest,” he admitted. “Tomorrow is time enough to sightsee, I believe.”

  “Then I will leave you to your respective rests. Tomorrow night we will give you a farewell dinner to remember, with some of the higher ranking numen currently in town.”

  “We welcome that, Domine Tedesco. Thank you,” Michael said, rising and helping Alix out of her chair. “Good night.”

  “Good night, Domine,” Alix echoed, and they went back to their rooms.

  Michael’s thoughts were on the task ahead of him—he had three different families to visit in Rome, a total of seven people to take care of. He was planning out his route as he left Alix at the door to her room when her hand lashed out, grabbing his arm so tightly that her nails ripped through the fabric of his sleeve.

  “Not that way!” she hissed, eyes wide open but not seeing anything in the hall. “You’ll be caught!”

  Hurriedly, Michael rearranged the trip in his head, reversing the order, and she relaxed, letting him go.

  “That should work,” she said quietly. “Just watch out for the dog.”

  “Since when have you been able to see the future?” he demanded.

  She was pale, her pupils mere pinpoints in her wide eyes. “This is the first time it's ever happened. What does that mean?”

  “I don't know, but thank you for your warning.” He took her hand and squeezed it. “Get some sleep.”

  “Old lemures abound tonight,” she said. “There’s a reason I’ve never returned to Rome.”

  “We'll discuss it in the morning—try not to think about it. I’ll be back shortly.”

  He disappeared into the night, leaving her to stand with her arms cradled against her body. She tried not to think about what he would do to the man, or the little girl who discovered her dead puppy at the bottom of the stairs. The images were burned into her mind, impossible to forget. Juno was making her watch, again and again. She turned blindly, groping for the handle to her door, and managed to get inside and close the door behind her before she fell to her knees, retching.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Finally, it was the weekend. Two days of freedom that... wasn't really freedom at all, Nolan suddenly realized. They were still trapped in Caer Anglia for the next eleven months. True, he could have unsealed the building at any time, but that would reveal that the Sword was in his possession—an unacceptable solution at the moment.

  He decided that this weekend was going to be dedicated to uncovering every nook and cranny of this labyrinthine building
. If he had time, he planned on hunting down Pyrrhus or Claire and attempting to talk to them a bit about the history of his family. He felt as if everyone knew his business but him.

  He saw that Angus was still asleep and quietly, thankfully, slipped out the door without rousing him. His first mission was to visit the Atrium again to discharge some Power—he could feel the ends of his hair crackling with the need to let go. The thunderstorms of the night before didn't help—lightning always seemed to add an extra charge to his body, and it was still pouring. It was barely dawn, and every sane teenager in the building was taking advantage of an unstructured Saturday to sleep. Thus, his trip downstairs was silent and uneventful.

  He pushed open the door to the Atrium to find Pyrrhus already within. He wasn't using his numina, however—he was running in long, loping strides along the perimeter of the room.

  "Morning, Aeron," he called, never slowing. "Want to join me?"

  As Pyrrhus came back around, Nolan stepped into stride with him. "What are you doing up this early?" Pyrrhus asked.

  "Thunderstorms make me jittery—wanted to blow off some steam. You?"

  "I run every morning. Not a fan of the rain, though, so today I'm running in here instead of along the property. Good for endurance. How are you liking Caer Anglia?"

  Nolan was quiet for a bit, trying to decide how to answer. "It feels right to be here, but still, somehow, wrong. I know… that made no damn sense, did it?"

  Pyrrhus laughed. "It's six in the morning, you're excused. It'll be different in June, you'll see. When everyone returns for the Solstice, this place is like a beehive. I get the feeling it likes to be that way."

  Nolan lost count of the number of laps they ran, but suddenly a fireball passed inches from his head. It was only his fast reflexes that saved him from a face full of flames.

  "Damn it, Pyrrhus! What are you doing?"

  Another fireball hit the dirt at his feet. Pyrrhus was grinning, dancing from foot to foot. "Come on, Aeron, let's spar! You wanted to get some numina work in, I'll make you earn your breakfast!"