39. Weathered Grimoire
Weathered Grimoire
KAEL
Booted feet drumming against the deck, all eight of us moved toward Caspian’s quarters.
As we followed Syoran in the comfortable silence, I studied him. Watching as he spun the infamous key between his fingers—the very thing that would open a piece of Caspian he likely didn’t long for any of us to see—I remained mindful of the hesitance his dark irises wore during our discussion.
Sure, the stand-in captain of the Bloodmarked wore an expression of acceptance when discussing it with the group, but there were a few things I had learned during my time around him.
The first was that he was faithful to those he held dear, and the second was that Caspian was at the top of that list.
And it wasn’t like I could blame him for valuing his best friend to that extreme. Not when, in the brief time I had known the captain, I found a unique sense of comfort in him.
Eyes trained on the breadth of Syoran’s shoulders, I couldn’t help but let my gaze wander. From his silken strands to his tapered waist, it was impossible to deny his beauty. His attractiveness was unique, a masculinity highlighted by feminine edges that would be criminal not to admire.
His words came suddenly, as if he were capable of sensing my stare. “My only ask is that his chambers are respected. Caspian is a very private man, and—”
The shift in the air became palpable right before he finished, a harrowing sense of an unplanned arrival brushing over my subconscious. As if no one else was aware of it, I freed the dagger I’d started to wear from my waist and, with one quick flip, angled it at the throat of our unexpected guest.
Familiar honeydew irises greeted me. Skin blemishless, the roundness of her face ignited a slew of memories of our last encounter. The strawberry blonde curls that fell over her shoulders solidified her presence, or rather complicated it.
“What the fuck?” I hissed, my brows narrowing to cloud my stare. “Again?”
“Again?” Alastair and Leilani questioned simultaneously, their hands closing around the pommels of their swords.
Nostrils flaring, the captain of the Scarlet Tempest peered at each of us in search of an answer. “Anyone care to fucking explain what the hell is going on?”
“I will,” Lorelie hummed. “So long as the soon-to-be King of Wraelira puts his weapon down.”
Thoughts twisting with both knowing and confusion, I hesitated for a breath before pulling away from her. “Fine. Just know I will not be as patient as before, especially considering you’re in our territory now.”
Rohen’s lips curled in satisfaction, my utterance earning a dip of her chin before she pinned Lorelie with her emerald scrutiny.
“While you showcased pieces of yourself to us before our venture into the archive, there remain inconsistencies with your story.” Craning her head to the side, Rohen only grinned deeper.
“With us no longer on land, everything is free rein, including punishment for spewing bullshit.”
“I do not intend to. As I told the others,” Lorelie looked from me to Syoran and Sapphira, “your mother has entrusted me to protect you.”
The Daughter of the Goddess of the Sea parted her lips in reply, but it was Alastair who stole the limelight. “Speak.”
“My first interaction with the former prince, alongside your former best friend, entailed nothing more than a hint that I am not from here.” Matching his fire, Lorelie continued, “I am from a continent beyond the veil called Narvendor, a realm that has been polluted to the extremes Wraelira will see if the prophecy is not fulfilled.
The Divari that once ruled our lands have been butchered in a war spun by the Others, or, as our people know them, the Dreadborne.
“I, alongside a handful more Fae and Shifters, elected to visit your realm to serve as a warning. In doing so, the gods my people have come to know—your gods’ other halves—intercepted us.
The nuances of double-sided fate were explained.
” Her throat bobbed as she met Rohen’s stare.
“There is no future for any of us if the lot of you cannot deconstruct the veil Sorva put in place upon our arrival to Wraelira. The dystopia that is Narvendor will become your reality, and with it, both continents will fall.”
“She’s right,” Ignis chimed in, his all-white eyes finding the woman who had arrived unannounced.
“The intricacies of what was woven when the gods fell solidify the collapse of both societies. Our only hope for the realms outlasting the maliciousness that blankets them lies with the Divari, both here and on Narvendor, because, like your parents,” he gestured between Rohen and Alastair, “you too have counterparts that developed as a divide amongst the Damned.”
“Your divinity,” Lorelie said without missing a beat, “requires protection, which is why creatures like myself and Ignis, as well as Parran, are here. Our introduction to your gods prompted conversations, which led to an agreement to offer guidance and influence to their respective Child. That is why we crossed paths, as if out of nowhere. It is why I was there in that forest,” she finished, glancing at Sapphira.
Alastair pivoted, his attention settling on Parran. “Is that true?”
The periwinkle Fae nodded once.
“Okay…” I practically whispered. “Since we are airing things out, do you care to enlighten us on what you are?”
Smiling, Lorelie dipped her chin. “I can offer you all I am able with the current binds in place, and that is that I am a Shifter. One Rohen knows well.”
All our heads spun toward the auburn-haired woman, whose glare intensified. “What? I don’t fucking know what she’s talking…” Words fading, she paused hesitantly before her eyes widened. “Wait. The serpent.”
“Not the term I prefer,” Lorelie laughed, “but you may be on to something, Levitte.”
“The fucking leviathan that dropped you off on the docks as if you were royalty?” Leilani inhaled, her touch moving from her weapon as her hand returned to her side. “Well, I suppose things are beginning to make sense.”
Unconvinced, or rather too convinced, her counterpart prompted, “If that’s the case, then perhaps you can save us the headache of having to hunt for the sacred texts in Caspian’s office and instead enlighten us on the steps of summoning all five gods once we have all five artifacts.”
“Did you inform them of where they were?” Lorelie asked, but her query wasn’t pointed at the male who spoke to her, but at Ignis.
“Yes, I did.”
Nipping her bottom lip, she turned back to Alastair. “I fear that is all we can offer you. Sorva’s hold prevents most of us from speaking on all things, and I fear further details beyond mere location are forbidden. But…”
“But what?” we all asked, Ignis and Parran included.
“There is one more thing I can offer you.”
“Which is?” Rohen pressed, her agitation more than evident.
“While you still have to go through the texts and hunt through Caspian’s quarters, there is one of you here that will—as soon as your touch grazes the applicable material—know you’ve found it.”
“It’s not here.”
Peering up from where I knelt, Alastair ran a hand through his hair. Chest rising and falling with rapid breaths, he planted his other palm on Caspian’s desk as a means to stabilize himself.
“We’ve checked every godsdamned crevice, and it’s not here.”
Syoran blew out a breath from my left as he sifted through yet another journal, his eyes sweeping over the text as if he could read it as fast as he flipped the pages. “It has to be here though. Isn’t that what Jaskor said?”
“Yeah, but we’ve cleared his shelves, Kao! Every drawer, every inch of his desk, every corner of this fucking room!”
“Alastair!” I shouted, the syllables in his name carrying a newfound intensity. “Calm the hell down or get the fuck out. Pick your poison.”
His golden stare flared. His irises pulsed in partial surprise at my sternness, but the remnant of his emotions teetered on the line of concern.
While it was an expression he rarely wore, I knew it all too well—a man desperate for answers when grave risk presented itself.
A man who had recognized his faults and misconceptions, fearing it was too late to salvage what once was.
Rubbing his eyes with his thumb and forefinger, he exhaled heavily. “I’m sorry, I’m just…”
“Concerned?” Syoran asked, though the usual sarcasm he wielded was no longer present.
“We all are. Hell, it’s part of the reason we kicked Rohen out of this space.
The time we are running on is borrowed, and with everything Lorelie brought to the table, it is clear that seconds cannot be wasted.
But if there is one thing I have come to acknowledge through all of this, it’s that the gods who are pushing us toward this prophecy do not lie.
If Jaskor stated that there are sacred texts here, then… ”
His utterance faded as I shifted from my position. Pushing myself upright, I wandered back over to the multiple bookshelves that Caspian had piled countless pieces of literature on. My fingers brushed mindlessly over the wood, thoughts spiraling to the potential “what-ifs” of all that awaited us.
A war was undoubtedly on the horizon, and with Sorva’s influence creeping in, as well as Caspian’s slipping health, we were all reaching our wits’ end.
It was clear all five Divari were needed to ensure the summoning, and with one of the main aspects to that requirement being out of commission, I couldn’t help but question the malevolent entity’s intentions.
Did she desire Caspian Vayne solely because it granted her the ability to control Elaros?
Or was it because, like the ancient text only available in the libraries in the palace warned, Elaros posed a threat far graver than he was often credited for?
With my thoughts wandering, I hadn’t realized I’d stepped around the side of the shelf furthest from the door until I brushed over a gap between its back and the wall that seemed far too intentional.
Similarly to the archives, and unable to help myself, I reached behind it.
Something akin to worn paper caressed my skin, but before I could call out to Alastair or Syoran, a vision collided with me with enough force to draw the air from my lungs.
An ensemble of colors welcomed me in the shape of an iris, beaming with a radiance that was otherworldly. The eye blinked once before stepping back to reveal a second, but the face bearing them remained shrouded in darkness.
A soft smile upturned the unseen individual’s lips, their words coming with a care that rang higher than any I had ever witnessed—near-familial. “I know you’re frightened, but with how things are going here, there will be nothing left by the time you reach your early twenties.”
“But…” a voice replied.
My voice.
“But nothing. You are aware of what awaits us and that the fates have spun to oppose us. Our gods are no more, and our empire has shriveled into a bottomless, starving pit. Greed is growing amongst our streets, the king is becoming more adamant—our father is becoming more adamant.” They knelt down in front of me, warm hands wrapping around my arms. “When you get to the docks, you listen to everything they have to tell you, and you get the hell out of Narvendor, Kael. Do you understand me?”
“That means leaving you here, and I refuse!”
Lips once curled, then shifted to something melancholy. “I know, and as much as I wish I could come, I cannot.”
“Why?!”
“Because I am staying here to protect you. The Dreadborne have already robbed us of the man we grew up to know as our paternal figure, and it is likely they will take me next, as I am the heir.” Shaking their head, they sighed.
“This is not goodbye, Kaelivan; it is a see you again. I will find you. I promise. But if you happen to find me first, and I cannot remember who you are… If I have become anything like him, then I need you to kill me.”
“Kill you?! Have you lost your mind, brother? There is no blade I could wield that would come close to your flesh.”
“I have taught you well,” he said softly, running his fingers through my hair and bringing my forehead to meet his. “Take all you know and the abilities you inherited from Mother, and use them. Be well, Kaelivan, and never stop fighting.”
“Kael!” The heightened pitch of my name ripped me from wherever I wandered as hands, warm yet different than those I had felt in my trance, grabbed my shoulders.
Blinking twice, I forced my heartbeat to level before looking up to meet Syoran’s terror-laden eyes. Brows pulled together in trepidation, his palms moved to my face, cupping it with a gentleness many didn’t credit him for having.
“What the fuck happened?” Alastair questioned, dropping to a knee…
A knee.
Had I fallen?
“T-There’s… something behind the bookshelf,” I panted as I struggled to catch my breath. “W-When I touched it… I-I saw…”
How the fuck am I going to explain that?
Glancing between Syoran and me, Alastair pushed himself upright. He wasted no time, fingers looping around the edge of the shelf before he tugged it forward. With not a single book nested on it, its frame moved easily and, as soon as it did, something met the ground with a small thud.
“What the fuck was that?” Syoran barked, though his attention remained wholly on me.
“I’ll be damned, Kael.” Alastair stepped back into view, a weathered grimoire in his hand. “It seems you were the one Lorelie was talking about.”