40. Kyros
Chapter forty
Kyros
Hushed voices barely carry to me through the darkness, and who those voices belong to I can’t make out through the shadows. My boots thud loudly with each step I take toward them, but I don’t care to silence the reverberating sound as it interrupts the quiet announcing my approach.
“Oh, thank the divine. We need your voice of reason.” Beckett says as he turns to look at me, clearly frustrated, and that’s when I catch onto who the other voice belongs to.
He gestures to where Kellan and Rowan are hunched over a large book with yellowed pages and a barely flickering flame to read it by.
Kellan only briefly looks up to see me come to a stop at the end of the long table.
Rowan, on the other hand, stares at Beckett as though he would like to wring my younger brother's neck.
“What is it?” I ask, curious as to why it’s me he would lean on to have the voice of reason. “And why do you not have more candles lit to see in this divine-forsaken library?” I ask, looking around the shadowy space.
“We found an incantation.” Kellan says simply, not sparing another glance up at me with one finger scanning the parchment as he reads.
“If you want to call it that…” Beckett says. Still, Rowan just stares, a look of deep thought I know well from my friend. Ruaan comes sauntering out from beyond a row of bookshelves, another book held in front of his face as he reads it.
“More like part of an incantation…” He retorts, snapping the book closed and throwing it down when he reaches the table with a sigh.
“Nothing in that one?” Beckett presses, and he just shakes his head before ripping his hand through his hair and dropping into one of the empty chairs.
“And? Do you want to elaborate?” I interrupt. My muscles tense as I wait for an explanation. Although, I sense I’m not going to like whatever is going to be said next.
“What we found is specific to the Oneiros-Vagant, who have the power to portal. Apparently, portal magick and the power to project go hand in hand; without one, there would be no other.” Ruaan says, kicking his feet up on the table and leaning back with his hands propped behind his head.
“But,” Rowan finally speaks, his eyes locked to mine.
“It’s a form of shadow-self. It’s more common in those who are Kres-born, a magick that has been said to have been given by the gods of Zamiel.
Those who use this form of magick have to be able to withstand divine fire to breach the barrier of realms.”
“So this is what the nightmare creature is—just a man like me or you who is projecting his shadow-self?” I ask, rolling this information over in my mind.
“Yes and no.” Kellan’s head bounces back and forth before he looks at Rowan to continue.
“The magick of the Oneiros-Vagant isn’t what it once was.
It’s changed over the years. No notable magick users have had the ability to become a true Umbra Vitae since before the great war, according to this journal at least.” Rowan says, holding onto an old leather-wrapped tome.
“And the last known person to project into the Umbra Vitae was locked into that form, unable to change back. This whole thing is a detailed manuscript on all the things that have been done to try to break the hold this magick has on him… it also says what caused him to be trapped…” Extending my hand, I silently ask for the journal, and with tight lips and a clenched jaw, Rowan places the book in my palm.
“It appears that these shadow beings should only exist in the realm of dreams. Not in this plane… but there is mention of this in several of these books about the god Evara and the sun cursed land. Theories about what caused him to dry up the waters, creating what we call the Dead Sea, and about it being his magick that touched the earth there, creating the material that has been made into what we know as Tsalalerian blades… which we all know is the strongest sort of weapon there is outside of magick.” Ruaan adds and warily looks around, as we all try to make some sense of it all.
I resign to begin thumbing through the journal.
Everyone’s heard the stories of the steel made of the material crafted by the gods.
I have one of the swords on my hip as we speak and even gifted two daggers made of the metal to Astraea.
My mind catches onto the part about the Dead Sea, and I look up to meet Rowan's waiting stare as though he's hoping for me to notice something I’ve yet to figure out.
“Queen Phaedra had some sort of gray form of magick I’ve never seen before. It almost appeared to be like your and Mavros’ shadows.” Kellan says, looking at me to see if I know anything about it.
“I’ve seen her use small magick before, but never anything like I saw the night of the Shula Morana.
” I say after a moment of thought. Phaedra was obsessed with the workings of magick, though.
I wouldn’t put it past her to find a way to gain some sort of mimicking of the power she most coveted.
I’ve seen how envious she could be of Mavros and my magick, even if she never meant to let that slip.
“We will need to learn more about that. Perhaps she's kept journals that we can find here in the castle. Before we head to the banquet, Rowan and Beckett head into Phaedra’s chamber to search for anything.” They both nod.
My mind keeps running over everything I’ve learned since that night, and once again I find myself thinking about the Dead Sea. How everything keeps pointing back to the great war and that feeling I had gotten when Astraea and I were in those black dunes.
Dipping my hand into my pocket, my fingers brush over the bag of sand that I’ve kept since that day in the dunes. The day where it had felt like the sand—the land itself—had come alive with magick. What if that was a sign from the divine? I narrow my eyes back on the journal.
"Whose journal is this?” I question and every set of eyes lands on me.
The hair on the back of my neck stands on end with the tension suddenly filling the cavernous room.
Paying closer attention to the journal, I flip back and scan the first page.
A feeling I’m not used to slams into my chest like a battle axe.
The muscle at the center rattles the cage it’s contained in with my sudden realization.
The slanted scrawl is now easy to see, even though I didn’t immediately recognize it or notice the initials on the front of the journal.
I know his writing. I grind my teeth as I brush my fingers over the letters branded into the leather. “S. T.”
I look out at the group in front of me. My eyes settle on the golden stare of Rowan, and I see it.
The look on his face isn't what I thought it was.
He isn't waiting for me to realize anything.
He's doing everything he can to contain the rage he feels over the betrayal contained within the pages of this journal.
“The banquet—” I pause, narrowing my eyes on the book. “Is not a banquet. It's a trap. And this…” I hold the journal up next to my head. “This ensures the bait I’ve laid was surely received.”
Commander Nolan glowers at the staff bustling through the throne room as they prepare for the banquet I requested.
I made sure they knew to make it as grand as the quick timeline could manifest. I had gone back to my chamber after the library to change for the banquet and expected to see Astraea and Colette, but neither were there.
The dress I had picked for Astraea was also gone.
It's odd to feel excited about a dress being gone, but knowing that meant she was likely wearing what I had chosen for her…
Knowing that she is choosing strength caused a feeling of pride to swell in my chest.
Brynne intercepted my entrance into the throne room just before I reached the doors, assuring me that they had pulled off every detail exactly as I wished.
From what I can see, there is no denying that she is right.
The space is perfect for the occasion. She had also eased my growing worry I had about Astraea.
Apparently, my twin flame was found alongside Colette harassing the kitchen staff for sweets.
The thought brought a twitch of a smile to my face.
She also added that she took them to the privy wardrobe to pick any jewels they might like to wear for the night. That thought made me actually smile.
How I can already imagine the look on Queen Phaedra’s face when she sees Astraea—my queen to be—wearing jewels that she once called hers.
Even better, jewels that she likely knows are more Astraea’s right than her own.
Brynne had surprised me, though, with something else she brought to me.
I slide my hand into my pocket as I stand at the entry of the throne room.
My fingers brush the bag of sand as they wrap around a small hexagonal wooden box.
The weight of what the small box indicates is heavier than its mere size suggests.
It’s perfect, really, especially considering it was meant to be hers all along.
‘I noticed she wasn't wearing one.’ Brynne had said and I only could smile as I accepted it.
Nolan can glare at the room all he wants.
It won’t change the fact that in just mere minutes, this space will begin filling with people of Diemos, and I will be the one sitting on the shadowed throne that sits at the far end of the vast room.
His eyes track my movements as I part the sea of castle staff with my stride.
Leisurely, hands tucked into the pockets of my dark pants, I make my way to the intricately carved bronzed throne with its deep crimson cushions.
The irony of the color isn't lost on me, likely chosen to hide the blood that always stains the hands of royals.
I fix my eyes on those dark red carpeted steps leading up to the dais and that impending chair and find myself grinding my teeth.
I feel the air around me shift as the staff watches my approach.
Many are likely already whispering their opinions and rumors about the fact that I am hosting a banquet in the throne room without their queen in attendance.
The people are not stupid. Those who reside in this castle and the staff who have lived through Phaedra’s reign know that it is not normal for her to be absent.
I stop mere feet from the symbol of power so many wish to claim, and I allow the hushed voices of those around me to coil around my spine. Nothing anyone can say will change what is going to happen here tonight.
Spinning on my heel, the staring eyes snap to the tasks they had paused, busying themselves once again. I scowl at the sides of their faces and backs of their heads, finally locking on the only set of eyes who dare meet mine.
“Commander Nolan,” I call out, knowing well enough that I have the attention of the entire room, even if it is only him I address.
I am very aware that he knows this too, and he also knows the power I hold.
Not just the power I have from the loyalty over the people here, but also the magick that courses through my veins.
It's why the look of utter disgust twists and morphs into the brown-nosing pompous variety as he steps forth from the shadows to acknowledge the demand in my tone.
“Sir,” he says sourly, as he stops a few feet from where I stand on the first step of the dais.
I am already a tall man—much taller than most, including Nolan.
But he is one of only a few who don’t need to look far to reach my eyes.
Standing on the step brings his chin to rise a little further, and the power play makes my lips curl into a dominant smirk.
It’s not something I generally seek out, but here in Diemos my reputation demands it.
“Have you seen Drabek?” I ask, head tilting as I read his face.
“Drabek?” His eyes just barely shift to the floor before he repeats my Creshian Raven’s name.
He knows exactly to whom the name belongs.
I quirk a brow at his attempt at such a foolish response.
Drabek should have sensed me being back in Diemos the moment we stepped through the portal here, but still, I have yet to see my raven.
It makes me wonder if he is now captive just as Zuri is.
Or… could he be keeping an eye on Mavros?
I suppose the ladder could be possible, and the thought makes me feel slightly better.
“The Creshian raven—err, Drabek– has not been seen in some time, Sir.” He swallows, the bob of his throat giving away the nerves he feels over my line of questioning.
I hum my disapproval in his response. Shadows seep from my body, and though soundless, the whispers in the room create an echoing hiss as the dark tendrils snake out down the step and cross the deep gray stone to where Nolan tries to look unruffled by the display.
“The—the last time I saw him was before Queen Phaedra left for Eathian.” His voice shakes as he stumbles, taking a step back.
The way Nolan says Queen Phaedra has me narrowing my eyes on the commander. He knows exactly what I plan to do here tonight, yet he refuses to abandon his loyalty to his queen despite the clear threat standing before him. I almost want to commend him for his gall.
“Kyros—” The familiar voice booms. And though I don’t let my eyes stray away from Nolan where he quakes, I know that Shayd has returned.
“You are a hard man to track down.” I see him approach out of the corner of my eye.
His gaze lingers on the ground, where my shadows begin to coil around the narrow poles that Nolan calls legs.
“Not hard enough, apparently.” I grind out, and he laughs, loud and boisterous; an old friend.
“Seems you and your black cat share that stunning sense of humor.” At the mention of Astraea, or that grating nickname he calls her anyway, I turn my attention to my longtime friend.
A friend who I have every right to believe knew exactly what Phaedra had done: how she manipulated both my brother and me our whole lives because he has been working with her all along.