Destiny or Defeat (The Last Descendants #1)

1. The Past Haunts Us All

The Past Haunts Us All

Aradia

The air was stifling. Ash rained down in thick obsidian clouds, choking Aradia’s every breath as she stumbled over another blank-eyed body.

The horrific scream which had surely been made was still etched in the innocent boy’s face.

Familiar hands gripped under her arms, steadying her weak knees.

The broken strap of her sandal flapped around her ankle, tripping her once again.

She looked out over the carnage of her once beautiful village.

Houses cracked and crumbled before her. Soot coated the ground like a blanket, mixing with the blood of her people.

Harsh wind scratched against her tearstained eyes.

Shouts of fear and chaos filled her ears.

Fires burned, torching and destroying everything in its path, much like the soldiers advancing through the crumbling town, hunting her mother, and searching for her.

Aradia was dragged up stone stairs, and through the hazy corridors of what was once a peaceful and sacred temple, heedless to the burning sensation of her scraped knees. Her mind cleared as she met her mother’s frightened eyes.

“Quick, quick, quick!” Her mother’s voice shook with urgency. “Through here.”

Aradia shook her head. “Not without you.” She clung to her mother’s hand, afraid that at any moment she would slip from her hold and burn with the rest of Shadowood.

Loud commands were heard too close behind them.

Her mother pushed against the wall, searching for a secret lever. “I’ll be right behind you.”

Cold, damp air filled the hallway as a trap door opened. The salty sea reached Aradia’s nose even from where she stood. Dread pulled at the bottom of her stomach.

“Promise me?” Aradia knew her cracked voice betrayed her.

Her mother nodded as she cast a glance behind her. A tear trickled down her face, forming streaks through the soot and blood which peppered her skin. She squeezed Aradia’s shoulders, shaking her lightly.

“Listen to me closely, Lumin?. You cannot tell anyone who you are. People will always fear what you are capable of and what you will bring about. Never trust and never forget.”

A loud explosion echoed behind them followed by heavy footsteps. The yellow glow of torches danced against the walls as their enemies grew closer.

Aradia shook from holding in her sobs. “Mother, please,” she begged. “Come with me.”

“Galanith sperium tunasu – and so we rise.” Her mother pulled her into a tight embrace, lasting mere seconds, before she shoved Aradia behind the trap door.

No, no, no, no!

Aradia’s fists pounded against the soundproof door in vain.

A small peephole was carved into the corner and she glared through it, numb to the pain of her face against the cool, jagged stone.

She watched her mother draw a sword too big for her magi hands.

Hope bloomed in Aradia’s chest as her mother struck down two men.

It quickly withered when soldiers swarmed her like bees to honey.

Their swords were their stingers, quick and painful, slashing and cutting into her flesh, and forcing her to her knees.

Aradia tasted blood as she covered her mouth and bit her tongue to keep from screaming.

“Eslanda Damali.” The King of Arkan stepped forward. “What an honor.”

Aradia watched in horror as her mother faced him with steel determination.

Eslanda spat on his boot with a bloody grin. “To the depths with you.”

A low chuckle rose from the group of soldiers. The mockery curdled any remaining food Arada had in her stomach, souring it until she thought she might vomit on the pebbles at her feet.

The King sneered down at her mother. “I’ve already been there.” He twisted bloodstained hands around her mother’s long, black braid. “We’ll find your little one as well, but send my regards to Moliath!”

Her mother’s tears streamed down her face as her head was yanked back. In a blink, she choked on steel as the King drove a ruby-hilted dagger through the front of her neck.

Aradia’s heart shattered into a million jagged pieces, slicing her insides until she thought she would pass out from the pain. She tried to call magic to her fingertips, but somewhere – deep inside her soul— it winked out, silenced by her mother’s sacrifice.

Blood dripped from the King’s blade and oozed upon the stone floor. Her mother’s fading gaze slowly found hers through the crack. She mouthed her last word.

Run.

Aradia woke with a jerk. The scent of smoke still clung to her nose as burning houses and people vanished like a mist. The nightmares always ended the same way.

Death by the monster with the ruby-hilted sword.

She squeezed her eyes shut but the pain of the past haunted her memories, reminding her of her failures and fears.

Behind the Kingdom of Gail’s white walls, she was a normal girl trying to make it on her own.

No one would dream of looking for the last priestess of Qualan tucked away in the bustling lower city of hardworking refugees and snow-peaked mountains.

Her days consisted of wiping down tables at the Lazy Lunar, devouring any news of the ongoing war, and battling the truth of having the power to stop it all —or make it worse.

A small knock at the door sounded through the room.

“Aradia,” Quinn called from outside her front door. “You better be awake.”

Quinn Fairchild. Since arriving in Gail, he had been a part of her life.

The Fairchilds lived a few streets down and were possibly the most diligent family of the lower city.

His parents worked half a lifetime to install Quinn in the castle as a war scribe.

His life now consisted of court intrigue and politics.

She was not the typical type of girl Quinn’s mother wanted him to be around.

She could offer nothing to increase their social climb.

She was an orphan and nowhere near the perfect porcelain dolls Quinn’s family expected him to spend what little extra time he had with and, eventually, marry.

Aradia was content with the knowledge since she had sworn off marriage long ago.

When she wasn’t working or with Quinn, she spent the majority of her time underneath mountains of scrolls and books within the towers, searching for answers on her lineage.

“Aradia.” He gave a huff of impatience and rattled the door.

“I’m coming.” She hauled herself out of bed with a small groan.

Her muscles ached as she stretched. Last night’s tavern duties had been busier than usual with the influx of foreign refugees from the southern realms.

“Still sleeping?” Quinn laughed.

She could picture him carelessly leaning against the doorframe.

An easygoing smile always seemed to be painted across his amber face.

Straight brown hair pushed back; every piece trained to stay in place.

Complete perfection. Her bare feet chilled against the floor as she made her way to the door.

She wrapped a shawl across her shoulders.

The comforting scent of lilies floated around her like a warm embrace.

The door creaked under the pressure of the lock as she pushed it open. Frost air brushed against her face, and she inhaled deeply with a small shiver. Quinn’s smile warmed her to her toes, and she tipped her head up to him.

“Well, well, well, look what the wind blew out of the high city.” She yawned.

Quinn’s smile grew at her teasing remark. She always referred to the upper city as the high city because the people there were so high up in their own skirts, they had no time for anyone else.

“Let’s not pretend like seeing me isn’t your favorite part of the day.”

She rolled her eyes and shuffled toward the hearth and stoked the burning embers. “Come on, you’re letting the cold air in.”

In four long strides he settled into the small kitchen and picked at the fresh apples in the basket.

After choosing the perfect one, he sat down and bit into it, humming contently.

Aradia swallowed the emotions rising as she watched her oldest friend.

He was comfortable here —with her. Away from his mother’s grasp at riches beyond their station and his father’s constant political talks, Quinn could be himself.

“Just give me one moment. I’ll be ready in a bit.”

“Good, I shouldn’t have let you talk me into going past the walls anyways,” he grumbled between each bite.

Aradia chuckled under her breath and walked to her room. Her home was a single story, with one bedroom. It was furnished with a dresser and a square mirror near the window. The bathroom consisted of a tub in the corner with a sink, and a toilet.

The only thing primarily for joy and relaxation was the small bookshelf Quinn had gifted her.

He was never adamant about many things, but the bookshelf was different.

Even against her complaints on how expensive it was and how she would never be able to pay him back, Quinn had put his foot down on her keeping it.

Her mother had made sure she learned the basics in numbers, herbs, and remedies but she had excelled in her history and cultures.

The very books she loved now rested on the beautiful shelf.

Stepping into the corner, she slipped into a plain lavender day dress.

The small dresser groaned as she pulled the drawers open.

She donned her thickest pair of socks and slid into her favorite knee-high boots.

A cream corset top with delicate flowers was embroidered throughout and she laced it comfortably up the front.

“You know, my mother is planning another party to try and marry me off again,” Quinn’s voice was filled with fatigue at his mother’s every attempt at matchmaking.

“I would think a young man like yourself would be happy to have your choice of any woman in the kingdom,” she teased through the thin walls.