He learnt quickly to quail the screams after that. He was seven years old.
“Zachary!” Sverrin took hold of his pounding head. With his one seeing eye, Zachary looked up into the King’s face, weeping blood.
Kill me, he pleaded. Kill me. Let me die for a good cause.
Sverrin, as if hearing Zachary’s thoughts, crept his hands down to Zachary’s throat, and with a sudden sureness, squeezed. Despite the cruel actions, in the tiny slit of vision Zachary had left, he could see Sverrin was crying bitterly.
“You made me!” The King was shrieking now, like a lost child. “You made me into this! Two years, you buried me in darkness—two years! Why couldn’t you let me rest? Why did you bring me back?” He squeezed harder, and death rushed to meet Zachary like a warm embrace. And then all of sudden, as if retracting a gift, Sverrin lifted his hands from their deathly hold and stood. Zachary coughed and whimpered below him, almost blind now in both eyes, and in searing pain.
Sverrin furiously wiped his eyes, and in the place of human grief was that same cavernous emptiness that Zachary had come to fear. “I warned you about disobeying me. Now you will meet your promised fate. But before that, I want you to know, Zachary, that this does not appease my anger. Any consequences of that, is on your hands.”
He left Zachary then, bleeding and broken on the floor, barely conscious. The Magi slipped in and out of reality, everything hushed but for the sound of his own laboured breath.
Slowly, his eyes fell closed, as if to sleep, and then the full force of Sverrin’s words came over him.
Where would Sverrin’s anger lead him? Whom would the King direct his wrath to?
Daniel, a quiet voice resounded in his aching skull. Daniel.
It was enough. Zachary awoke from his terrified stupor, and with every effort, reached out for the stars’ power. They seemed so very distant from him. The Night Patrol could heal themselves using magic, but it was no easy task when you were bleeding, for blood was the medium in which magic coursed through the body. Even so, Zachary dragged it in, like a drowning man gasping in water.
A pain, like fire, came over his face, and he writhed, twisting on the ground, his wings unfurling from his back. His broken bones shifted, resetting and healing themselves, and he slumped to the floor, exhausted. There would be new scars, that couldn’t be prevented, but he would survive.
When at last he felt the healing pain lessen, Zachary expelled the magic from his body and returned to his human form.
The vision returned completely in one eye, but the other was murky. Zachary didn’t have time to dwell on whether this would be permanent, or if he merely required more time to heal.
He mounted shakily to his feet, using the altar to steady himself. Jionat looked grim beneath him as Zachary’s legs shook, face still spattered with blood. At the very least his teeth had regrown, a little sharper than before, and his nose and soft palate was once again intact.
After a few failed attempts to move away from his support, Zachary was able to shuffle toward the tunnel. With each movement, his steps gained momentum and confidence, until he was striding, and then running.
He tore up through the castle, ignoring the shouts of alarm from servants and courtiers alike as he sprinting past, toward the academy. He looked in every classroom, throwing doors open and skidding in, to the outrage of whichever professor was teaching.
At last he found the right one, breaking through the door so fast, it crashed into the wall. The students sprang to their feet.
“Daniel!” he shouted wildly.
“Lord Zachary, what in Notameer’s—” The professor—Zachary didn’t recall his name—cried from the front of the class.
“Daniel!” Zachary shouted again, and his brother looked out through the peering crowd, pushing his way forward.
“Athea have mercy, what happened to you?” Daniel demanded, seeing the blood.
“We need to go, now!” Zachary took him by the wrist and ran, dragging Daniel behind, his brother barely keeping pace.
“What’s going on?” Daniel cried as they broke out of the academy and streaked toward their home.
“I have to get you out. If he catches you, he’ll kill you!”
“Who?”
“The King!”
They reached the house and tumbled into it. Zachary locked the doors immediately, and swung around to Daniel, gripping him tightly.
“I need you to listen to me very carefully, we don’t have much time,” he said in a ragged whisper. “Pack a bag of your things—only the essentials. You need to flee the city. It won’t be easy. Hide here until nightfall then go through the gardens to Hathely’s house. He’ll help you escape and protect you. Do you understand?”
“Arlen—”
“Do you understand?” Zachary shook him, and Daniel nodded. Zachary took in his brother’s dazed expression, and pulled him into an embrace. “Forgive me, Daniel.” He kissed Daniel fiercely on the temple and pushed him away. “Go!”
Daniel took the stairs two at a time and disappeared into his bedroom just as the first hammering came from the front door. Zachary tensed. The house seemed empty, which was both a surprise and relief. Perhaps the servants, too, had gone in search of him?
The knocking grew louder—they know he was there. Zachary gathered more magic to him. Weak and dizzy as he was, he could still fight. He would hold them off as long as he could.
Something heavy hit the door, like a battering ram. It struck again, and the wood splintered. Zachary knew the hinges would give out before long.
On the third strike, the door came down, and men flooded into the house. Zachary was relieved to see they were members of the Royal Guard, rather than Magi. He instantly flew into action.
Gathering water to him, he formed two long whips and struck out, slicing through the air. One of the whips was sharp, like a knife, whilst the other blunted, allowing Zachary to rip men from their feet, as he cut and sliced.
The guards came at him hard, pooling around as he turned and twisted, throwing attack after attack. He managed to kill six of the twenty before something sharp embedded itself in his upper thigh. It was a small, dart-like arrow, but as Zachary made to snap the shaft out, a peculiar feeling ebbed over him. His magic faded, as if bleeding away. He struggled to maintain it, but it disappeared and he realised, with horror, what he’d been struck with.
Mica.
He looked down at the wound, scrabbling to reach inside and pull the dreaded stone out. But the arrowhead had been designed to shatter inside him—little shards dug deep into his flesh, dispelling the magic within him. He cursed and, changing tactic, dove for one of the dead men’s swords.
The guards didn’t make it easy. They knew his skill—that he was a terrible force to be reckoned with, even without magic. They circled closer, jabbing and driving him away from any potential weapons.
Then, another got a lucky strike it from Zachary’s half-blind side, and the top of a sword pierced his shoulder. Zachary swung around like an agitated animal, and the men gathered closer.
Zachary could hear his blood rushing through his head. Without his magic, the pain was returning and his energy fading away.
“That’s quite enough of that,” a voice called from the kitchen, and the fighting ceased. Slowly, the guards pulled away, forming a cage as Zachary turned.
DuGilles walked slowly out from the kitchen, Heather Benson held close to him, a knife at her throat. Zachary realised the Kathrak must have been there all along, waiting in the house.
Had he heard Daniel? No—they’d kept their voices too low. Zachary raised his hands in surrender, his eyes on Heather. She stared back, stony. DuGilles glided the knife very gently up and down her throat.
“I see where you get your bravery from,” DuGilles said, his voice gentle. Zachary held his breath. “When I came into the house, she hurried all the servants away, and then refused to do what she was told. I was going to have her to welcome you, you see, hide you in the kitchen,
and bring you straight into my arms. It would’ve been very funny. Alas, she wanted no part of it. Unfortunately, she is a part of it.” DuGilles nicked Heather’s skin slightly, but it was Zachary who flinched. Heather kept eyes on him, strong and steady. Zachary slowly lowered himself onto his knees.
“Let her go.” He put his hands on the ground. “I won’t fight.”
“But you will,” DuGilles laughed. “You’re so strong, Zachary. And stubborn. Just like Rufus was, and I failed to save him. I won’t make that same mistake with you.”
“Arlen,” Heather said, her frail hand reaching for him. Her voice shook. “Close your eyes. Close your eyes, sweet boy.”
Zachary watched the path of the knife, gliding up and down, up and down. “Please.”
“My sweet boy,” Heather repeated. “Sweet boy. Don’t look. Don’t look.” She could barely disguise the tremor in her voice. Zachary stared her straight in the eye, willing courage, though his was fading fast. He couldn’t leave her alone at this time. He couldn’t abandon her.
“In order to be reborn, you must first be broken,” DuGilles said, almost pityingly. “You’re close, granted, but I’m going to achieve what your father couldn’t. It’s for the best.” He leant across and gave Heather a fond kiss on the cheek. “I know you loved him like a son,” he said warmly, and angled the knife up into the space between her ear and her jaw, slicing it from one side to the other.
Blood spurted out. DuGilles released Heather and she stepped forward, mouth opening and closing in shock. A second later she collapsed. Zachary fumbled to catch her, pulling her close. He held her tightly, blood gushing from her wound, too long and deep to heal. Her windpipe was exposed, the head close to severed. Zachary said her name, over and over, but her eyes were already vacant, her death swift. The woman who’d cared for him for thirty years, through his tantrums, nonsense, and his curiosities, had been extinguished in a few seconds.
It occurred to Zachary that he hadn’t made her a garland of flowers to mark the month of Haylix, as he usually did. He hadn’t even thanked her.
Slowly, but with the force of crumbling glacier, Zachary felt the last defence within him break. The blow was too heavy. It was too much. The events of the day came rushing over him, finished now in death and blood. He tipped his head back and howled.
It was guttural, a sound he could barely maintain, his throat sick and raw. But still, it came, and he screamed, and screamed, and screamed.
DuGilles smiled. “Now we’re ready,” he said, gesturing to one of the Royal Guard.
In the last second, before the heavy blow knocked him unconscious, Zachary spotted Daniel hiding up on the landing, peering down, hands over his mouth, tears streaming.
Stay hidden, little brother, Zachary thought, through his grief, and be safe.
As the soldier cracked the hilt of his sword over the back of Zachary’s skull, the darkness wasn’t welcoming. It was deep, and long and all-consuming, and Zachary knew he would never see the light of day again.
“You’re thinking of him—that Magi,” Fae observed from the doorway, her voice soft. Rufus glanced up from where he was settled in a chair. He’d been staring off into space, a book slack and forgotten in his hands.
“Am I so predictable?” Rufus didn’t both to deny it. He closed the book, rising from his seat.
“Walk with me?” Fae offered her arm like a perfect gentlemen, and Rufus chuckled and took it, allowing her to guide him out. They left the comfort of the castle and went out into the gardens.
The stars were strewn across the cloudless sky in a dazzling light display. Rufus craned his neck to look up at them all, his breath stilled. Even he, who’d studied the night sky for years, never ceased to be struck by its infinite beauty.
“Your vision has disturbed you,” Fae said.
Rufus grimaced. “If you knew Zachary, it would you too.”
“On the contrary—he tried to murder me, almost killed you and was an intrinsic part in the plot that sacrificed your brother.” Fae’s tone was light, but unforgiving. “I know enough about him.”
Rufus gave a stark laugh. “Believe you me, I too have resented Zachary all these years. There were days when all I wanted was for him to burn. But I’ll be frank…there were days when I missed him too.”
Fae’s expression was reserved, but she didn’t release Rufus. “He meant something to you.”
“He was my brother, before I had Jionat or Joshua. He protected me—fiercely, sometimes. Even when we fought, even when everything changed…He wanted me to be well—I know that. I’m sure of it.”
“You and he…” Fae began slowly. “Were you ever…”
Rufus saw her train of thought. “Lovers?” he laughed. “No.”
“But you thought about it.” Fae was shrewd, and Rufus shrugged.
“He was strong, protective and had a sense of humour. I find those qualities attractive. By the time I met him however, I was engaged to Mielane. After she died, I was in mourning a year, and then Sverrin was assassinated and anything good and kind in Zachary died with him.” He gave a sad smile. “Even if that weren’t the case, Zachary lacks the inclination, I think. Then again, who knows,” Rufus fluttered his eyelashes, “I’m told by many I have Gancanagh blood in me. Perhaps even Zachary would’ve fallen prey to my seductive charms and looks. What do you think, Fae?”
“I have no opinion.” Fae fought back her own smile. “Your handsomeness certainly hasn’t had any effect on me.”
“You think I’m handsome?”
“I trust my mother’s judgement.”
“Your mother thinks I’m handsome?”
“Apparently.”
“Sweet Haylix, I have the wrong woman on my arm,” Rufus teased and Fae slapped him lightly on the shoulder. They came to one of the stone benches and settled on it together, looking out over the mountain peaks, which cradled the moon between them, like a pearl in an oyster. “May I ask you something, pertaining to relationships and loyalties?”
Fae smoothed her skirts. “You want to know about Reilly.”
“It was a surprise,” Rufus admitted and Fae snorted softly. “You don’t seem to fit well, but I can’t imagine you marrying idly.”
“I will tell you,” Fae said after a pause. “But it’s not an easy story for me.”
They settled into silence, Rufus waiting patiently for Fae to collect her thoughts. Finally, she inhaled, her voice timid. “I knew Reilly from birth. He’s was Korrick’s protégé, before me, and I was promised to him as a baby.”
“It was arranged?”
“My mother and father made it clear that I could break the arrangement at any time but I was happy with it. Reilly was handsome, he was kind to me and he made me laugh. During my childhood I couldn’t imagine a better husband and I fell deeply in love, as children do.
“I was not permitted to wed until I was older, so to occupy my time I threw myself into my training. Every time I succeeded in a task, Reilly was always delighted. At first his praise was all I strove for.
“Through my hard work, I progressed rapidly however. Fighting came naturally to me, and it quickly developed into a passion of mine. Any weapons Korrick handed to me, I would master. I became his second protégé, and truthfully—his favourite.
“As I neared adulthood, the commander of the Cat Sidhe army made announcements that he planned step down from his position. Speculation began of who would succeed him. Reilly was the obvious choice but there were some who thought I should be a candidate. I had an aptitude for battle, I was a Chosen, and I had inherited strongly the powers and skills of my clan.
“Like a fool, I chose to ignore this, thinking nothing of it. My marriage was approaching, and it occupied my thoughts almost entirely. There was no doubt in my mind that Reilly would be chosen, and I would serve as his wife, and a soldier under his command. I was happy, Rufus. I loved him. But even on that day, I saw a nervousness in him, something tense that he wouldn’t confide in me about. And then, barely a fe
w weeks after our union, the candidates for commander were announced. The vote was between Reilly and me.
“In the Neve, to be a candidate for command is no small thing. It’s an honour bestowed on very few and not something to be refused. When two candidates arise there’s only one way to decide who should command.”
“You had to fight him,” Rufus released.
Fae shifted and a curtain of her hair swept across her face, hiding her from Rufus. She fiddled with her hands. “He was my husband, but as we stepped into the arena all of that was supposed to be forgotten. What lay ahead was the future of our people.” She dropped her head. “But I was foolish, and impressionable. I had devoted my life to pleasing him, and I knew that if I beat him that day, that if I won…Gods, how could he love me after that?”
“A man who is threatened by the strength of his wife doesn’t deserve her.”
“Would that I had understood and believed that then. But I was a girl, my head full of stories, with ideals of a perfect marriage. I didn’t know what any of it truly meant. And so I slowed down, I stepped out of rhythm.”
“You threw the fight?”
Fae’s hands stilled. “Reilly won,” she said instead, “but he knew, Rufus. He knew what I had done. And it destroyed everything.” Her voice cracked with shame.
“Fae…” Rufus reached for her hand.
“After that, he couldn’t look at me. Letting Reilly beat me in that fight was the worst thing I ever did. I know now he would have followed me with the same pride I felt, but instead I dishonoured him. What was more, we couldn’t speak of it—Reilly had to command an army now. He needed their respect and their trust. If anyone knew I had lost on purpose, they would think he asked me to do it.”
“How can you be sure of that?”
“My people are honourable,” Fae chuckled. “But they’re also helpless gossips and incredibly stubborn in their judgement. Reilly was so ashamed he wouldn’t even share my bed, and I was so sorry that I didn’t try to mend the gap. And so this chasm grew between us—fed by our resentment and loneliness. I wanted him back, but I couldn’t face him. At last, when it grew too hard to bear, Reilly commissioned me as courier for Bethean. It was an important role, and as far away from the Neve as he could send me.”
Blood of the Delphi (The Harmatia Cycle Book 2) Page 48