“I don’t think there is a female that could withstand this arrogant arse,” Mithras said and chuckled as they all erupted into laughter.
Prick! Then it was his mate but he was the one who entered my room.
“Mate!” Hianos exclaimed across the room. “How funny you are, Sia.”
She gritted her teeth, he had lied to her on purpose and she didn’t take lying lightly. She nodded. “Indeed, how funny I am.”
“You thought he had a mate,” Mordas said, laughing. “Not even to save his life.”
She grinned. “Oh, he can’t be that bad.”
Mordas shook his head. “He is sneering and bad and arrogant. He doesn’t have a mate, not one I know of.”
She just wanted to empty Griswold guts on the onyx floor of the palace. He had deceived her and invaded her personal space. She cleared her throat. “Time for bed. I hope you can all return to your chambers.”
Ethan nodded. “Don’t worry about us,” he waved his hands dismissively.
+ + +
Once she left, Cassia didn’t go to her room, though her body was far too weary to move. She went to Griswold’s door instead and knocked fiercely on the wooden panel.
She focused on her pounding blood, hot and running forcefully through her veins. She wanted to have a word with him, even though she hadn’t consumed copious amounts of wine, she still had enough in her blood to make her do strange and beyond daring things, she wouldn’t do otherwise.
She could only hear a grunt from the other side of the door and after a minute the door opened to a sleepy Griswold wearing loose, black, silky pants and a likewise opened robe, but nothing to cover his bare chest. His eyes from sleepy and tender, almost normal and relaxed shifted to a more sinister mood as he took her in. She was certain by now that he had smelled the wine on her breath. He smirked and combed his fingers through his hair lazily, almost not caring at all about her being there.
She narrowed her eyes on him. “You lied to me.”
He caught the hint quickly and his smirk grew. “I don’t think I have to explain myself to you.”
“Of course, but I could do enough things to you and the rest of them would never know. They would never know.”
Her promise was dark enough in its essence alone. She was certain of her lethality, but she didn’t know that he was just as certain as she was, or as dangerous as she was. He smiled at her instead, a smile that made her want to crawl off her skin and go away, away from him. He unnerved her and he was the only one he could do that. Not even the King made her shrink to herself so much.
His reply was cold and direct. It wasn’t what she anticipated; she waited for a sneering remark. “Return to your room, she-elf. You are drunk enough.”
She laughed, sinisterly and in a moment she wasn’t Cassia the Lady of Navacore, She was Cassia the Heir, the King’s Heir and she glanced at him through clouded eyes, full of anger and spite, he flinched only for a moment before he retained back to his usual charming self.
“Don’t think even for a moment that I take orders from Adanei scum like you.” She snarled at him and clumsily reached for her dagger by the waist.
He was faster though and she was just too dizzy from the wine. He grabbed both of her hands, he pulled her into the room pinning her to the wall beside the door. His strong, slim hips bore into hers, holding her in place, her hands held up above her head as she groaned and twisted in his arms, but he had a sharp, unyielding hold on her. She could barely move to save her life.
She growled, she could do nothing to get out of his grasp. She was helpless, trapped. She leant her head back onto the wall, giving up maybe for the first time in her life. Alcohol, even though she hadn’t consumed much during the night in the restaurant, had taken its tool in her blood. It made her weak in front of her enemy and it infuriated her more than Griswold did.
He was leaning dangerously close to her and if she didn’t hate him that much, she would have given in to the warm shivering up her spine; she would have pulled closer to him, her body shaping around his. She despised him, though, and hatred blinded her so much that she could barely see what was before her eyes.
He narrowed his silver petrifying eyes at her, a tingling sensation gathered at the edge of her stomach, unsettling her sensations. He spoke in a low tone, “Watch out, Aenat. Because one day your spirit will be broken and I would be all you have left.”
She snarled at him and tried to knee him between his legs, but he was faster than her. His smile made her insides turn as she tried to keep her face in a stony mask, concealing the burning coals inside her soul.
Aenat. Dragon Fire.
She gritted her teeth. “I will skin you, Griswold, and then I will find peace.”
He chuckled. “Aenat,” he breathed down her face. “Why so much hate?”
She debated spitting on him, but she found herself unable to act like a common she-elf in distress. She was above it, above it and lived by her own rights. She would never have left an elf like him take power over her. She breathed in, taking a few careful intakes. His breath was on her face, heating her skin, it smelled of smoke, burning fires. His breath smelled like the burning lands of Feremony.
Things flashed before her eyes. Things that she better have forgotten deep in the depths of her memory. In a moment, every reminiscent memory of her unfortunate stay in Feremony, all those years ago, came rushing back, bursting through the doors of her consciousness. She saw the dark ground of her cell, she felt and heard the whip making contact with flesh.
Her flesh.
She could listen to the mocking voices of the guards outside her cell. Evil in their own nature, thriving under the careful and fearful glance of their Lord.
She returned back to her cell then. The dampness and the rotting smell. The dirt that clung to her skin, under her silver nails, on her scalp.
The female in her memory was curled in a ball in the corner of her cell. She was in such pain that made her skin shudder. Her back was sliced into so many pieces; she had taken so many lashes. The dirtiness got in her wounds and infected her system, her blood even though ancient and powerful was struggling to heal her wounds, they were so many.
So much despair, so much pain.
Her hair clung to the wounds, coating them in blood, thick and dirty.
And she could only feel scared. She –the King’s Heir. She was scared, terrified, petrified.
Her bones hurt.
Her skin torn in so many places.
But she could feel it.
The smoky breath on her back.
She could smell it.
And she could feel the warm feeling that went over her back and the wounds were closed, healing themselves faster.
She sighed.
The breath of smoke still lingered in her cell, down her neck.
It calmed her for some strange reason.
Her heartbeat became slower and her mind stopped pounding.
She turned quickly to see what was behind her, who was behind.
Nothing, there was nothing.
Cassia shook herself out of the memory. It was no good to think of the past. She clenched her jaw and glanced at Griswold, who looked at her puzzled, his head slightly tilted to the side, eyes questioning her.
Her eyes lids fluttered close and with a mighty summon of her green, sparkling magic she flashed back in her room.
Her heart pounded faster, loud and terrified.
She could feel the thrumming of her blood in her ears.
She didn’t change clothes; she fell on her bed and slept, covering herself with the thick coverlets, trying to shrink inside the warmness of the fabrics.
She dreamed of talons and white dragons.
29
Cassia hadn’t bothered with breakfast that day. Her mind was far more importantly occupied. She had found out that smoke was something she didn’t like. Not the smell or the texture of it, but what it reminded her. She wanted to scream and snarl at the servants who went about the room,
looking away from her as if she had suddenly grown horns about her head.
As she had pried open her wardrobe, she was thankful that it was not filled with dresses and womanly attires. It was full of pants, shirts and leather. She had groaned and chosen a plain green shirt and black leather pants.
Jewellery was something she didn’t wear outside the Citadel. So she never bothered to adorn her skin with glittering crystals and valuable metals. She never liked dresses in particular, but sometimes wearing them made her stop thinking of war and pain.
She checked for Ardan and Nadaon in their rooms but found nothing. She went down to the main living room in the palace. Even though as a room it was rather dark, only adorned with black and green like the restaurant yesterday night, the opened windows gave a certain light to the otherworldly dark chamber.
Ethan stood outside the veranda as she pried through the arched, opened the door. He was dressed casually from where she could see him. Gray shirt and tight black pants. He was a handsome elf, but almost all of them were. She fought the skipping of her heart and the clenching of her stomach.
She reached out and came to stand beside him. She turned to look at him, his eyes were closed, relaxed, looking nothing like a Lord of Feremony. The Lord of Feremony was supposed to be dark, brooding and feared. Ethan was a kind hearted elf, with pure ideas and a clear mind.
“It’s not polite to stare.”
She laughed at his words and shook her head as he turned his head and opened his green eyes to look at her.
“Well, I never said I was polite.”
He grinned and shook his head laughing. He exhaled soundly and turned back his eyes to the city unravelling before them. “Griswold seemed rather...” He trailed. Cassia rolled her eyes. “Rather upset this morning. I believe you had something to do with it.”
She breathed in, her nostrils flaring. “He lied to me. He said that he had a mate who mysteriously brought me those clothes, remember?”
He glanced sideways, raising an eyebrow. “That explains the questions.”
“What did you anticipate I would do? Stand there and accept him lying on my face?”
He rolled his eyes and groaned. “At least there is someone in this home that can get this reaction out of him.”
She growled and grabbed onto the onyx, hot from the sun, handrails. “I don’t like him. I don’t believe I could ever like him.”
He chuckled and shook his head. “Oh, please. He is not that bad.”
She cleared her throat. “Let’s stop speaking about him. There is a lot of work that must be done. The wards for starters.”
“What about my wards?” He snapped at her, his eyes widening.
She groaned. “I sense them being thin and vulnerable.”
He huffed in annoyance. “My wards are fine, thank you.”
“It’d be like walking in a rose garden for the King. He could pull them down with a flick of his fingers.”
He rolled his eyes and gritted his teeth. “What do you propose then?”
“Call your Spell Master.”
He snorted and laughed. “Aine won’t be happy to know about your commenting on her spells.”
“Do what I tell you.”
He tilted his head and closed his eyes.
A golden sparkling flame appeared somewhere behind him. From the blazing embers rose a female shape covered with ashes, but then slowly as the winds blew by balcony the ashes moved away. The she-elf underneath all that powder appeared. Her golden hairs pinned back up in a messy braid around her head and her bluish frock dirtied with mud around the hem.
She opened her eyes, brown and big as if they could look into your very soul and extract every secret you wanted to keep to yourself. Her skin though white was filthy with powders and leaves of plants. She was a botanist, a spell master who had a fine knowledge of the plants of Aethos.
She glanced at Ethan and then at Cassia, her eyes softened as she bowed her head. She cleared her throat attracting Ethan’s attention to her. Aine narrowed her eyes and gritted her teeth. She placed her hands on her hips firmly and tapped her foot in annoyance.
“What,” she sharply asked. “Is it?”
Ethan’s throat bobbed. “I want you to meet Lady Cassia.”
She eyed her from head to toe and assessed the very breath Cassia took, Aine’s eyebrows shoot up. “Pleasure.”
Ethan cleared his throat. “She says your wards are weak.”
She chuckled. “Weak?” She shook her head laughing. “Weak is your mind, mindless wench. I graduated with the highest score in five hundred years from the School of Wizardry of Feremony. I think I can be quite confident with my wards.”
Arrogant. Great, that was all Cassia needed. Another imitation of Griswold.
She pulled her hand from the handrails and crossed them over her chest. “For a mere elf, it would be the hardest thing to pass through them. But I am afraid there is an enemy that can slice through them with ease.”
She grimaced and tapped her foot. “And what do you suppose to do? You can only flash, if you use real elven magic then the King will find where you are and he will come here. What can you do, Lady?”
She chuckled at her naiveté. “What do you know of human runes?”
She snorted. “Yeah, right as if those weak runes could do anything to hold the King down.”
“I was the one that made the wards around the Citadel and I used the runes of men.” Cassia smiled as Aine seemed to shrink back from her. “Don’t underestimate them, they are pure power.”
Ethan cleared his throat. “I should leave you to mingle with your runes.” He walked to the door, but stopped and turned to glance at Aine. “I don’t want to find you rolling in the mud like pigs.”
Aine narrowed her eyes at him and snarled something in the Dwarfish dialect, he grinned and left. Her eyes snapped at her and she tilted her head. “What do you propose then, Lady?”
“Cassia would be fine.”
She nodded.
“Let me show you.”
Aine wiped her hands on her blue frock and walked closer to Cassia.
Cassia grinned, Aine was far too confident and arrogant in her own magic that she felt unthreatened. She liked Aine, her wit was sharp as a knife and her acerbic nature was far too welcoming. At least, Aine would never lie to her, not like Lord Griswold had done. That viper of a man.
Cassia glanced heavenwards and closed her eyes sensing the power and surging force of the wards around the city. It was a living organism with sapience and thoughts of its own but bound to its Spell Mistress. She ignored the whispering of the wards and turned to face the other she-elf.
The Spell Mistress was not supposed to be someone so young. It was not unusual for the Lord to hold that position too sometimes. But an elf of her age was far too young and far too beautiful to hold such a despicable position. Aine’s skin was clear enough and no weary gleam covered her eyes.
Cassia went down to her knees and tapped onto the onyx ground of the balcony. She grabbed a dagger from her belt and threw it to the Spell Mistress. Aine grasped onto the handle gingerly and narrowed her eyes on Cassia. She snorted as she glanced at the dagger, a scowl appearing on her brow. “What spell am I to curve on the stone?”
“Ytil, Nios, Othal, Zane, Aidho and Zasir.”
Aine rolled her eyes. “Othal with Ytil and Aidho. Quiet daring you are, aren’t you?”
Cassia smirked, her silver nails glittering against the sun as she splayed her hands on the scarred onyx. “One can only dare to ensure her survival.”
Aine cleared her throat and fell to her knees beside Cassia. She leant and began carving, not destroying the stone, but deep enough to ensure that shapes could be easily seen on the surface.
Cassia took a moment to glance about the veranda before she leant closer, threw her weight on her one palm, facing the floor and began carving with her silver, sharp nails. She drew a straight, vertical line first and then made two parallel lines beside it. She drew in a deep br
eath as she pulled her nail across the top, connecting the lines with another horizontal one. The screeching of her nails and the lugging of her dagger on Aine’s hand, made her skin jump, goose bumps rising over her skin, but she ignored it and concentrated on finishing curving Ytil, the rune of spite for outsiders.
Next, she carved two lines meeting with each other at their centres. Nios. The rune of what was to come. She wouldn’t have used it if she didn’t know that pairing it together with Ytil was enough to shield them from the King’s eyes.
She turned her glance at the young Mistress beside her. A frown coated over her white brow as she kept drawing shapes with the dagger. Aine was young, maybe just as young Cassia was. In human years she was but barely twenty. In elvish she counted three centuries.
She returned her eyes back to her runes. She dug her nails into the stone to form an ‘S’ curved at the edges. Othal was a rune for silence and protection. She moved her hand, letting her index finger shape Zane, a rectangular with a curvy eye in the middle. Aidho was a plain vertical line meaning bad luck for intruders.
Zasir was the last one, her finger dragged over the despicable rune, a circle with three little dots in the middle. The rune of Death himself. One dot to symbolise the body, one dot for the soul and another one for the spirit. Nothing escaped from that rune, nothing ever. It was pure, adulating black magic. No one used it anymore, but she did because in hours of pure darkness one could only thrive in it and forget about light. Light was not a possibility. It has never been in her life.
The spell was a riddle Cassia had manifested in a cold, winter war camp a few years before the War. It had kept her battalions safe and her people untouched. That was the same spell she had cast upon her City, not the Citadel, the Citadel’s spell was weaker because she could easily break through it, but this spell. The very death and the breath of fire that it spoke of were unstoppable.
Aine raised her head, dagger firmly held in her hands, but Cassia nodded and Aine placed the sharp object down on the floor. Cassia cleared her throat as she outstretched her palms over the runes and closed her eyes, calling out to Zasir for the protection of the weak and weary.
A War of Silver and Gold Page 26