The Opal Blade (The Ashen Touch Trilogy Book 1)

by Kristy Nicolle

  “You didn’t happen to store those powers in an opal dagger, did you? Because she found it. It called to her. You should know better than to separate anyone from their inherent magic for so long, Peter. Don’t you realise what you’ve done? She’s now totally unaware of how much danger she’s in, too stubborn to listen to anyone, and in complete denial about everything. How the hell is she supposed to learn to defend herself? Because once people find out who she’s potentially related to, you know that they’ll hunt her down like a damn dog.” I am breathless, the obsidian pendant growing cool against my skin once more as my rage blooms.

  “She found the knife?” Peter asks, his eyebrows rising on his forehead. I nod with an unamused expression.

  “Yeah. Though I’m surprised it took her this long with your totally secure fake bookcase.” I roll my eyes, aware of the fact that magic, when separated from the host, will call out. It’s only a matter of time before the power is reunited with its point of origin. Or in this case, person of origin.

  “Look, there’s no solid proof she’s his daughter. For all we know, Demi was pregnant before she went into The Underworld and it screwed up her pregnancy. We just don’t know. The truth of all of this has never been clear to me. I’ve been doing the best that I can in an extremely trying situation. As you can tell, she’s far from an easy person to deal with.” He is getting more put out, a thin layer of sweat forming on his forehead beneath the greying line of his hair.

  “Look, I’ll take care of this. Clearly everyone has overestimated your ability to handle this kind of situation. You’re only human.” I shrug, no longer angry at him, realising that no amount of fury will solve this. No amount of rage can give me answers. Peter doesn’t have as many as I’d hoped, and it’s increasingly obvious that everyone surrounding the Sinclair family has been operating under the façade that everything is totally normal and that the family debt can be simply forgotten.

  I, however, know this is far from the case.

  Spinning on the heel of my boot, I stalk out of the overly decadent office and down the corridor. I take the broad landing in but a few quick steps, seeing Jules making his way up the stairs, no doubt to bring Sephy the whisky which is jostling slightly atop the silver tray in his hands. I rush down the corridor towards her room, knocking heavily on the door. I wonder if she’ll call out or ignore me altogether, but after mere moments the door swings open, revealing her in lingerie and nothing else.

  My eyes widen as the curves of her muscular hourglass figure are exaggerated in a black velvet corset with transparent side panels. She’s only wearing a black garter belt and thong below the waist, and scrutinises me as I stare at her, with a partially victorious sparkle behind her irises.

  “Let me guess, the tooth fairy is after me for some kind of tip because I’ve not got an overbite?” She tilts her head to the left with an unamused glare, fiery hair falling down over one shoulder as she cocks her hip.

  “Not exactly, though I’m sure the attitude fairy is expecting a return any day now,” I retort, a fire igniting within my chest at arguing with her. What is it about this back and forth that stimulates me like this?

  Jules comes up behind me, finally catching up, and Sephy pushes me out of the way, stronger than she looks. Grabbing the whisky off the tray, she takes a deep gulp. Her eyes rise above the rounded rim of the glass, and her lashes flutter, reflecting the fiery chocolate of the whisky up at me.

  Jules looks between us and scurries away as quickly as he’d come, clearly realising he’s not wanted as a spectator in this sport of chase and catch.

  “Look, I’m going out. I don’t know what Peter’s been smoking, and honestly, I don’t care. I just want to forget about whatever the hell it was that came through that window and move on with my life. I’ve had enough drama for one lifetime. I just want to be happy, whatever that means.” As though the whisky has opened up the cast iron, flaming gates that she erects to protect herself, her eyes become wide and childlike for a moment, the sass and anger in her expression gone. She’s innocent again, a child who doesn’t know what she’s doing or where she’s headed. She’s an orphan.

  “Okay. Be safe. I’ll be back later. I need to go and get some answers,” I inform her in as kind of a tone as I can manage, the glare I’ve been giving her softening and my eyes tracing her body appreciatively.

  “Answers? Aren’t you going to berate me about going out and being wild?” she asks me, taking another sip of her drink and relaxing a little more as she leans against the doorframe.

  “You can clearly look after yourself. Besides, I have more pressing matters to attend than making sure you don’t drink yourself stupid,” I mutter as she smiles.

  “Oh, I’m already stupid, so there’s no risk of that. Or at least, that’s clearly what Peter thinks… I mean, how stupid do you have to be to believe your father made a deal with Haedes to get a merman in captivity?” she chuckles, almost choking on her latest sip of whisky and closing the door in my face as she goes back to getting ready.

  I smirk. She’s certainly not stupid, but as she’ll soon discover, neither are the Demon Lords.

  Chapter Six

  Careless Whisper

  LUCE

  It occurs to me as I sit, looking across at Haedes as Annie serves us firecracker shrimp presented in fine crystal cocktail glasses, that he might have sucked me into his melancholia.

  Every week it’s the same. Thane goes out on surveillance, and we meet for dinner at exactly seven o’ clock, despite the fact there is not a clock to be found in the entire Exilia Multum, before dancing the night away together.

  Annie’s demure face looks down at me, her wide eyes innocent. I know she’s anything but, almost having walked in on Haedes mounting her like a rodeo bull several times. Regardless, I smile in return and nod, dismissing her as she tops up my white wine. I watch the bubbles rise within my glass as the fizz sizzles into silence.

  Haedes leans back into the leather of his ebony armchair, the smoky quartz floors and ceilings capturing the flickering of many candles lit with the scarlet and orange ombre of The Eternal Flame. The air is filled with white sparks, emitting the voices of those Haedes has made famous via the mortal music industry and which we have concocted together. They float above us, singing a mellow melody as we tuck into our food, just the same as every week.

  “You look beautiful tonight, Luce,” he expresses, his cobalt blue hair vibrant against the slate grey of his gothic tailored suit. He’s wearing a black shirt and electric blue tie which only brings out the colour of his hair further in contrast. His grey eyes appreciate my off the shoulder burgundy gown, the tulle skirt flowing down to the floor in a deeply hued and weightless waterfall, covering my legs and feet entirely.

  “Thank you. How was Yama last night?” I ask him, referring to their weekly chess match. We all take turns keeping Haedes occupied, mainly because we’re all worried he’s going to attempt to fornicate or drink himself to death.

  “Predictable,” he smirks, taking a fork in hand after placing his whisky glass down onto the fine black linen beneath our solid silver plates. He places a firecracker shrimp into his mouth and chews a few times, watching me as I tuck into my food too.

  “And your nephew? After watching him in that council meeting, which you insist we put on like some kind of cabaret act every time anyone from The Higher Plains visits, I think he was rather aggravated. Especially at the attire.” I smirk, knowing full well that Haedes has a special resentment in his heart for Hercules, if for no other reason than the fact that he is related to Zeus.

  “You know I think my brother is finally getting to him, but you also know I can’t let go of the enjoyment I get from watching him struggling to get his giant arms into our slim fit ceremonial robes… not that we ever actually wear them. Still, appearances are important, especially where my brother is concerned.” He takes another sip of his drink, a smirk on his lips as the image of Hercules struggling to fit into the floor length black overcoat
with skeletal adornments amuses us both considerably.

  “How is Thane? Have you two decided to let me join you yet?” he asks, picking up the flow of the conversation with ease. I give him a look that could shrivel a mummy.

  “You’re a dirty old man. You know that?” I bite, picking up my crystal glass and sipping my wine. I roll my eyes over the rim at him before setting it down on the table and continuing to devour my appetiser. I know Haedes is only joking about me and Thane. He asks me every single week just to annoy me. He’s like the ridiculously perverted older brother I never wanted.

  “Old? Why would you say that?” He actually looks worried for a moment, and I feel my lips upturn in the corners, finding it nothing but amusing that this is the part of the insult that bothers him. He stares down into the silver of his plate atop which the cocktail glass of shrimp is stood, checking himself.

  “Alright, Cinderella. Calm your tits. You look beautiful too.”

  “You know I hate it when you speak like them.” He raises his eyes to me, abandoning his pursuit of fleetingly perfect vanity in his warped reflection. This is why I had all the mirrors removed, but I’d forgotten about the silver. Damn.

  I scowl to myself. I’m not his mother. He’s a god, for heaven’s sake, and way older than me to boot.

  “You’re a complete hypocrite. You swear and cuss and roll out the sarcasm more than anyone I know.” I remind him, of his usual demeanour, especially when he’s drunk.

  “Well, yes, but I do it with godly magnificence, not like some mortal street walker.” He makes the excuse, something he’s profoundly adept at.

  “Well maybe if you actually went and talked with the mortals you’d discover that they and their languages are much more fun now. Less formal. More sassy,” I retort, biting down hard on another shrimp without mercy or pause.

  “Why would I spend my precious years talking to mortals? I’ve had my share of that, and you know the problem with mortals is…”

  “That they die?” I ask him, pointed in expression as I cross my ankles, and he blinks multiple times in quick succession, processing what I’ve said several times over before his eyes narrow.

  “That they never have anything interesting to say…” he finishes, hair turning orange at the tips. Even if his hair didn’t morph into a spectacular tangerine when I made him angry, I’d still be able to tell. However, the fact I can make him look like a well-dressed torch always has amused me and I’m sure will continue to do so for many years to come.

  Just as I’m moving to pick up the argument again, I hear the doors behind us open. Not those which lead to the servant’s quarters but the ones which open out into the staircase above the cavernous, domed crystal of the entrance hall.

  We both turn in our seats, leaning sideways and over the winged backs of our armchairs to get a better look at who dares disturb us. I mean, everyone knows Haedes and I have dinner on a Thursday, even the sinners.

  “Haedes, just who I wanted to find. I thought I’d missed you.” Xion’s deep voice rolls out like a blade against flint, sharp and not pleasing to my ears. I prefer a more feminine tone.

  “I wish you had. I prefer my dinner without a side of pointless interruption,” Haedes complains, his wide brow and chiselled jaw becoming hardened as his expression reflects the unmistakable irritation flickering orange in his irises.

  “Well alright… if you think the fact that you might have a daughter is pointless, then I’ll just be on my way.” Xion, now only halfway from the doors to where we are sat in the centre of the ridiculously large room, a single table set for just us two, spins quickly on the heel of his boot and begins to walk the other way. My eyes widen.

  “Wait!” I call out, pushing my chair back from the table and getting to my feet. My fine stilettos click against the crystal of the floor as I turn and watch as Xion stills, smirking at my outburst.

  “I don’t want to interrupt though…” Xion begins and I place my hands on my hips.

  “Xion, I’m the closest thing you have to a goddamn mother, so you will listen to me. Come here right now. We have things to discuss, clearly,” I order him, feeling my eyes narrow and gaze intensify as he shrugs, pleased to see he’s caught my attention, and travels the rest of the distance between us faster than a normal mortal could ever manage. I turn around to see what Haedes is doing but am disappointed to find that he’s merely examining another shrimp before placing it into his mouth.

  “Did you just say Haedes has a daughter?” I ask him, and Xion’s face becomes intense. The burning metallic of his enormous irises always alarms me, probably a side effect from his half demon lineage, which is much like my own only more diluted.

  “Yes. I think so. Though I’d need confirmation of that from Haedes. She used The Eternal Flame on a Banshee and killed it by herself. I’ve never seen anything like it. Surely she can’t be mortal.” Xion drops this information like a bomb, and I turn once more to Haedes, waiting for the explosion which never comes.

  “Haedes? What do you think about this?” I prompt him, and he looks between me and Xion, and then picks up his whisky in one hand before downing the entire contents. He speaks, wiping his plump bottom lip on the back of his sleeve with a sneer.

  “I think that this half-breed has come to me with nothing more than guesswork. Not facts, not evidence, not even a decent story. I don’t have time to deal with his crazy delusions. As I just mentioned, mortals never have anything interesting to say. He’s just proved my point.” Haedes’ hair remains cobalt and slicked back against his head as he returns to his appetizer.

  “You don’t want to even check this out? You didn’t seem to think Demi Sinclair was uninteresting…” I begin, and his eyes blaze, an orange glow emitting around his dark pupils as he rises to his feet in a sudden jerking motion. His chair flies back a small way with a grinding sound against the floor.

  “Don’t you say her name to me,” he spits, hair turning scarlet with his untameable, grief-fuelled rage.

  “It is her daughter. Demi Sinclair. It’s her daughter…” Xion looks between us, and I notice something in the back of his eyes that is a kind of desperation that wasn’t there before. What is he worried about?

  “What exactly do you want me to do about that? Throw a party? A parade? Dance a showstopper in celebration that you’ve made an enormous fucking assumption?” Haedes snaps, sitting back down as his hair dulls back to blue again, though the tips remain orange, showing his anger has not entirely diminished.

  “This girl, whether she’s your daughter or not, she’s in danger. This Banshee attack…” Xion continues, but Haedes raises a hand.

  “Demons are not my concern. Mortals who are still bloody breathing are not my concern, either. Why don’t you go and inform Anubis of this little altercation? It’s much more her area of expertise.” He waves a hand, dismissing Xion. I watch him, stunned, as he finishes off his prawns and rings the tiny silver bell on the table, summoning Annie back to clear our plates before I’ve even half finished.

  “Wait… but…” Xion is stuttering, something I’ve never seen him do before. He’s reserved, always has been, having to remain cool and collected in order to fight his inherent demonic persuasions. I frown at him, turning to Haedes and staring him down with a serious gaze.

  “Haedes! Don’t you care? This girl could be your daughter.” I remind him of the fact that when it comes to parenting and how not to do it, he has plenty of opinions, what with his own father and his hatred for mine. Despite this though, he simply shakes his head, smoothing his lapels beneath long suave fingers.

  “It’s not my problem.” The words fall from his lips as Annie comes bustling, frantic and anxious as always, from the kitchens below us with a silver trolley. Atop it, our entrees steam, making me unwillingly salivate. Haedes knows I love a good steak.

  Haedes continues to gaze past me to Xion, giving him a dead, hateful expression.

  “Get out.” These are his only two words, but the look he gives could set f
ire to the arctic as he settles back into his chair stiffly once more and turns next to stare at me, expectant.

  “Shall we eat?” he asks.

  After we finish a main course of chargrilled steak, sweet potato and greens, I watch Haedes set a baked Alaska with pomegranate glaze alight tableside, before he serves me a plate himself.

  As I tuck into the dessert, the flavours coating my tongue in a creamy, tangy mix which he knows I can’t resist, I think of my father. A God of Ancient, Moloch, who had raped my mother Hecate during his rule over the Higher Plains.

  I am the unhappy result of that assault, and I have always known it. I think back to the day I had been cast out of The Higher Plains by my mother and by Zeus, for my inability to resist the call to the darker arts such as alchemy.

  It had been she who had cut off my horns at birth, ashamed of half of who I was, who I still am. I can’t escape it; I’m half him, half dark, but unlike him I choose to leave that part of my power untapped, fearing as ever, that it’ll take my soul with it and corrupt me beyond recognition. I don’t fast like I used to. I don’t totally cut out the call to ancient dark magic, using my abilities to help Haedes whenever I’m able, or when it’s absolutely vital, but I don’t practice like I should, have never studied like I could have. I’m too afraid. Too afraid to become what everyone already thinks I am.

  Recalling what I know of my father, on how he had violated my mother, I look at Haedes over the candles in the middle of the table and take him in a moment.

  His features have hardened in recent years, and his jagged, sexually blatant and androgynous body looks worn and tired beneath his fine suit as he slumps in his seat. He barely uses his powers anymore, barely rules anymore. He just sits… rotting in a living body upon a throne, in a palace shaped coffin, too afraid to die.