“We will be okay,” he whispered into her ear.
“I know,” she replied. “You are the only one I trust to get Leonetta to Edann Port safely. Be careful. We don’t know what all of this means just yet.”
“Always, my love,” Tyriad replied, before kissing Asphodul one last time and heading down into the courtyard.
Asphodul watched as he shifted into his dragon, his scales shimmering in the light of the stars. Leonetta looked up at Asphodul and nodded before climbing atop the giant, glimmering dragon and disappearing under the cloak of magic. The wind whipped wildly from the flapping of Tyriad’s wings, and Asphodul stood silently as they moved into the sky and slid quietly into the woods. Once out of sight, Asphodul looked up to the heavens, feeling the presence of the once Avalonian Faith, Ardontis.
“What remains in the stars could certainly be their deaths,” she whispered before turning and entering back into the castle.
The round, bald Faith, Ardontis, whose allegiance now lied with the fae, stepped forward and watched as stars shot across the sky.
“Indeed,” he said to no one. “This has turned out to be a war for the ages.”
***
Pike shifted uncomfortably in his chair as he watched Holland writhe and move in his sleep. He was belted down to the bed and had yet to wake; however, from the looks of it, he was fighting his own battles deep in his mind. The sweat poured from Holland’s head as he gritted his teeth and arched his back. Pike walked forward and picked up the wet towel from the bowl and rubbed it across the man’s forehead.
“We may be enemies, but this is a battle you shouldn’t fight alone,” Pike spoke out loud to Holland.
“He will not be fighting alone for too long,” the King’s voice rang out, startling Pike.
“Your Grace,” Pike stated, bowing his head, “what affliction is this? Is it the fever?”
“I suspected that until I heard your kin’s words,” the King replied, walking close to Holland and watching his struggle. “The merman that brought Holland in has told the tale of his injuries, and it seems he is not the only one afflicted.”
“A sickness?” Pike asked, moving back.
“No, unless bad judgment is a sickness,” the King gruffed. “You see, we put our faith in a young girl, his former love, who was also a necromancer. We sent her to spy on Osiris, but it seems she has betrayed all of us, even the dim-witted Osiris who does not yet know. Her necromancer brother is not dead, and the two, coming from the islands just off the west realms, have bigger ideas of war than Osiris. This lad, though not innocent in the atrocities of war, was led away by love. The mermaid who witnessed his demise happened to see them on the beach and watched Malaya plunge a knife into his belly. Once they were gone, Holland fell into the surf, and the merman brought him back, not even sure if he was still alive.”
“But what does any of that have to do with a fever? Shouldn’t the saltwater have cleansed his wound?” Pike asked, still confused.
“Malaya is a necromancer, and that dagger was cursed,” the King replied. “He is fighting a deep, dark magic, one that only the fae can break.”
The sound of footsteps drew the King and Pike’s attention toward the doorway. Aralea emerged from the dark corridor, holding her head in her hands. The torch held by the guard behind her blew wildly from the moving air.
“Leonetta knows,” Aralea sputtered. “She is moving toward us as we speak. I can see her.”
“She better hurry,” the King replied, turning toward Holland. “He may not make it through the night.”
Deep in Holland’s mind, as his body thrashed uncontrollably, visions pushed in and out of his sight. His visions traveled as if he were flying as his dragon along the wavy fields of the East Realm. Soaring high above the bustling cities and villages, and to the most North West corner of the land, his wings clapped through the crisp air. Here the tracks hit the jagged and unforgiving active volcano, Paroxysm. It's high peaks and flowing lava fields made the area uninhabitable for most, but on this night, the dead walked the grounds, untouched by the scorching liquid flowing through the valley. Rising high into the sky above the clouds sat the Pero Peaks, a place even shifters dared not enter. While the base of the volcanic hills was so hot it can melt the skin off the bone, the peaks were weather-worn and frosted. Anything living at Pero Peaks stayed midway up the mountain where the air was stagnant, but breathable.
Lightning struck all around Holland, and a strange, strangling feeling filled his chest and throat. His vision shot toward the center cliffs of Pero Peaks where a tall, shadowy figure stood, his body translucent, the upper part of his face covered with a thorny, twisted mask, and tattered, black cloth flapped from his skeleton-like body. His eyes glowed red, matching the flowing lava beneath him. He reached to his side and grabbed on to Malaya who stood strong and proud next to him, a small, black crown perched atop her dark hair. He leaned in and kissed her vigorously, and as his lips pressed hard against hers, her eyes shot open and stared directly into Holland, sending a sharp, burning sensation into the pit of his belly.
Pike and the King jumped back, standing high in front of Aralea as Holland let out a loud groan, pulling his arms free from the chains and sitting straight up in the bed. They paused for a moment, waiting to see his reaction when his eyes flew open, burning the same red as the man in his visions. Slowly, he opened his mouth, the sound of a waning breath expelling before words flowed from his unmoving lips.
“Tae Tantrumus, Betalillian Exumus Shanto,” the voice from within Holland expelled.
As soon as the words were done, Holland’s eyes slammed shut and his body fell backward onto the table, and he moved no longer. Pike let his arms down and stepped toward Holland, strapping the leather cuffs back around his wrists. He turned to the King with confusion and fear but did not ask a word. The King was frozen, his eyes filled with fear, his hand clasped tightly around his staff.
“Your Grace,” Pike shouted, “are you okay?”
“He’s back,” the King whispered, the light from the torch in the hall casting ominous shadows across his face. “It has begun.”
Chapter Six: Deep Curses
Osharus’ heavy white robes flapped behind him as he raced through the dim castle halls. He breathed heavily as his legs carried him faster and faster toward the doors. Aralea trailed behind him, attempting to keep up, yelling out to him in confusion.
“Father, wait!” Aralea bellowed, reaching the balcony railing and stopping as fatigue overwhelmed her parturient body.
The King did not slow when the cold air of the night hit him in the face, and instead, continued quickly down the long, spiraling staircase toward the port. The waves crashed against the docked boats, and in the light of the waning moon, the white caps of the sea could be seen, violently swaying with Osharus’ mood. His sandaled feet hit the smooth wood of the pier, and he raced toward the edge, repeating an incantation as he stepped forward. When he reached the edge, he dove outward, his legs wrapped in a mystic blue light, transforming into the tail of a mermaid.
Deep into the depths of Fortune the King plunged, flapping his tail wildly and expelling the robes from his shoulders. The end of his staff was lit brightly to show him the path to the castle, and he moved with the currents through the empty pathways of the city beyond the kingdom’s gates. The guards opened the tall, golden conduit as soon as Osharus’ light was spotted, and he kept pace into the courtyard where he slowed to a stop in front of the mermaid army Commander, Tristan. Tristan’s face was full of confusion at the human King’s sudden arrival, and he waited while Osharus caught his breath.
“Wake King Ebin,” the King spoke telepathically. “It is of dire emergency.”
“I am already awake.” The young human Commander’s words echoed throughout the waves of Fortune. “He has returned,” Ebin responded as he appeared in the doorway of his castle, clasping his trident.
The three moved inside silently, Osharus nodding at Ebin with relief that he was no l
onger alone in this disaster. They entered the Council Room and shut the doors behind them. King Ebin swam silently, stroking his beard and running the events through his mind. Osharus stared at the vibrantly colored glass on the walls that reflected the color of his glowing staff.
“How can this be?” Ebin bellowed. “He was gone. The fae King himself took him to the depths of hell and left him with the gods.”
“I don’t know,” Osharus replied. “But I did not see it coming.”
“How could you trust a necromancer?” Ebin’s voice shouted into Osharus’ mind as he swam angrily toward him. “And now you have drug my son into it.”
“You know…” Osharus replied looking surprised.
“Of course, I know,” Ebin gruffed. “He is my son.”
“I’m sorry,” Tristan swam forward and hovered between the two Kings. “I don’t know what you are talking about. Who is this man you are speaking of? And what were those words we all heard?”
“He is no man,” Osharus stated, swimming in the other direction. “He is pure evil.”
“Long ago, before all of the east realms had been formed, necromancers were everywhere. They were tyrants and felt they held the key to the future. The Great Battle was won but not easily. At the head of the necromancer army was a creature called Ghede, the King of the Dead, created from the ashes of Pero Peaks. He was neither alive nor dead; he was dark magic,” Ebin explained. “His powers exceeded those of every creature in the land, and it took all of us together to defeat him. We stripped him of his powers and damned him to the depths of hell, forever contained with the gods.”
“Holland’s words came from the language of the dead,” Osharus continued where Ebin left off. “They mean, ‘I am back. Forever be the damned.’”
Osharus and Tristan looked over at Ebin as his eyes went dark, and he raised his hand toward them.
“The fae have arrived,” the mermaid King spoke.
Back in the castle at the ports, Aralea moved swiftly down the stairs and toward the courtyard where King Tyriad was landing. He stretched his vast wings outward and stood tall and royal in the night. Leonetta climbed down from his back and stepped forward, removing the robe and revealing herself from underneath the magic. Aralea smiled and moved forward, holding her arms out in greetings. The two princesses embraced before Aralea turned to Tyriad, having shifted back to human form, and bowed sincerely.
“Your Grace,” Aralea greeted the King, “we are most relieved to have you here.”
“Thank you,” Tyriad replied, still uncomfortable with people bowing to him. “Though Leonetta has her own fire to attend. I need to speak with your father.”
“Of course, he is in the ocean with King Ebin, but I am sure will be back shortly. I can show you to the Council Room on our way to the dungeon,” Aralea replied.
“The dungeon?” Leonetta snapped. “Why is Holland in the dungeon?”
“Your Grace,” Aralea said softly, “though you know his heart, he is still an enemy of our world and possessed by the ominous King of the Dead. We needed to take precaution.”
“Of course,” Leonetta replied, realizing her harsh tone. “Forgive me.”
Aralea led the fae royals through the halls of the castle, now lit from the dawn. She stopped momentarily to show Tyriad into the Council Room and then moved in front of Leonetta, down the dark staircase, and into the dungeon. Pike stood watch outside of Holland’s room as he lay sleeping. He bowed to Leonetta as she approached, and the two moved to the side to allow Leonetta her space within the corridor. Before entering, Aralea grabbed Leonetta’s arm.
“Who is this Ghede?” Aralea whispered.
“Your father is on his way back. He will explain it better. Just know, with Ghede here, Osiris is a threat of the past,” Leonetta replied before walking into the room where Holland lay.
Leonetta moved quietly and carefully toward Holland’s body, sensing the life light inside him growing dim. She pulled back the blankets and looked over his wounds. Once assessed, Leonetta began to rub her hands together, a white smoke billowing from her palms. She pressed her hands to Holland’s wounds and watched as his face twitched and sweat poured from his forehead. Light raced up his body and worked feverishly to heal each cut, each bruise, and each injured part of Holland’s body. As the light grew brighter, Leonetta closed her eyes and hummed a song that she and Holland had once danced to in the gardens outside of Avalon. As the deep hole where a dagger once sat closed and a dark liquid poured from the wounds, the light moved back into Leonetta’s palms, and the room became dim once again.
She rotated her shoulders, feeling the strength she had when she arrived leave her quickly. The curse was strong, but Leonetta knew it was crafted by Malaya and not Ghede as she was easily able to remove it from his body. Though Leonetta had grown exponentially stronger since arriving in the Vale a mark before, she was not yet robust enough to tackle something created from the dark magic of the dead. Malaya, having used an amulet created by Osharus, however, left a high mark, but not too strong for a fae.
Leonetta watched as the sweat dried on Holland’s face and the color returned to his cheeks. She leaned close to his ear and whispered an incantation. As she stood back up, Holland’s eyes began to open, and his muscles relaxed at the sight of Leonetta standing over him. He laid quiet for a moment, running the confused and twisted memories around, trying to make sense of what happened. He lifted his arm but realized he was chained to the bed. But without the strength to argue, he pressed his hand back down on the mat beneath him. He looked up at the ceiling and over at the table of medical tools against the wall, realizing he was not in the Vale as he had first thought. His eyes turned back to the pale, beautiful face of Leonetta, and he sighed in relief.
“My truth, you are here,” he whispered.
“Shhh,” Leonetta shushed, no expression crossing her face. “Rest. We will talk soon.”
With that, she pursed her lips and blew gently on his face, lulling him quickly into a dreamless sleep. She watched carefully as his chest rose and fell, not an ounce of sickness flowing through him. Leonetta brushed her hand against the warm skin on his arm and turned, pulling tears back into her burning eyes and taking a deep breath. Though he had been through much, his direct defiance against their love was still very real in her chest, and she fought herself to remember the dying face of her father.
As Leonetta exited the room, pulling the door shut behind her, Pike and Aralea stepped forward and waited for her instruction. She looked around the damp hall, remembering the dripping ceilings and the pungent odor of the dungeons beneath the castle of Avalon where she would sneak down to speak to Ardontis. The thought sent chills through her chest, and she shuddered.
“He should be watched, but he will be out for quite a while,” Leonetta directed to Pike. “He will be unable to shift to his dragon until I lift the enchantment.”
“Yes, Your Grace, I will have a watch stationed at all times,” Pike responded. “We will bring food to him when you order it so.”
“Do you have a chamber I may attend to myself in?” Leonetta asks Aralea. “It was a long journey, and I wish to bathe before meeting with your father.”
“Of course,” Aralea responded, turning to the hallway, “I will take you there now.”
The two walked through the dark halls and up into the castle. They ambled along the cobblestone walkways and into the bright hallways where the chambers were situated. Leonetta was quiet but calm and turned to look at Aralea as she stopped for a moment, pressing her hand against her forehead.
“My apologies. I haven’t eaten in quite a while,” Aralea apologized, slightly embarrassed.
“How is that beautiful baby supposed to grow without food?” Leonetta smiled as she spoke. “Don’t worry, I won’t reveal your secret.”
Leonetta took Aralea’s hand and faced her, smiling. She waved her palm over her face, bringing color back to Aralea’s cheeks. They both smiled as Aralea stood taller, feeling much better.
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“That won’t last forever. You need to eat once I am in my chambers. The servants will see to me just fine, I’m sure,” Leonetta explained to Aralea.
“I will have them bring you some breakfast,” Aralea stated gratefully as she stood to the side of the door leading to the guest chambers. “Thank you for coming.”
“Go and rest,” Leonetta soothed. “We will speak soon.”
Leonetta watched as Aralea disappeared around the corner before shutting the door to her room. She walked over and stood by the window overlooking the sea as the servants prepared a lavender and rose bath before excusing themselves. Once alone, she disrobed and sunk deep into the hot, fragrant water. Her shoulders ached from the magic she just performed, and she leaned her head back, allowing the magic inside of her to heal her waning strength. The smell of herbs and flowers reminded her of the many baths she took in her room in Avalon, the warm breeze floating through the windows and Holland in the courtyard, training with the shifters. It was a time of comfort and youth, and Leonetta found herself yearning for simpler times.
However, before she could sink too far in her daydreams, the sound of clashing thunder echoed outside, and she opened her eyes to the reality of where she was. She could sense King Osharus returning from his meeting with the mer-king, and she knew it was only a matter of time before these subtle moves of magic turned to great moves of survival. She lifted herself from the tub, dried herself off, and drifted magic over her body, creating a clean, fresh dress and jewel-encrusted stones across her bare feet. Though her thoughts continuously drifted to Holland sleeping soundly beneath her, the King was anxious, and his emotions ran fluidly through the castle, infecting Leonetta’s spirit and preparing her for war.
War of the Realms Box Set Page 29