Without another thought, he pulled her into his arms and exchanged a passionate kiss while he moved with her into a small, unlit corner. It was meant to calm him, to finally touch her, to give him some reprieve. But when she returned his kiss, the burning in his chest worsened. Soon he had her pressed into the wall with his fingers gripping her bare back.
“Your happiness satisfies me,” he whispered, his lips moving across her face and down her neck. He felt her heart beating just as powerfully as his.
Her hands grabbed his when he reached under her gown. “No,” Nara said breathlessly. He pulled his head away, giving her a questioning look. “We should stop, Castien. Not here.” Castien smiled and kissed her cheek, pulling himself free of her grip.
Tracing the curve of her breast, he insisted, “Then let me show you to your bed.” He had an urge to make her his in all ways, to keep her at his side and hold tight. Kissing the side of her mouth, he wound his arms around her waist and pulled her close. Soon his hands found their way back into her hair.
“Please,” she whispered, and he knew she hadn’t the strength to push him away but the force of her words did. “Not tonight, Castien.” Frustrated, he ebbed from force to love. Cupping her face in his hands, he gently kissed her.
“I love you, Nara,” he whispered, thumbs stroking her cheeks, playing into what he thought she desired. “I am yours. Whatever it is that you want I will do.”
“Tell them. And answer my earlier question. What did the humans and elves do to become slaves?” Biting his inner lip, he nearly let his hands fall away. A great deal of patience was needed in dealing with her, and she continued to stack pressure onto his shoulders.
Instead of answering, trying to defer her, he kissed her again. This time with less passion but still as much love.
“What are you doing?” his father exclaimed from behind him.
Placing his forehead to Nara’s, Castien smiled, not bothering to look at Qildor. “Expressing my love to a beautiful maiden, Father.”
Nara pulled away from Castien’s next kiss. Though he was allowed the comfort of her body just a day before, he could tell her thoughts had begun to turn. And his father’s appearance probably didn’t help.
“Excuse me,” Nara whispered, breaking away from the two of them to rush back towards the great hall.
Licking his lips, Castien turned and glared. Looking at his father, he placed his head against the wall, focusing more on how she felt than letting his anger take complete hold of him.
“Have you lost your mind?” Qildor hissed, drawing closer. He pointed in the direction Nara had gone. “Have you taken her to bed?”
Castien smirked. “I’ve not taken her to bed, Father.” Qildor slapped him. The sting rippled through him like a wave, and he lost his mirth, lips pressing into an angry line. He now contained the rage in his chest, could feel it in his shaking hands. This was his father who, for the moment, held more power and sway than he did. If he were to kill him, there would be no taking his place, and Alinar would look at it as treason.
“Our family has worked hard to gain our position,” Qildor snapped. Castien stayed quiet and still, not wanting to be a slave to his anger. “You would love to ruin that, wouldn’t you? You would destroy years of labor to frolic in bed with a whore? Have you forgotten the position you yourself hold, boy?”
Castien’s chest was tight. He snarled, “She is not a whore.” Stepping towards Qildor, he came eye to eye with the one who had controlled him for so long. “It is a funny thought, is it not? Speaking to me of ruining hard work while you call Alinar’s daughter a whore. Tsk-tsk, Father, what would he think?”
Qildor’s lip turned upwards in disgust. “I hope you enjoyed yourself at least; it ends tonight.”
“I enjoyed it very much. So much that I will enjoy it again, and again, and again.” He stepped forward, hands clenched at his sides. “To satisfy your curiosity further, I plan to take her in all ways possible. Do you know why?” He pressed further, not allowing his father to answer. “Because I plan to take her as my own, and I will make her my wife.”
Qildor’s jaw went slack for a moment. “You know what the king intends on doing with her.”
“I do not care,” Castien growled. “I have my own plans, my own intentions. If I get my way, I will be the king’s intentions for her. Maybe, Father, just maybe you can consider that your son has plans separate of your own. I am not satisfied with being a counsel to a weak king. Take heed on how much of an enemy you make of me.”
Qildor’s flashing blue eyes darted across Castien’s face. All his life Castien had laid down to him just as he had to Alinar. He had always done everything his father asked of him. It angered Castien, nothing having been good enough, constantly having been pushed to the next threshold. Only when it came to the crown would his father not make a move because, like the other houses of Ghela, he was a coward, content in their current standard of life. They were content to stand under a king who won no ground and allowed even traitors a second chance. Cowards had no room in Castien’s life. If he could, he would cut his father from his world just as his mother had done to him.
“If I tell the king?” Qildor finally asked, eyes darting down the hall.
“You wouldn’t,” Castien replied, eyes narrowing. “You value your position too much. You value me too much. Gods forbid you need control of the dragonling guard one day. You would rather watch, hoping we are not discovered to save you and our family humiliation. If I am, I know you would claim ignorance. Being the kind one I am, I will let you have that claim. Meanwhile, I would appreciate it if you stayed out of my affairs.”
Someone cleared their throat, startling Castien.
Looking to his side, he saw Xeviat whom he had not seen in some years. Xeviat did not appear as vibrant as he once had. His blue-grey skin was faded, his hair had grown longer and, though he smiled, there were creases at the corners of his eyes that suggested pain.
Castien swallowed hard. His secret might have been discovered far too soon. As a member of the Council of Kothes, it was Xeviat’s duty to keep the king informed of anything that might interfere with his rule.
“Council Head Xeviat,” Qildor bowed, a smile pulling at his lips. “I was just telling—”
Xeviat held his hand up and looked at Castien. “Might we converse?” Tension rose in his chest. Xeviat’s brow rose as he went on to say, “I’ve no concern for your secrets, for now.”
Xeviat patted him on the back, but there was no mark of amusement when he led him away, saying nothing to Qildor who stayed forgotten.
“How have you been, Castien?” Xeviat asked, his voice stagnant and his boot heels clicking against the stone.
Castien regarded him. He was uncertain, not knowing how long Xeviat had been listening. Xeviat not only belonged to a noble house but also the last time they met Xeviat had been chosen for the council. Those elves on the council held sway over the people, helped the king’s decisions, and worked hand in hand with the prophet or oracle, amongst other duties. Above all, they were able to overtake the king’s position and replace him. When they left the Mortal Realm, they were said to usher souls to the other realms, wherever it was they were given pass to go from the gods.
Castien gritted his teeth. “As well as can be expected, Xeviat, and yourself?”
Xeviat took his time to respond, his eyes vacant as they continued their unknown path. When Castien began to consider his farewell, Xeviat spoke, his voice low while his face, if possible, tightened further. “I’ve had better days, Castien.” He stopped, standing before a high paned window, eyes darting around while his body did not move. “I’ve acquired a powerful ally who wishes to make an exchange with you.”
Castien smirked. “A powerful ally,” he repeated. “As powerful as our king, Xeviat? The queen of Thanis? In that case—”
Xeviat grimaced, the look of pain deepening. “My master says he does not appreciate your humor.”
Castien stepped away. “Who is your
master?” Castien asked apprehensively.
Through half-lidded eyes, Xeviat sullenly replied, “He who is unable to touch the homeland.”
Castien’s eyes turned wide upon his answer, glancing down the hall. He now hoped someone would interrupt their conversation. Thaos was the only one unable to visit the islands. It was even thought that his children were unable to. But after rumors of a demon spotted at Summer Set spread across Vheria and Ghela, Castien knew that to be false.
A hint of disbelief swept through his heart. Never liking Xeviat’s weak character, he asked, “Why would you bow to Thaos, Xeviat? As far as I recall, you’ve had no real ambition. Your family accomplished everything for you, and you begrudgingly took your position on the council.”
Xeviat took a moment, that voided stare coming about again.
Slowly, his hands pulled back his cloak to unbutton his vest, silver buttons catching the light of the torches. With what Castien could only assume was impatience, Xeviat ripped his undershirt apart, staring bitterly ahead.
A huge scar from the center of his chest to the middle of his abdomen embodied a throbbing glow, stretching out in the center like a jagged star. Castien’s eyes went wider as he reached out to touch it. However, his hand quickly retreated with curled fingers, not knowing what would happen.
“Thaos is my god,” Xeviat whispered, buttoning his vest, his voice as void as his face.
Castien and Xeviat locked eyes, and Castien could see pain behind the other elf’s green gaze. Whatever had happened to him, he must have deserved it. There were many questions, but he did not care to ask the circumstance, nor did he particularly care for Xeviat’s fate.
“What does he want from me?” Castien hissed, looking down the hall. “You should not be here. The spirit realm must be waiting for you, and instead you’ve become as Elona.”
Xeviat merely blinked at him, shrugging his cloak back on. Castien now understood why he appeared so different, why the once vibrant elf that raced to achieve as much as Castien did was now dead. He truly should have been dead.
Xeviat crossed his arms over his chest. “Thaos desires to make an arrangement with you. Albeit, it will be from a distance, purely on word for now since he cannot touch you here.”
“How does he talk to you?”
Xeviat shook his head. “He formed a bond through me, something he has yet to do with you, if he, in fact, decides to make a pact with you.” He grimaced then, placing two long fingers to his temple. “I am taking too long. He knows that the princess is to be sent to where the Moon Elves reside; this is the only reason Alinar brought her here. You know that you will be going there as soon as word comes back, do you not?”
Castien nodded without thinking. “I’ve been told I will, along with the dragons.”
“It was I who convinced Alinar to send you.” Xeviat wiped his face, fatigue showing more clearly through sunken eyes. “There, in the caves they partially reside in, are those called the Faceless Ones, which you will hear more of if you have not heard of them already. Thaos knows of your mental fortitude; he has spied on you whenever you’ve left Ghela.” Castien’s skin rippled in disgust, but he raised his chin, listening more intently. “He also knows how much you lust after the throne. That you are trying to take it in the most dangerous ways possible.”
“Nara.” Her name slipped from his heart, and Xeviat nodded with narrowed eyes. It was true that finding a way to the throne was something he had planned since he had found out about her over a year prior. Things were not playing out exactly as he had planned them, and he faced the real danger of either banishment or death from spoiling her before having even taken her in binding.
Xeviat spoke more quietly. “For Alinar, she is to be used as a promise to the prince of the Moon Elves, something that he made a request upon during this last voyage, and we are certain that Orym Kasmór will say yes. Alinar has no intention of crowning Nara.” Castien’s body tightened, hands forming fists.
“What does Thaos want of me? That is all I care to hear of.”
Xeviat shook his head. “To get the map from beyond the Faceless Ones.” When Castien gave him a questioning look, Xeviat clarified, “Gaia’s map. The one she made with her own blood and skin to create our world.” Castien shifted on his feet, and Xeviat nodded. “He wants you to retrieve it for him, taking any force you can. Anyone you trust, anything you trust, who will have enough mental strength to break past their illusions.”
Castien considered the proposition. These were all just myths. Either myths perpetrated for entertainment or to scare young children at night. However, there was now the terrifying thought that they were all true.
“What is it I receive?” Castien asked, concerned for what he would get for risking his life if these tales were true and if Xeviat was in allegiance with one of the elder gods.
“Power,” was Xeviat’s immediate response. “In exchange for helping him in not just this but also a few other simple tasks in the future, you will receive power. He will help you gain the throne of Ghela and maybe even others. He will protect you from all that would oppose you. As I am a council member, it is also possible for me to sway the others to overturn Alinar, as their family overthrew the Nasian bloodline a few hundred years ago.”
Castien gazed at Xeviat, absorbing his words. If all the stories were true, Thaos would make a powerful but deadly ally, and even more so if he were the enemy. Stories of his erratic behavior stretched across centuries. Now, presented before him, were two powerful would-be allies. They laid before him a great possibility to gain the throne in the easiest way possible, proving to his father once and for all who was the most powerful.
Castien went to speak but not before Xeviat raised his hand. “Another thing. He will want to meet with you when you travel east. He has two other minor requests.”
With his current requests already seeming simple enough, anything further could not hurt.
“I will accept for now. But what if he does not live up to his end of the deal?”
Xeviat smiled at long last, though it looked very unnatural on his sullen features. “You will not have to worry about him holding up an agreement.”
KARASIM
They were not far from Choráis when Karasim began to feel the pull of the crystals coupled with the suffocating weight of the portal.
When they settled for their last night in the wilderness a few miles from Choráis, the remaining Chosen took to their tents while he stayed with his siblings. They were forced to be close, even by Elona, but that didn’t make them want to be any nearer than they had to be.
From the middle of their camp he stared at the setting sun and tried to ignore Hathus’s gaze resting upon him while he planned his next move. Each step away from Thanis did nothing for Karasim, who felt his heart tearing the farther he moved. He had tried several times to reach out to Arisa, and he was relieved when she had contacted him. Of course, she couldn’t be dead. The magic Elona had placed upon her Chosen could only be undone by her. Karasim was thankful his father had no control over that.
The knowledge of her survival gnawed at the corners of his mind and made him anxious to leave. However, Hathus constantly watched him, licking his lips of blood that had yet been drawn. Karasim knew as soon as he set flight, through whatever means, the chase would be on for Hathus.
He couldn’t leave just yet. Hathus had more strength than he, a barely known god of imps, called upon by humans to help them in summoning magic. Hathus and Eusa had several temples devoted to them throughout Nudomri, including Eanlasair and Ilystaria where they were considered cults, as they truly were, and barely tolerated. Almost everyone who worshipped Karasim resided in Choráis and they barely prayed to him as was.
Karasim would have to wait until he knew Hathus was preoccupied.
Only for the love of Arisa would he finally turn against his father; Arisa made him realize what he truly wanted in life.
I will, he repeated several times in his head. Walking past Hathus an
d his minions, he escaped to the safety of his tent. It was then he decided to prepare to leave. Even though he was quiet as he gathered what he could, the hisses of his brothers’ followers sounded outside his tent. His father was not a liar. Karasim knew Hathus would soon take him to Thaos to tear him apart. Without death it would be a painful, never-ending experience.
He froze at the sound of footsteps behind him.
“I’ve brought you a gift,” Hathus said, standing close enough that if Karasim took a step back he would step on him.
“I don’t want any gifts, thank you,” Karasim muttered. He stood perfectly still in an attempt to not draw attention to his rucksack.
“Who turns down my gifts?” His brother chuckled. “You know, Arisa loved my gifts. I wonder if she kept any. Would you know?” Karasim bowed his head and swallowed hard.
“What did you bring me?” Karasim asked through clenched teeth.
Hathus leaned forward, his breath hot on Karasim’s neck. “Your gift is standing outside this tent. Someone to help you forget about Arisa.” Karasim shook his head. Anger clouded his mind so much that when Hathus stalked around to stand beside him, Karasim did not attempt to hide his rucksack. His older brother tilted his head to the side and gestured to it. “Are you leaving?”
“Go away,” Karasim hissed. Hathus laughed before he whistled. Karasim whirled around as the tent flap opened again and a few of his followers entered. Keeping a tight hold on his rucksack, he backed away from them.
“I told you what would happen.” Hathus grinned. “I’ve been waiting for this day since you first put your hands on her.”
Karasim shook his head, dodging his brother when Hathus lunged towards him.
Closing his eyes, Karasim shifted through the world. Remembering what Arisa told him, he made certain to appear again a good distance away from the Thanis.
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