Son of Ereubus (14 page)

The Ereubinians knew there were some who didn’t have wings. They had run into them on occasion and suspected their involvement anytime a human village won against them.

There was a long history of bad blood between Garren and Michael, their fight now having become a matter of personal vengeance. Their last battle had been particularly nasty, leaving Garren with a deep scar at the line of his jaw. Michael was foolish for not killing him when he had the chance. There was no honor in clemency and it had sickened him to see it in Michael’s eyes as he rose from where he had pinned Garren to the ground. Michael had left him with an idle threat, slicing Garren’s skin as he pulled the sword away: “Next time, I will not be so merciful.”

Garren could feel his adrenaline rushing as he thought of Michael. Garren would revel in Adoria’s fall and would see to it personally that Michael was kept alive long enough to see his empire destroyed. The Adorians’ involvement with the human realm was nothing more than an elaborate facade. They were only interested in power for themselves. He remembered the reactions of the few wingless men whom he’d encountered over the years and though the Adorians’ compassion appeared real enough, he wasn’t deceived. He vividly recalled an instance in particular with one of them.

The Ereubinians’ efforts to take Ruiari were hindered greatly by several men well trained in the art of combat. Garren had begun to suspect they were in fact not human at all. He rode near one of them and grabbed the first human he encountered — an adolescent girl. She had screamed and tried to free herself from him, but Garren was much stronger and held the girl without any struggle on his part. He looked over at the Adorian and brought his knife to the girl’s throat. The Adorian noticed it right away and rode closer. Garren turned toward him and pressed the knife barely into the girl’s flesh. She cried out in pain, which only provoked the Adorian even more.

“Let her go and I will lay down my arms.”

Garren laughed. “Do you take me for a fool? Tell me, being not of this realm, what significance does this girl’s life have for you?”

The Adorian threw down his sword and rode with his hands held above his head in surrender. “It’s of no consequence to you what this girl means to me. I offer my life for hers — more than a fair trade. I’ll go without resistance, I give you my word.”

“Your words are meaningless, but you may have confidence in mine. Your interference in Ruiari has cost this girl any pity I might have had for her. Perhaps this will teach you to leave matters alone that don’t concern you.” Garren lowered his knife and drove it into the girl’s side. He watched as the expression on the Adorian’s face grew cold. The Adorian tried to force Garren from his saddle by charging his horse into the Dragee. The Dragee easily resisted the charge by craning his long neck, grabbing hold of the Adorian’s horse with its wicked jaws and tossing it to the ground. The Adorian landed in a pile of broken bones and armor. Dazed, he cried out in Adorian and crawled toward the girl. Garren rode on, turning around to see the Adorian cradle the girl’s lifeless body in his arms.

Garren was still deep in thought when he came to a clearing. He turned right to go around it. He hadn’t realized how long he’d been riding. The sun had set and he was miles from where he had entered the woods. The moon shone brightly in the sky, casting a blue glow on everything in the forest. He hadn’t gone too far when the Dragee began to resist his lead. Garren pulled the beast’s head toward him with the reins and saw clear agitation. The wind blew through the trees, creating a hollow moan that echoed through the darkness. He stayed frozen, his hand resting on his sword, and within minutes he heard what the finely tuned ears of his Dragee had perceived. The earth shook with the rumbling of hooves. He jumped to the ground, pulling his sword from its scabbard. Searching his surroundings, he was shocked to find nothing. He peered into the woods but detected no movement save the slight sway of the trees against the breeze. He remained still, all of his senses fixed on discerning the source. As the sound grew closer, he leaned into his Dragee and whispered a command,
“Tradekh ealo.”
The Dragee lay on the ground and rolled onto its side. Garren crouched, laying one leg over the beast, across the saddle.

Suddenly, from the middle of the field, a group of ten Adorian riders emerged. Garren stared wordless as the men materialized out of thin air. They tore through the clearing and into the dense woods on the other side. After seeing what he assumed was the last of them come into view, he tugged at the reins. The Dragee rose to its feet and Garren slid back into his saddle.

As he raced through the woods, his eyes flared momentarily violet as he cloaked himself and the Dragee in a spell of silence. He wove through the trees until he was parallel with the closest rider and ran him through with his blade. The Dragee dipped its head and dug its teeth into the horse’s leg, pulling it to the ground.

He pulled his second sword from its sheath as he ran between two more riders. Deftly brandishing the blades, he slew both men with one fluid cross-swing. Their severed bodies fell from their horses. The Dragee recoiled then gathered momentum and leapt in front of the horses, tearing at the throat of one with its claws and sinking its teeth into the chest of the other.

The sounds of the slaughter alerted the others, who turned in their tracks. Garren slowed as he came upon them, blood still dripping from his weapons. He glared at the seven remaining riders, his Dragee emitting a guttural growl. One of the riders who had been farthest from Garren moved in front of the others to face him. Garren recognized him as Caedmon. These weren’t just Adorian riders — these were Michael’s men.

Caedmon aggressively extended his wings, casting a shadow in the moonlight. Garren slid his swords back into their sheaths as Caedmon’s horse grew restless, stirring beneath him.

Garren sighed and draped one hand over the other. “You are indebted to me; I’ve just relieved you of three of your most pitiable fighters.”

Caedmon pulled on the reins to settle his horse, then held up a hand to his men.
“Louthairo toul eralaun doe aronai.”
All but one of the men seemed to agree with his command.

“An tiroknow toul eralaun, nigh allolost,”
the second Adorian yelled. Caedmon looked at him, but before he could respond, the soldier rushed forward, unsheathing his sword as he came at Garren.

“Perhaps you would be so kind as to deliver a message for me,” Garren said, narrowing his eyes.

Without warning or any action on Garren’s part, deep slashes cut across the charging Adorian’s face. Crying out in pain, his hands flew to cover his bleeding skin, dropping the reins.

The other men were still as blood poured down the Adorian’s face. Unable to see and shuddering in anguish, he slipped from the saddle.

“Please inform Michael that I grow weary of his ineptitude and that if he intends to continue this game, he might consider not insulting me further by sending such infantile efforts.”

Garren did not wait to hear a reply as he headed for Eidolon.

C
HAPTER
E
LEVEN

D
EAD
B
Y
D
ECREE

I

t felt like a lifetime had passed since Palingard’s fall. Ariana was fairly sure it had been mere days, but it could’ve been weeks for all her tired bones knew.

She stayed mostly in her chambers, resting and healing from both her twisted ankle and wounded side. Michael checked on her frequently, joyful one moment and grievously brusque the next. As if his silence concerning all things of value to her — namely Adoria’s intentions for Middengard — weren’t enough, his tremulous moods aggravated her almost beyond bearing.

Also irritating was the adolescent chambermaid who gushed incessantly about one young Adorian or another. How quickly Ariana had forgotten what it was like to be so young and how grateful she was to be beyond it.

Avoiding Kaitlyn wasn’t easy — the girl took notice of just about anything Ariana did or said, remembering it with startling and annoying accuracy. As soon as the girl was otherwise engaged, Ariana made her way in cloaked anonymity to the outer hall. Wandering the corridors, she took the path she recalled having walked with Jenner, finally coming to the pavilion where she’d found Duncan.

Her father’s dearest friend had asked to see her on more than one occasion and she’d found herself, for once, pleased to have someone to turn guests away at her whim.

How could he? After everything, all of his stupid empty promises, the time he spent teaching me skills that he obviously learned here.

Ariana laughed indignantly, more than a little mystified at her father’s disdain for what he had told her were crutches for those unwilling to fight for their own dying world. Not only was Gabriel wrong, he was a hypocrite. Perhaps he was ashamed of her, wanting nothing of her brash, untempered gracelessness to stain his revered homeland.

She shook her head, anger welling in her gut, and walked into the open. The wind hit her face, threatening to push back her hood, so she held it close with one hand. She had begun to hate the cold but felt trapped whenever she was inside for very long.

As her brother already suspected, rumors concerning the arrival of Gabriel’s daughter had quickly spread through Cyphrus. If she didn’t know better, she’d think Michael was King and not a powerless figurehead as he claimed.

She came finally to the markets, which, unlike in Palingard, were located on long cobblestone alleys to shield them from the fierce winter. Blazing fires lit the middle of the street to warm shoppers.

She took a deep breath, enjoying the sound of life and the smells of breads and fragrant fruits that she would venture to guess did not grow in Middengard. Michael had given her a handful of gold tokens soon after she had arrived, and she had spent only a few, treasuring what was left despite Michael’s promise of providing whatever she needed.

He simply couldn’t understand. They came from different worlds. She knew nothing, save what very little Sara had shared, of court life. She didn’t know how to be anything other than the boisterous child of Palingard that she was. It saddened her a little to think that this would be her new existence and she wondered if Sara would feel at home here or just as lost as she did.

Smiling, she picked up a warm, round loaf of bread, dropping a coin into the Adorian woman’s palm. Then, surprised by a whirling gust of wind that whipped around the corner of the street, she gasped, clutching her hood too late to keep it from falling back, revealing fire-red ringlets that tumbled in long strands well past her shoulders.

There was no doubting who she was. She had been told that red hair wasn’t common in Adoria’s capital, appearing mainly in those who were related to her mother’s kin.

All talk hushed into whispers, which alone made her feel uneasy, but when they fell to their knees, her stomach lurched.

Bowing her head, she tried to will the blood that welled in her cheeks to leave them a more reasonable color than the vibrant scarlet hue they no doubt displayed. Mumbling apologies as she pushed her way past the masses, she ducked into the darkest doorstep she could find, discarding the bread as she entered.

The crude wooden sign that hung from rusted chain above the door should have warned her, but at the time, she didn’t care where she was going as long as it was away from the unwelcome attention.

Inside the establishment, the Braeden stopped their chatter. The tinkling of glass mugs being set down on tables forced a groan from her.
Please, let me just get out of here without further notice.

Duncan stood from where he sat near the front, a gentle smile gracing his usually grumpy features. He was thinking that she’d come to find him. Sighing, she didn’t have the heart to refute what his face plainly showed he believed. He was lucky she’d had a little while to cool off.

“I’d hoped you would make your way down here at some point, though I can’t say your brother will be too pleased you’re here.”

“Is that because he is supposedly my brother, or because I am a
lady
?” she asked dryly.

Before he could answer, another voice — one she hadn’t heard since she was very little — answered for him.

“Can a lady not be her brother’s ward as well? Not that any man or Adorian will ever have any hope of keeping a true eye on any female in your family.”

“Roahn,” his name fell solemnly from her lips, breaking her heart as the enormity of her sense of abandonment washed over her.

His hair was much lighter than when she’d last seen him, gray streaks blended with chestnut, the scar that ran from brow to cheekbone far less prominent and his skin much fairer now than when the harsh sun of Palingard had tanned him.

“Ariana,” he rose from his seat, his walk slow and deliberate as he made his way to her. “Were it within my ability to ask your forgiveness I would, but I know, as do we all, how deep was the love your father felt for you, how limitless, and to ask for such a thing would be to deny what I know was a decision made out of great strength. He wanted nothing but to have you here.”

“You knew of their advances on Palingard. Did you think of that endless love of his when you knew my fate and decided my life wasn’t worth saving?”

Roahn paused, restraint evident in his handsome features. His face wounded her deeper than she’d imagined it could. Lifting a hand in an angry reflex, her palm was inches from his face when he caught it and lowered their clasped hands to his chest. He held it her hand there for a moment, stilled against his heart beating in his chest.

She closed her eyes, wishing away the memories of how many times she’d been held there as a child, letting out a breath only when he pulled her to him. A steady arm held her waist while he rested his cheek on the top of her head.