Birthright (The Stone Legacy Series Book 5)

by Theresa Dalayne

  He walked past her to the center of the training circle. The group quieted and gathered around. He spotted Zanya, on the far right beside Grima, while Eleuia stood on the opposite side of the group beside Marzena.

  “Listen up.” There was no polite wording for what he was about to tell them, so it was better to be as straight and concise as possible. They were almost out of time. “The situation is worse than we thought.”

  The group stole silent glances at one another.

  “Contessa was dangerous, but she was the only one standing between us and something worse.”

  “Worse?” Hawa said.

  Flashes from the underworld tore through his mind—the warmth of his own blood as it flowed from his veins, the sounds of tearing flesh and bone while the hellhound tore Contessa apart, and the pile of half-eaten guts mounded beside him on the scorching ground.

  “I know you all want me to tell you what happened down there.” Only Zanya had seen him suffer every night since his return. If he expected the others to fight, they needed to know. “Contessa was not alone in the underworld. The king…my father, was there too.”

  “I’ve told them that much,” Zanya said. “But nothing more, and you don’t have to either.”

  “To hell with that,” Jayden said. “I want to know. Was he the one who killed Renato?”

  Arwan could only manage a simple nod.

  “Then I say we fuck him up.”

  The others nodded in agreement.

  “We won’t have to go looking for him,” Arwan continued. “He’s going to come to us. He, and an army of damned souls.”

  “When you say army…” Tara coiled her arm around Peter’s.

  “It will be like a sea.” Marzena’s voice filled them in where Arwan could not. “They will rise from the dark realm and there will be no end to the soldiers at his command.”

  “How the hell are we supposed to fight that?” Hawa said.

  “We will not,” Marzena said. “We will flee.”

  “No.” Zanya stepped forward. “We can’t.”

  Marzena tilted her head ever so slightly. “Then we will die.”

  “We’re going to die anyway if we run like cowards. They’ll take over the middleworld, and millions of innocent people will become victims before they get to us.” Zanya lifted her chin. “But it will get to us, sooner or later.”

  “Then we fight,” Eadith said, her eyes gleaming with fire.

  “Aye.” Grima nodded. “We fight.”

  The Arab windthrowers pushed out their chests. “We fight, and if we die, we die with honor.”

  “We must send Tara to safety,” Marzena said. “Back to Renato’s home in Belize.”

  “What? No way.” Tara pushed out her chin. “I can’t leave you guys. Not when—”

  “This isn’t up for debate,” Peter said. “You’re going.”

  “There is another option.” Eleuia looked at Zanya—at the stone. “We could use another fighter, and the stone was created with the power to turn humans to Riyata.”

  Tara’s already pale complexion drained of color. She pursed her lips. “What, like…change me…into one of you?”

  Marzena’s features hardened. “That is not a decision to be taken lightly.”

  “And it would take a whole hell of a lot of energy from Zanya,” Eleuia said.

  “Which we can’t ask her to spend.” Arwan shifted his weight. “Even if she were changed, she would need time to adjust and train in both combat and her new capabilities.”

  “We don’t have that kind of time,” Peter said. “Maybe…” He looked at Tara. “Maybe when we go home we can talk about it more. We are going home.” He wound his arm around Tara. “All of us. Together.”

  Tara swallowed and nodded. “Yeah.” The word came out in a breathless whisper. “When we go home, maybe.”

  “Then it’s settled. But make no mistake. Everyone understands your lives are at risk,” Marzena said. “You are all willing to die for this cause?”

  Eleuia stepped forward. “Before everyone goes full-on martyr, I have an idea.” She inspected Arwan closely. “You.” She walked in a circle around him, her stare boring into his skin. “You’re pretty impressive when you’re…” she whirled her hand in the air, “…the other you.”

  Arwan tightened his jaw. “No.”

  “You even somehow escaped the underworld on your own, without any help from your father. In fact, you left that realm against his will, didn’t you?”

  “I will not fight as a beast.”

  “Why not?” She stopped walking. “You have to admit, you’d be a more valuable fighter if you did.” She counted the points out on her fingers. “You’re stronger, faster, and more deadly. You can take more hits, fight harder and longer, and you can protect them.” She gestured to Zanya—them, including the baby. “Isn’t that what you want?”

  Arwan narrowed his eyes. He should have known Eleuia’s act of accepting him—even for a moment—was a tactic to get something out of it. He would do anything to protect Zanya, but he would not change simply to amuse Eleuia. No matter what she used as bait.

  Besides, he had one more piece of news to share.

  “That’s not going to be a problem, because Zanya is going with Tara, back to Belize.” He looked at Zanya. “And she is going to stay there.”

  Zanya snorted. “The hell I am.”

  “I won’t allow you to put yourself at risk.”

  “Excuse me?” Her lips parted and she took on a defensive stance. “I’m sorry, did I just hear you right? You won’t ‘allow me?’”

  “This is not only your decision to make,” Arwan said, heat rushing through him. “Not anymore. You are carrying my unborn child, and I will do what it takes to keep you both safe.”

  “Well, until you grow a uterus and take on the job of being pregnant, you have exactly zero right to make that decision.”

  He balled his fists. “That’s not fair.”

  “You’re right. It’s not.” Zanya glared. “But that’s how it is.”

  Arwan drew in a deep, shaky breath, working hard to stay calm. The beast rattled inside him, protesting to be set free. Even though Arwan now controlled it, that didn’t mean he did not struggle with the urge to be let it out—especially when provoked.

  “You’d still be a better fighter,” Eleuia said. “Whether Zanya stays or not. Come on. Beast it up.” She waved him on, as if prompting him to hurry. “Let’s see it.”

  Arwan scanned the faces in the group, all of them watching intently.

  Drina had been silently standing in the back. She out of all people knew what he was, yet she made no effort to interrupt Eleuia’s effort at making him into a side-show exhibit.

  “You have nothing to say?” Arwan asked, staring at Drina.

  Drina smiled—a reaction he didn’t expect. “You are who you are, boy. You must be who you are.”

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  Zanya

  After the conflict between Arwan and her mother, the training session stopped and Arwan went back to the house.

  Now it was night, which brought its own set of problems.

  Arwan’s nightmares—or visions—had gotten worse, and he struggled to sleep more than a few hours at a time. She related, but it was hard to reach out to him when he felt so unequivocally alone. So confused. So much like she did back in the orphanage, when nobody truly understood what she was going through.

  Even though it was late, Arwan wasn’t in bed with her, where he belonged. Instead he took to helping Balam as sentry, probably to avoid sleeping.

  She couldn’t blame him.

  She lay in their bed, wearing a sheer tank top and a pair of shorts. The room was dark except for the light radiating from her stone. She turned it in her fingers, then placed it on her belly button, watching as the tiny light flickered inside.

  Arwan swore it was the baby’s heartbeat.

  Deep down, she knew he was right.

  Her stone was warmer than before—n
ow linked to the baby as well as her. All of them shared the same bond. It wasn’t until she connected with the child through her stone that she felt any love for her unborn daughter.

  The child was more part of her now than it ever had been, in both body and heart.

  A knock on the door prompted her to tuck her stone back in its leather carrier on her wrist. She didn’t want to share the phenomena with anyone but Arwan. Somehow it seemed too personal to talk about—even to Tara.

  She grabbed the sheets and covered herself more, in case it was Peter coming to check on her. “Who is it?”

  “Your mom.”

  “Oh.” She sat up. “Come in.”

  Her mother creaked open the door and walked inside, shutting it behind her. “How are you feeling?”

  Zanya shrugged. “Okay. No morning sickness or anything.”

  “Lucky for you, you won’t have any. I didn’t. I think it’s all a part of our healing ability. Keeps that at bay.”

  “Nice. So…is there another reason you’re here?”

  “Actually, yes.” She walked across the room and sat at the foot of the bed. “I’m worried about him.”

  “Him, who?”

  “Arwan.”

  Zanya paused. It was the first time she’d heard her mother show any real concern over Arwan’s wellbeing. Maybe she was pretending to put Zanya at ease because of her condition. But she’d take what she could get. “I am too.”

  “He looks exhausted…disjointed. I think I pushed him too far this afternoon.”

  “You could have been a little more gentle.”

  “We don’t have time for gentle.” Her mother sighed. “But you’re right.” She noticed Zanya’s hand pressed to her belly. “Thinking of any names?”

  “No. I just came to grips with the idea of…” Zanya’s cheeks flushed with heat. She still didn’t love this topic, but now that her mother had warmed up to Arwan a little, that made it somehow easier to talk about. “You know, the whole baby thing.”

  “Yeah. It’s pretty overwhelming, isn’t it? When your father and I found out we were having you, Renato was the first person we told.” She blinked a few times, then lowered her head. “He, uh…” She swallowed. “He was really happy too. He’d always wanted kids of his own.”

  Tears stung Zanya’s eyes. She’d miss Renato every day of her life.

  “Anyway.” Eleuia sniffled and wiped a tear from her cheek. “I’m sure he was just as happy to learn you’re expecting.”

  “I’m glad he was still here to find out.”

  Her mother nodded. “Well, if you need help with baby names, let me know. I’m sure we can brainstorm a few.” She patted Zanya’s leg. “Get some sleep.” Just as her mother stood, Arwan opened the door to their bedroom, pausing in the entrance. She pointed to the hall. “I was just leaving. Sorry.”

  Arwan stepped aside.

  Her mother walked past him, paused, gave an awkward smile, and then continued without a word.

  “Everything okay?” He closed the door.

  “Yeah. She was just asking about me. Wondering how I feel.”

  “And?”

  “Good.” Zanya moved the covers off of her, revealing her bare legs and low-cut top. She used to be shy to show off her body, but now that they were bonded, she was free of inhibition. And since they’d experienced each other’s bodies, the need to be close to him sometimes overtook her. “I’m feeling great, actually.”

  Arwan arched a single brow. “I see.”

  Zanya knew that look. He understood exactly what she wanted, and wasted no time in stripping off his shirt and joining her in bed. Her chest jumped when his skin brushed against hers. He’d been so out of it. Maybe some time alone, with her, would bring him back.

  ***

  Arwan

  Hours after Zanya had fallen asleep, Arwan lay awake in bed, staring at the ceiling. Exhaustion sank deep into his bones, but his mind wouldn’t allow him to sleep. Every time he drifted, he’d wake himself up, afraid of the visions that waited for him.

  But a man, even half-underworlder and half-light, can only stay awake for so long.

  His eyes slipped closed and his mind washed blank, leaving his subconscious in a state of limbo.

  The blissful rest lasted for mere moments before a vision intruded—showing him his native realm, and the king, who he’d left behind.

  The first layer of the underworld was crawling with damned souls. They spewed from the lower levels—tens of thousands of them—climbing up by using each other as ladders. Their flesh tore from their bones, their groans growing more desperate with each passing moment.

  The king stood in the center of the madness, peering into Arwan’s soul.

  Arwan focused on his eyes.

  His red, angry, flaming eyes.

  “I will not wait any longer for your return, son.” The king tilted his head toward the tree above. “You love the mortals too much, and have grown weak in their presence.”

  Arwan kicked at the sheets, aware he was in a vision, but caught—unable to escape.

  “This realm has grown too small for me and my slaves.” His father raised his hands toward the tree above. “I am coming. And there is no power great enough to stop me.”

  Arwan opened his eyes and threw himself out of bed, clawing at the stone floor.

  The ground shook, making the house tremble.

  Zanya sat up, disoriented and still half-asleep. “What’s happening?” She clung onto the bed. “What’s going on?”

  Arwan fisted his hands. “He’s here.” Still wearing his cotton night shorts, he bolted out of the room and down the hall. “Balam, he’s here!” The jaguar sprang to all fours and followed him outside to the camp. “Get up! He’s coming!”

  Half of the group was already awake and gathering their battle gear and weapons.

  Marzena was the first to meet him. “We must get Tara to safety.”

  “It’s too late for that.” He looked back at the house. “Zanya. We have to protect her.”

  “Tell her to stay inside.” Marzena turned to the others. They all paused, fear clearly streaked in their eyes. Marzena took Eleuia’s hand. “Now is the time to come together as warriors, like our ancestors did before us, and their ancestors before them. We must fight for the safety of the middleworld and mankind. That is our cause. That is our calling.”

  Arwan nodded at the others.

  This was it.

  The time was now.

  An explosion erupted from the earth—thick roots from Yaxche, merging the underworld with their realm.

  Underworld stench filled the air.

  Then came the souls.

  Hundreds of them, crawling up the tree, onto the earth. Their contorted figures were hunched and battered from thousands of years trapped in hell. Tara screamed and stumbled back. Peter grabbed her arm and pointed at the house. “You go inside and lock the door. Do not let anyone in under any circumstances, do you understand me?”

  “You have to come with me.” Tara pulled on his arm. “You have to!”

  “Stop it!” Peter grabbed her arms. “I can’t. You know I can’t.”

  She hesitated with tears streaming down her face, and then nodded. She kissed him, long and hard, before running upstairs and vanishing into the house.

  “Go with her,” Arwan said, looking at Marzena. As powerful as your mind is, you won’t stand a chance in the battlefield.” He looked at Drina. “You too, old woman.”

  Drina scowled.

  He stepped close—very close—and looked her in the eyes, his features like stone. “I’m not asking.”

  They watched each other for a brief moment before Drina mumbled and turned back to the home, following Marzena inside.

  “Good. Now that they’re inside,” Peter pushed up his sleeves, “let’s hope all that training sank in.”

  Arwan patted him on the back. “You’ve got this.”

  Jayden grabbed a weapon from camp—his bow and a quiver of arrows. “Let’s see wh
at you got!” He pulled an arrow and shot his first round, landing it in the center of an underworlder’s abdomen. It walked on, as if it weren’t fazed in the least. Jayden pulled back another arrow and launched it into the enemy’s eye, but even that did not stop the damned soul. He shot one more, straight into its heart. The enemy collapsed on impact. “The heart!”

  Arwan grabbed his glaive—a stick with a long, curved blade at the end—and ran at a smaller group sectioned off from the others. One swiped at him with a jagged blade. Arwan ducked and speared it in the chest, then turned and severed the other’s head. More came, and he dispatched them the same—twisting and ducking from every attack.

  Driving a blade through bone was difficult. It took a force of impact some of his comrades might not have, and just as much to yank the blade back out of the chest.

  A scream stole his attention, and he looked to Ahmed—one of the windthrowers who was under attack. He held his arm while blood seeped from the gash as he stumbled back, his eyes wide with fear.

  His twin, Yousef, used a gust of wind to throw the underworlder into the trees. The damned soul smacked into several branches on the way down until it collapsed onto the soil, motionless. A sharp stick stuck out of its body, no doubt piercing its heart.

  A shadow darted behind Yousef—so fast Arwan almost didn’t see it.

  Hellhounds.

  “Yousef, watch—”

  A hound tackled the windthrower from behind, clawing into his back and tearing skin off bone.

  “No!” Ahmed ran toward the beast, but was met with a horde of underworlders blocking his path. The second windthrower did as well as he could to kill the group of savages before they killed him first. But it wasn’t fast enough.

  When the hellhound moved on, Yousef lay in a pool of blood, face down in the soil.

  Something else darted in front of him. When he turned, Hawa had an underworlder by its throat. She raised a blade and shoved it in its chest before the tattered body fell limp. She glanced back at Arwan. “You’re welcome.” She grinned, then vanished in a streak of color.

  The air suddenly became warm. Arwan looked to his right, where Eadith conjured a fireball in her hand. She threw it at the hole where more underworlders flooded out, and set dozens of them on fire.