The Onyx Vial (Shadows of The Nine Book 1) (29 page)

Harold Stratton.

The Huntsman grunted. His eyes went wide. His body spasmed, then went still. His grip around Hunter’s neck released. Hunter shoved his hands off and backed away. But his legs refused to hold his weight.

He fell back against someone. Strong arms slid under his armpits and kept him standing.

“I’ve got you,” Perry murmured in his ear.

The Huntsman stood there, still frozen, staring at Hunter with owl-eyes. Harold, face expressionless and hard as stone, stood behind him, his gloved hand on the man’s shoulder. Tehya had a tight hold on the Hunt-Horse’s reins. Tears glistened on her cheeks.

Harold let go of the Huntsman’s shoulder. Like an overturned statue, the man fell face-first to the ground, revealing the white and silver hilt of a dagger buried in his back.

Hunter exhaled in relief, choking back the horror of the scene in front of him. He didn’t even have to wonder. The Huntsman was dead.

“You killed him?” Tehya whispered, holding fast against the struggling Hunt-Horse. She stared up at Harold, her eyes wide and pale.

“Master Stratton,” Hunter greeted him, steadying himself before leaving the crutch of Perry’s support behind. He needed to show Tehya that things were alright, despite the dead body at Harold’s feet.

Harold bent, his agility belying his apparent age, and wrenched the dagger from the Huntsman’s back. “Hunter." He nodded, wiping the bloody blade on his thick black pants.

“Nice work.” Perry moved to Hunter’s side. “One down,” he said under his breath.

Hunter pointed at the dead body. “Thanks for that.”

“Pleasure,” Harold replied.

Hunter was thankful the man was on
their
team.

“You’re who we’re supposed to meet, I take it,” Perry said, with more ease than Hunter expected, considering the corpse between them.

Harold didn’t grace him with a response. Instead, he pulled a small parcel from the pocket of his coat, gripped the dagger by the blade, and held them both out to Hunter. “Get moving,” he said.

Hunter froze. He stared at the hilt, sensing a strange pull toward it, despite it being a deadly etâmic weapon that he wanted quite badly not to have to touch. He wondered whether he’d made the right choice.

A light breeze rolled over them, bringing the salty scent of seawater and the sounds of a waking city. A city that held no answers to finding his parents. A city that was nothing more now than a dead end.

He grabbed the hilt. The cold wind lifted, cutting into his eyes and drawing fresh tears. Harold released the blade. Hunter took it, wiped his sleeve across his face and blinked his eyes dry. Then he pocketed the dummy parcel, taking care with it so the others would assume it was what Harold had meant to give him.

Harold fished in his pockets and pulled out a black leather belt with a sheath attached. “Secure this on your hip,” he said.  

Hunter slid the blade into the sheath, snapping a small strap over the hilt so it wouldn’t slip out. He wrapped the leather belt around his hips and buckled it tight. The weight of the dagger felt right, somehow, against his leg.

When he looked up again, Harold’s eyes were on Perry.

“Muscles,” he said, “You’ll come with me.”

Hunter couldn’t help but laugh at the nickname.

“Girl.” Harold looked at Tehya.

She inched closer to the Hunt-Horse, using it as a shield, and eyed him wearily.

“Reins.” He thrust his hand at her, impatient.

Tehya shoved the reins at him and backed up quickly, as if she were feeding a lion.

“Go with Hunter,” Harold ordered.

Tehya darted to Hunter’s side.

Harold gestured to the Huntsman. “Muscles, get the feet.”

Perry stared at the body, his mouth twisted in disgust. “I’m not touching him.”

“Pick. Up. The. Feet.”

“But he’s
dead
,” Perry protested.

“Stab wound’s not
contagious
,” Harold retorted. "Unless you keep talking."

“Fine,” he groaned. “
Gorse
.” He bent and grabbed the Huntsman’s feet.

Hunter felt a little guilty that Perry was stuck with Harold and the dead guy for company. But then Tehya slipped her hand into Hunter’s, and a gleefully frantic voice in his head pointed out the way her hand fit perfectly in his, and how she clung to him for safety.

Perry could handle Harold.

“Curse this godlike build of mine,” Perry muttered loudly. “No one ever makes use of my brain.”

Harold looped his arm around the Huntsman’s neck. “Not even yourself,” he growled.

They lifted the Huntsman off the ground. The man’s arms dangled, lifeless, his knuckles dragging the ground. His yellow eyes had yet to look away from Hunter.

“Wasting daylight, Hunter,” Harold noted.

Hunter nodded, suddenly itching to get away.

“This way,” Tehya said, giving Hunter’s hand a squeeze.

Hunter swallowed hard and squeezed back. The weapon was in his possession. The countdown had begun.

Chapter 24

“I—I was only a few courtyards behind her, George. I just don’t understand it.”

Ariana tried to place the name, the voice. But everything, including her memory, was shrouded in darkness.

“They’re both breathing,” came a deep, gentle voice.

The girl inhaled sharply. “He burned her.”

Something soft and warm brushed the skin of Ariana’s arms.

“This is not a familiar injury,” the man said. “It’s more bruised than burned…”

Ariana’s arms throbbed beneath the gentle touch.

“Sparks, George,” the girl exclaimed. “He’s bleeding. Look.”

The touch disappeared from Ariana’s arm.

“Puncture wounds?”

“What
happened
?” the girl wondered. “Were they attacked?”

“Please, calm down.”

Glittering gold and ruby flecks sifted out of the blackness that invaded her vision. The voice was so familiar. A tiny dragon with iridescent wings. Black glass glittering under the light of a million fireflies.

Asrea! She remembered now. And George.

George
. Why was
he
there? He was supposed to be gone, wasn’t he? Someone told her he… Bintaro. Killian.
Killian
told her George was gone. He told her right before he...

She gasped, aware of the memory of fighting for breath. Air funneled into her lungs.

“Ariana!”

She blinked—or thought she did—and light seeped into her eyes.

“Ariana. You’re alright. Calm down. Everything’s alright.” Asrea’s round face, framed by her long, dark hair, swam into focus. Those grey eyes took her in with alternating shades of worry and relief. “Right?”

She slowed her breathing and tried to nod, but every part of her felt disconnected.

George’s face appeared beside Asrea’s. He looked better than he had the last time she’d seen him, the bruise on his chin barely yellow now. He brushed a long strand of silver-streaked hair out of his eyes. “Relax. Stay still,” he said, sliding his hand under her head to support it. “Tell us what happened.”

“I—Ice…” she tried to explain, but her voice was shot. She squeezed the words out in a crackling whisper. “He… burned. I… stabbed… with ice.”

George tensed. “At the same time?”

“I th—think so.”

Asrea looked at George in alarm. “What is it?”

“You must have created a circuit,” George said, lifting Ariana’s head, sliding his other hand under her back and guiding her slowly into a sitting position. 

The room spun. Ariana pinched her eyelids closed until it passed. “A circuit?” she asked, when her equilibrium finally reset.

She leveled an uneasy gaze on Killian, crumpled across from her on the floor, his back against a splintered white cupboard, his chin on his chest, blood congealing on his forearms.

“You used your abilities on each other,” George said. It may have been a question.

“He attacked me,” she whispered, feeling tension in her forehead as she pushed the words past her throat.

“I can't believe this,” Asrea said.

“Sometimes, when fire and water mix, the reaction is not as peaceful as dousing flames,” George explained.

Asrea shook her head. “No. I understand how the combination works.” She waved it off. “Mix the right amount and you get an electric pulse.”

Electric pulse? So, that's what he meant by a circuit… and electrocuted each other? Lawks. No wonder she felt so awful.

“What I mean is, I can't believe I was right about Ariana.” She looked at her. "You're Tieren."

George studied Ariana so intensely she could feel the weight of his gaze before she turned to meet it. “Is this true?”

What was the point in keeping it hidden now? “Tierenmar.”

A look of utter disappointment washed over George’s face. Ariana pulled away from him.

“Why didn’t you tell anyone that?” he asked fiercely.

Killian groaned and shifted, but didn’t open his eyes.

Ariana’s brows stitched together, adding to her growing headache. “It isn't something I'm taught to freely share." Her voice cracked.

The weight of George’s sigh was resounding. “Snipe me,” he muttered. “Gorse.”

Uneasiness rose like bile in Ariana’s throat. “I’m. I—I don’t…”

George curled his thick hand into a fist and pressed it to his forehead. “We could’ve used
you
,” he said to himself. “Lawks. We could’ve…”

“Used her for what?” Asrea cut in.

George dropped his hand to his side. “To carry something through Ionia.”

“The Onyx Vial?” The words were out of Ariana’s mouth before she could stop them.

A flash of surprise crossed George’s face. Asrea sucked in a breath.

“How…? Yes,” George admitted.

So a Tieren
could
survive holding it.

“I
knew
it. I knew you found it,” Asrea whispered triumphantly.

George flashed her a stern glare.

She clamped her mouth shut.

“Why carry it anywhere?” Ariana asked him.

“Because it is volatile and will wipe out a city like a plague. There’s only one place left in the Nine where it can be kept
safely
until we find a way to destroy it.”

Ariana swallowed. “In Ionia?”

He nodded. “The mountains beneath Ruekridge.”

Her heart skipped. “You’re taking the Vial to Ruekridge?” A well of possibilities sprang to life inside her mind. “And
I
could get it there?”

“Yes. You… Some other Tieren…”

“But I thought your mother pulled you out of Ruekridge,” Asrea said.

“She did,” Ariana replied flatly.

George shook his head. “We could’ve lobbied to have you reinstated.”

“Seriously?” she squeaked.

“We’re Shadow Elite, Princess.” 

That settled it. “I’ll do it.”

A cough came from Killian’s direction. He opened his eyes. “Too late,” he grumbled, his voice as shaky as Ariana’s.

She glared at him. “No, it’s not.”

“He’s right,” George said, shuffling on his knees over to the boy. “The plan is already in motion."

“Just change,” Ariana suggested, irritated by Killian stealing George’s focus.

George picked up Killian’s arm and checked the wounds. “We can’t,” he said. “The Vial is going with Hunter now.”

“Hunter?” Ariana choked.

“Yes. He’s Tierendar.” 

“
Hunter
. As in,” she pointed at Killian, “his…”

“Brother,” Killian finished. “Yes.”

She’d known, in her gut, the first time she'd seen Killian, that this was true. But to hear it confirmed made her insides knot together. “No. George, you can’t let Hunter take it.”

George set Killian’s arm down and turned to face her. “Why?”

“Because he’s
the Prince's brother
.”

George’s shoulders dropped, his face sliding into a look that said, clearly, he was not impressed with her reasoning.

“Their father is
King Fyrenn
,” Ariana protested. Asrea’s hand flew to her mouth. “Don’t you understand that? They’re working together. They’re going to steal it.”

“How do you figure?” Killian put in, slowly unfolding from his crumpled position.

Ariana didn’t acknowledge him. “Those documents you found, George—they weren’t mine. They were Hunter’s.”

George stood and pulled open a drawer to his left. He took out a roll of bandage and knelt back down beside Killian, his back to Ariana and Asrea. “That means nothing, Princess.”

Ariana gaped at him, felt her blood pressure rise. “
Nothing
? It meant
prison
when
I
was carrying them.”

He stared hard at her over his shoulder. “You know that isn’t true.”

She couldn’t believe this. How deep did Killian’s deception go? “Whatever lies that…” she pointed at Killian again, “
spurge
is feeding you—” Killian stiffened, “don’t believe them. He’s not a Shadow. He’s a liar.”
And worse
. But there was no sense in scaring Asrea even more. “When I came here to tell you that, he
attacked
me.” 

“Are you serious?” Killian snapped, his black-brown eyes in sharp focus. He gestured to the wreckage of furniture, dragging George’s hands and the trail of bandage with it. “You pushed me into the table.”

She colored. “You threatened me.”

“Ariana.” George faced her full on. “This is not the time to lay false accusations. Did he attack you or did he defend himself after
you
attacked him?”

Tears of frustration itched at the back of her eyes. “I defended myself,” she said, standing. “Pre-emptively.”

George tore the strip of bandage he’d wrapped around Killian’s wound and tucked the end out of sight, then started on the other arm. “Princess…”

She twitched angrily at the nickname.
“Just—” She held up her hand. “Don’t send Hunter the Vial. Please. Let me take it.”

George shook his head. “Ariana, I’m sorry. The Vial is already in Ionia. Harold took it through the portal book and—”

“He
what
?”

He stopped wrapping the bandage and gave her his full attention. “Your portal book is fixed.”

Asrea, her hand still over her mouth, let out a soft gasp, her face lit with awe.

Ariana struggled to link words together, shock erasing the ability from her mind. She blinked at him. Blinked again. And another forty-three times in the space of a second.

“I know you wanted to go back, Princess. But you’ve been so reckless. We couldn’t risk you finding out until—”

The hair on her arms stood. She shivered, a chill from the speed in which her anger swept through her veins. This was too much. Her thrumming pulse rose in her throat, clogging it, as a frantic collection of thoughts gathered at the tip of her tongue. 

George and Asrea looked on her with varying degrees of pity. Between them, Killian stared at her, one eyebrow raised, as if she were a particularly annoying child he was forced to deal with. She couldn’t take it. She didn’t want their pity and she didn’t want Killian’s condescension. She stood.

“Princess,” George reached for her arm.

She jerked it away. “I’m nobody's princess.”

With that, she turned on her heel and ran out of the house.

She didn’t stop running until she reached the wall of the cavern and the sea of black glass shards, and then only because she’d forgotten where the path to the Spark Willow started. Once she found it, she tramped along it with seething, hyperventilating breaths—too angry to let her lungs recover from the run.

She dropped to the ground beneath the glittering tree. The glass was cool against her back, which was warm and slick with sweat. She stared into the ruby and gold canopy, her eyes unfocused, her mind drawing blanks. She was hurt and she was angry and that’s all she could reconcile in her thoughts.

Something sharp dug into her calf. She shifted her leg to rid herself of it, but it scraped her skin and refused to be ignored. For a blink, she imagined a shard of glass wedged into her skin. Then she remembered the documents, folded and tucked in her boot.

She stuffed her hand down the boot and extracted them. But the sight of them made her sick with anger. She flung them into the air, aiming for the tree branches, hoping the ember-leaves might catch them on fire. Instead, the sheets unfolded mid-flight, and separated as they fluttered back down around her.

A page landed flat on her face, an edge biting into her cheek, and handwritten Elder Script filled her vision. She plucked the page off, intending to crumple it in her fist, but caught three words and froze.

Truth. Vial. Destroyed.

She rolled onto her stomach and flattened the page to the ground, seeking the whole of that sentence. She read it closely, struggling to decipher the inconsistent penmanship.

But the truth of it is: the Onyx Vial can be destroyed.

Her boiling anger evaporated, leaving a tingling steam of excitement in its wake. The Vial could be destroyed. If these documents told her how to do it… well, she’d make sure Ruekridge was her finder’s reward.

She kept the page laid out and got up, gathering the rest as quickly as she could before sitting again. Putting them back in order was tricky, but the folds helped her get it right. She held the first page to the light.

With determined patience, Ariana dredged through the handwritten script, searching out the pattern and style of the writer, piecing the characters together until the words revealed themselves.

My dearest Edyson,

I must admit that I am not well. I do not wish to alarm you, for my affliction is nothing inherently physical. The constant changing of address, the secrets that I am forced to keep; It is all too much for my poor heart to bear. I miss you. Fervently. Often I cannot breathe for thinking of you. Were I an old woman, I surely could not survive the heartache that accompanies me each night I fall asleep alone, and wake to find the void of your presence echoed within my very soul.