The biggest challenge of controlling the future was that at any given moment, things would inevitably change. Some seemingly insignificant moment might flip everything upside down. Something previously unknown that would send the future into a tailspin. The key was not to freak out, but simply change the plans. Adapt. And this is how it had been for hundreds of years. However, the end was practically close enough for the grabbing of it.
This thing, though, with the sister, Meghan. This was more concerning to him than anything. This wasn't supposed to happen. And it didn't make sense as to why it was. He hadn't seen this coming, so what had changed? What vital thing had he missed?
He'd get to the bottom of it.
If anything, this whole experience might be exactly what solidified Colby's place as King. But the timing was miserable. And even subtracting what his son had done, in freeing those people and fleeing this world, something was amiss. The Grosvenor smelled it in the air—something changed. Unknown. But imperative to discover. It was most unsettling and he needed to have a serious discussion with—
"KarNavan," he shouted for the Striper leader. "Ardon." His number two trotted along as well. All of these current sideswipes were nothing more than a temporary slowdown of the plan. A momentary rearranging of the order of things. He'd done it more than once and would most likely have to do so again. The future was always changing, always in flux. And he'd get it back on course and track down every last person who still held onto any magic, and harvest it. Well, his new Striper army would, for him.
The Striper leader plodded over with a sharp nod. "Yes, My Lord."
My Lord—it had a pleasant ring to it, thought Fazendiin. "I have a mission for you. I must return to my estate for a time."
"What would you have us do?" Ardon posed as she joined them.
"Half the army is to return to the island."
"You think anyone would dare go back there?" KarNavan begged to question, thinking it an absurd idea they'd even try.
"Yes. And not out of stupidity, mind you. It's their home. Be cautious and be warned—your enemy is fighting for their lives and their land. They will not simply roll over and surrender. You'd be stupid to think otherwise and I would have misjudged you."
KarNavan held his tongue at the slam, and asked, "What would you have us do there?"
"The island belongs to us now. They will try to fight for it, and lose." Fazendiin's poignant stare insinuated, at least, they'd better lose.
"They can't win. You've given us a great weapon," Ardon reminded pointedly.
"Yes," KarNavan hastily agreed. "With immortality on our side, we cannot fail."
"Just remember, Immortality has a price. It must be worked for, and earned." Meaning, their loyalty to him—and a strict reminder that the Grosvenor had the ability to strip it away from them if he chose to. "You must keep your physical bodies healthy. Your minds, sharp. Laziness and dimwittedness will not be tolerated."
"I could not agree more," Ardon answered on the Striper's behalf. She'd never believed in those things anyway. "You made it perfectly clear there are still ways to die by other's hands." Which was true. And something he'd never discussed openly before. But it was the reason he and the other Grosvenor had stayed in hiding. Yes, the others had feared losing their power. But it was much more about physical preservation. The Immortality Stone provided a means to stay alive, forever, but it was not able to heal everything. If one of them suffered severe enough bodily injury, the Stone's magic would not have been able to heal them.
Cutting off a head, for example, would sever the magic, and therefore, life.
It was a lucky thing everyone had been so afraid of them that they'd never gotten close enough to try such bodily harm. Actually, it wasn't luck at all. Only careful planning, and the correct sort of provoking. Fear, went a long, long way to keep the mysteries of the Grosvenor in their own favor.
And now that the other Grosvenor were dead, the secret no longer mattered and it was a tactic Fazendiin was free to use as a reminder to his new army, not to get arrogant, or have any grand delusions about their level of power in this new world.
"You'd do best to remember, if I die, so do you." Fazendiin eyed the Striper leader in stone cold warning, defiance almost. But KarNavan didn't flinch and Fazendiin forced his pleased simper to stay in his mind only.
"You have nothing to fear, My Lord." KarNavan bowed his head in solidarity. "You have our loyalty." Because this meant they'd not only survive this coming war, but come out on the winning side.
"Good. Now, Ardon, I want you to take half of my new army and start hunting. You will track those who fled this encampment, as well as any magical being you can find, alive. You will bring your prisoners to the island where KarNavan will be establishing a new permanent base of operations."
"Very well. We will depart at once." She bowed and headed to divide the army and obey their new Lord's commands.
"If we need to reach you?" KarNavan questioned.
"You’ll hear from me when I need you." Fazendiin vanished in a swirl of veil-like blackness and left the Stripers to carry out his orders.
The Grosvenor arrived at his estate in a flurry of movement, ignoring old Basil the caretaker who was leaving the kitchen after breakfast, and made his way to his bedroom. A room off limits to anyone. Even his son had never entered here. Once inside, he strode straight across to a full-length mirror and proceeded to step straight through it. The glass rippled upon his entry, and reaffirmed itself after a second.
Once inside, he stopped, gazing at another semi-circle of mirrors.
Mage Mirrors. His own brilliant creation. Made after, in a way, the same mirrors he used to communicate with his fellow Grosvenor until their timely demise. But these mirrors permitted him to speak with himself—that is, his future selves.
His own reflection did not show. However, his face did appear. Rather, an even older, even more weathered version of his face.
"I’ve been waiting for you," his future self barked out from the mirror. "We need to make some changes. Grace has seen much. And much has changed."
"I assumed." He cocked his brow. "Isn't today the day Grace dies?" he grilled the aged version of himself.
"Yes. She's already told me it's any time now. And she never had any daughters of her own, so the bloodline will end."
"We should try harder to change that," the real time Fazendiin stated. "Her services are invaluable. I'm still two years out from finding Grace's mother, in my time." The key point to controlling this constantly-in-flux future.
"Yes, well, how about today we worry about the bigger problems," his future self, responded caustically. "I'd like to still exist tomorrow."
"As would I. Go on." He made himself comfortable for what he was sure would be a long conversation. Before they even began, however, another reflection popped into another mirror.
"Ah, ten years from now me."
"We've got another problem. That relationship of your son's you wanted to flourish and use to your advantage—well, your plan worked—too well."
Fazendiin grumbled out a line of obscenities. It appeared that his future selves had a lot to say today. Current day him held up his hand for silence.
"First—the birth?"
"On schedule. Grace was born at six this morning."
"At least that future went according to plan," current day Fazendiin grumbled. He eyed the older version of himself. Eighty-nine years into the future, Grace's death. He'd hoped to change her future by giving her a daughter of her own—to pass on her unique gift. A foresight unlike any other ever found in all his long years of life. But alas, he had not managed to change that future. Still, it should be enough to accomplish all he wanted to. She and her bloodline, her mother before her, had given him everything he needed to win this war and control all magic.
"So, what is this news about my son? Let's start there."
CHAPTER 9
Juliska Blackwell crimped her nose as the smell of mothballs approached. T
he last person she wanted to see was Tanzea Chase. The decrepit old woman was never going to die.
"I see you’re still wallowing." The old woman eyed the uneaten tray of lunch. The soup, cold. The bread, hard.
Juliska lifted her head in deflated defiance. "And you are here why?"
"To remind you of a few things."
"Like what? How you tricked me? Pretended to be my friend. Fed me lies? I should have seen it, all those years ago when you just happened to be living amongst the Svoda, a devotee of Fazendiin. And his one ally—accomplice—living among them."
"I helped bring your son into this world."
"Because it served your purposes."
"Never mine. Only my King's."
"From my view, you are one and the same."
Tanzea sneered in the sharp vitriol Juliska spoke with.
"That’s not so far from the truth," she grinned out in smug agreement.
Juliska rose from her chair. She’d been contented to sit and stare out of her bedroom window watching the sun move across the skyline, or get lost in the crashing waves far below her window, but she’d expected this visit. Her future, undetermined, even in her own mind. Her loyalties, in question.
She’d been wrong about almost everything in her life. She’d chosen wrong. Trusted the wrong people. Abandoned her infant son. Refused to believe the possibility he was still alive, even when presented with reasons to question—like when he’d killed that Scratcher in Eidolon’s Valley—something only she should have been able to do since they were bound by her blood. His blood. Even when Eddy tried to show her the truth, she had ignored it.
And she’d done nothing but make Colin’s life miserable. And for what? Like Eddy claimed, simply over his name. The name she’d given her son in the moment after his birth when some hint of clarity had returned. When her heart had become so full she was certain it would burst.
Colin Edward Gillivray… her fiancé, was innocent. He’d taken his own life to do what she had not: protect their son. And see the truth. However painful it was. Instead, she'd only brought that pain down upon others and forced them to suffer it, instead.
"What do you want?" she blathered at Tanzea. The smelly old woman was annoyingly standing there on wobbly legs (with the help of her cane), pondering what, Juliska didn’t have a clue.
"Trying to figure out what to do with you. You’re not immortal anymore. You know the truth, and yet, you cannot return to your old life."
A sad and pathetic simplification of the situation. And yet, correct. There was no life waiting for Juliska Blackwell, anywhere.
"Possibly the most honest thing you've ever said. And, what? I’m a prisoner now? You got what you wanted from me, so you can just throw me away? Kill me? I imagine this is why Fazendiin stripped my immortality, so I’d be killable. The only problem is, he’ll lose his Scratchers if he does that. They die when I do."
"Or when your son dies."
"What?"
"Your blood, his blood, it doesn’t matter. He could—take over for you."
"My son would see them all dead. He'd never take over for me." In the end, none of this held much leverage on her behalf, because now that Faznediin had an immortal army tied to his own blood at his disposal, he didn’t need her creations any longer.
Tanzea wobbled a little closer. "Your son wouldn’t kill them if you brought him over to our side."
Juliska’s features hardened. The point, at last. Now that she’d served out her purpose, they wanted her son.
"What? Your King isn’t happy enough with the one disappointment of a son he already has?"
"Colby will return. Growing pains." She shrugged it off.
"And what do you want with my son?"
Tanzea shrugged again. "He either joins us, or he dies. He's too powerful to be left to his own devices. And seeing as you aren’t going anywhere, you could be with your son again."
"My son cannot die, any more than you can, I imagine. He’s immortal." Although, his immortality was tied to the Immortality Stone, exactly like hers had been. As well as his Projectorism, which made his lifespan a personal choice in the end.
Tanzea stepped back a little, her entire demeanor sinking into a haughty malevolence. "I’m not immortal. Yes, for a time, I was tied to you and your immortality." Through the process of becoming a Scratcher. "But my immortality ended when yours did. And my purpose is not to live forever. I’ll be around for a long time. But not, forever."
The curiosity surfaced in Juliska's features, even though she refused to outwardly acknowledge it. There was clearly so much more going on than she ever realized.
No, she chastised herself. She’d known, just chosen not to care. As long as she got her revenge, she didn’t care what other plans Fazendiin had. A truth, that today, corkscrewed her heart tighter with each new dose of reality that spiraled its way inside.
Tanzea dropped her cane, straightening her body. She rolled her neck, stretching it a little. And Juliska watched as the decrepit old mothball woman grew a few inches, and transformed into a woman much younger. A dark-haired beauty with a simpering smile. The only thing that linked her to mothball Tanzea, her eyes. Sharp. Priggish. Knowing.
"Gavriella Fazendiin." She nodded her head ever so slightly, in introduction.
It was impossible to hold back the shock of this revelation.
Another Fazendiin. A secret well kept.
Juliska cleared her throat. "You’re a shifter?" she surmised.
"Incorrect. I am… in disguise. My King has powerful magic at his disposal."
Like they needed the reminder.
"Was Tanzea even real?"
"She was. Once."
Meaning she was dead now, her form taken over by whoever this woman was in front of her. Fazendiin’s servant. No, a relative of some kind.
"Why show me this now?"
"Because I grow tired of living in that body. And it's nearly time to take my place at my King's side."
"You’re already by his side."
"You misunderstand. I am to be his future Queen. I am his Queen. I slept, entombed in magic until it was time to awaken. Until it was time to rebuild our glorious bloodline in my husband’s image."
So this is where the magic had come from, when he’d wanted the Song Spinner, Catrina Flummer, entombed in magic and left in the Goblin King’s realm. Juliska had never seen magic like it before.
She sank down, her chair catching most of the blow.
"Did you think it was to be you?" Gavriella, apparent secret wife of Fazendiin, mistook Juliska’s fatigue. She was simply, done. She wanted to forget. To go back in time and fix all of this. To undo all the unforgivable things, she’d done.
She eyed the unfamiliar woman in front of her.
"No. I did not believe I would be his queen. We never spoke of it." And they hadn’t. And she supposed, she should have guessed Fazendiin wanted his own people to rule. She did have Vetala in her too, but she'd never thought she would be his queen. "I don’t understand why he wouldn’t want you immortal? To protect you, to keep you alive. You wouldn’t have had to sleep for hundreds of years until he needed you. And doesn’t he want even more immortal children…" her rant trailed off with a disdainful headshake. "Of course, he wouldn’t want this. He created the immortal children he needed to serve his purposes. He’d never want more of them. They’d far outnumber him and be more powerful."
"I’ve never doubted your intelligence, Juliska."
Only my gullibility the dethroned Banon berated silently.
"Wait, your King is immortal."
"Why do you think he needed an immortal son to take the reins? At least until he's satisfied with our new bloodline and reclaims his throne."
"Does Colby know that?" Juliska wasn't holding anything back now. It almost felt impossible to do so.
"That's between him and his son. Fazendiin will rebuild this world. You can still be a part of that future. And so can your son. But you’ll need to convince him."
; "What makes you think I would do that? Or that it's even possible?"
"Fazendiin will find a way to end him, if you do not. Or… there's also rotting his life away in a prison of bones…" She let that threat lick out at the tension thickening the space between them.
The truth.
The plain old ugly truth of it all.
Fazendiin would find a way to force her hand. Force her son's hand.
Her son needed her to fight for him? But how? How did she save him from a future she helped design?
"Think about it, Juliska. But don’t take too long." Gavriella whisked out of the room as Hollee, Juliska’s loyal servant entered the room. She gave the newcomer a look of who the hell are you? But the once and future Queen ignored her and strutted away with power in her gait that warned, you’ll know when I want you to know.
Hollee asked something of Juliska, something she did not hear.
What options did she have? She had no one to turn to for help. She’d burned every bridge. Perhaps—perhaps, if she begged? Or promised they were free to do what they wished, with her, after they helped fix this mess, and saved her son. She'd rather rot away her life in a prison cell than see her son suffer such a fate.
What idiocy was she thinking? No one wanted to save her son! He was a Projector, and everyone feared him. Not everyone—his sister, Meghan. Fazendiin's son, Colby—she'd never cared for the young man, he had too much of his father's arrogance in him. But he'd fled with Jae Mochrie, another of Colin's friends. Perhaps they would be willing—the thought died on her lips.
Burned. Bridges.
No amount of begging would ever make them trust her, even if it was to save her son. They had absolutely no reason to believe a word that came out of her mouth.
No options, except for ones that would surely damn them both—a future she would accept for herself, but not her son. There had to be another solution.
"My Queen?"
The words finally pierced Juliska's thoughts. Her gaze lifted upward landing on the woman who’d served her without question all these years. A woman not tricked into this job. A woman who thrived on chaos and causing fear. Who'd willingly volunteered for her job and had been her most trusted advisor after Tanzea. The petulance of that decrepit old woman—Queen—whoever the heck she was, released the pent-up outrage of her own predicament.
The Queen, The Mirror, and The Creation (Fated Chronicles Book 5) Page 8