Chapter 22
Zane
Screams echoed down the hallway, making Zane nauseous, suddenly glad he’d skipped breakfast. Although he knew of the things his father ordered done underneath the castle, and how that vile man Azazel carried them out, he’d never gotten used to the screams.
Technically, he was not ‘allowed’ in the dungeons, but there was an unused servants’ passage he crept through to bypass the guards at the door. Uther didn’t want him there but never gave a clear reason as to why, and Zane was wise enough to not push for more information. He’d come down a few times over the years to stay acquainted with his father’s current moods, methods, and plans. Some people in the dungeons deserved to be there—murderers, rapists, traitors to the crown—but quite a few, like Iyana, were only there either for information or to boost the emperor’s ego.
Five days had passed since Iyana’s arrival in Athusia. As his father became angrier and more unpredictable than normal, Zane knew they weren’t getting any information from her. He was honestly surprised. Who had known the petite slip of a woman would be able to withstand this much torture? Zane was well aware of the disgusting betting pool; some men were whining about losing because ‘the bitch wouldn’t talk or die.’ Apparently, Uther had been the winner, the only one seeing her silent strength and betting accordingly. But even that accomplishment didn’t dim his ire. Servants grumbled that his father was smashing priceless vases and china, and generally making a mess they were then responsible for cleaning.
Guilt wiggled its way into Zane’s conscience. Instead of doing anything, he’d been content to stick to the status quo, letting innocents take the beating instead of him. He was a dog beaten into submission, flinching at any and all movements, tucking his tail to show obedience and subservience. These five days, he’d stayed holed up in his quarters, only leaving to go to the library. Uther was obviously interested in this Aztia, which was apparently Iyana, and Zane needed to understand why. It could either keep him safe, or something to be tucked away for later use. Or, a small voice whispered, maybe she can help finally free Athusa of your father. Something akin to hope bloomed within Zane, but it had been so long since he’d felt anything close to hope the notion terrified him. He shoved it and the traitorous thoughts away.
The only reason he’d come down here in the first place was to ask Iyana questions. Hopefully Azazel wasn’t beating her into unconsciousness because he needed answers. Inwardly, he winced at the callousness of his reasoning.
It had taken three days before he found any books with information on the Aztia. He’d searched first in History of Arinem, healers and Their Magic, History of Magic, and even Two Magic Users Unite—which had turned out to be a rather steamy romance. Zane was ashamed to admit he’d read the entire book. Despite scouring any and all history or magic books, he found absolutely nothing of substance. It was all mostly about the dilution of magic from generation to generation. Zane found it fascinating to read about what humans were capable of millennia ago. The healers of old were able to draw directly from Imera, pulling people back from the brink of death. There were accounts of some who had been dead for several minutes, able to be hauled back before crossing into the Everlands. It was truly impressive, and a shock to compare to modern healers who could barely use magic at all.
His tutors had told him the three domains of Arinem had been blessed by a different deity. Athusa by Otho, Istora by his twin Thelena, and Nyr by Yrza. What they hadn’t told him was that the gods had given their rulers magic. The first Holygazer emperor, Zane’s twenty-times great-grandfather, he presumed, was gifted earth elemental magic. Perhaps that was why his family had such an obsession with the color green. And why Uther had always hated that Zane had inherited his mother’s green eyes, instead of his father’s cold blue ones. Maybe it was jealously—a throwback to when their family had been capable of literally moving mountains. The magic of his ancestors built Athusia’s castle, carving it into the hillside. Zane wondered what it would feel like to have that amount of power running through his veins. He wouldn’t be cowering away from his father; that was a given.
The Istorian Queen, family Bonfara at the time, had air magic. Legends said the queens had the ability to conjure large, swirling storms to deter their enemies, while keeping their people safe within a central eye. The Bonfaras were no longer in power; it was now the Vinta family. Istora was a matriarchal society, and if no daughters were born to their queen, the crown passed to a sister, cousin, or niece. Zane questioned how different Athusa would be if his mother sat on the throne instead of his father. Selena was much more fit for ruling—she had been such a benevolent woman. His heart squeezed in his chest, the way it did every time he daydreamed about his father dying instead. He and his mother would have cleaned up the outer ring. Wealth would have been distributed more evenly, so children wouldn’t have to worry about where their next meal was coming from. The castle doors would have been open to any seeking aid or shelter. But it was best not to dwell on these thoughts, as history could not be changed, no matter how hard he wished or prayed.
The Nyr king and queen were both gifted with shadow magic, as they ruled equally. Nyr was notoriously withdrawn and voluntarily isolated from the rest of the continent, so not much was known about their royalty, lineages, or magic. Shadow magic was feared—assassins were easily hidden in the dark—meaning Athusa and Istora were just fine with Nyr staying sequestered. There was an unspoken truce over the years, as Athusa and Istora began turning on each other, Nyr was not to be involved. Even when magic diluted to almost nothing, most humans now without a single spark, Nyr was left to their own devices.
Zane found all this interesting, but none of it was relevant to the Aztia. It wasn’t until he wandered into the back of the library, where the oldest literature was stored, that he found what he was searching for. This section was so old it consisted only of scrolls, no bound books to be found. It was in disrepair; the librarians ignored it in favor of more modern areas, where the nobles were more likely to be found. A thick layer of dust lay upon everything, and the smell of old parchment was heavy in the air. Zane breathed it in, loving the smell. Despite the dust, he could live here in this portion of the library.
A shelf on the back wall caught his attention. It was made of stone, as though it had been carved from the wall itself. On the shelf sat one scroll. There were no adornments, nothing special about this shelf or this scroll in particular other than it being separated from the rest. Hundreds of years ago, an academic might have set the document on the stone outcropping simply out of convenience and forgotten it. But Zane knew in his gut he’d found the information he was searching for.
Lifting the scroll gingerly, a large plume of dust blew into his face. A coughing fit seized his lungs, but once he had recovered, he gently brushed the rolled paper. Unfurling it caused Zane a fair amount of anxiety as the parchment had become brittle over the years, and he would hate for the whole thing to crumble in his hands, leaving him without any answers. There was no title, no author, nothing to signify the importance of this document, but it didn’t take long for his vision to snag on the one word he wanted to find.
The Aztia and Kanaliza were hand-picked by the goddess Zaya, who was awoken from her deep slumber by the strife she had detected in the gods’ most favorite of creations—the humans. The Aztia was a woman already endowed with powerful magic, and the Kanaliza a human man with no magic. Zaya gave them the ability to rescue humanity from their plight. The Aztia and Kanaliza ended the conflict in Arinem, and retired peacefully, never to be heard from again. We owe them our lives. Their names shall go down in history forevermore.
In every generation, a new Aztia and Kanaliza are born to maintain order between humans and——
born anywhere in the world
powerful
Beware———Aztia has the ability to
———save humanity.
Many areas of the scroll were either illegible or degraded, with more than a few holes dotted throughout the document. Below the brief explanation was a long record of the known Aztias and Kanalizas, but the list ended approximately three hundred years before. The closer Zane got to modern times, the shorter the lifespans. There was no written explanation for this phenomenon, and he pondered the cause. Was the dilution of magic affecting them as well? Or was there a more sinister reasoning? And why were there no names in the past three centuries? Zane was completely unable to read the older names, including what he assumed was the original couple. Ironic that the author of this scroll believed their names would be forever remembered, and yet most didn’t realize an Aztia and Kanaliza even existed. He wished he could find their names, if only to honor them for saving humanity, although it was unclear what the conflict originally was, and how it had been ended.
Plus, the breaks in information left Zane feeling wary. Beware was especially concerning, followed by some unknown power the Aztia had the ability to do. Was it to save humanity, as the break suggested? Or a warning? He deeply wanted to ask a tutor or librarian if they had any more information, or knew where to locate some, but he couldn’t risk the knowledge getting back to his father. He pocketed the scroll inside his cloak; it wouldn’t be missed.
So Zane found himself in the dungeons a day later. After reading through the scroll another three or four times, he wanted to see if Iyana could shed any light on the situation. Her screaming had finally subdued, and he guessed Azazel would soon be done. For both of their sakes, he prayed to Imera she wasn’t in too rough of shape.
A door slammed down the hallway, and two sets of footsteps headed in Zane’s direction. He faded backwards into the shadow of an alcove he had chosen just for this purpose. The sniveling, raspy voice of Azazel reached his ears first, then his father’s baritone.
“I’m running out of patience, Azazel,” he said. “I need her to give me information on the star.”
“I think she’s close to breaking, sire. We almost had her talking about her Kanaliza today.”
“I don’t give a fuck about her Kanaliza,” Uther snarled. “They’re useless without her. Either give me what I want within the next two days or kill her.” Unfortunately, the emperor’s ultimatum didn’t shock Zane, but it meant he was on the clock to either obtain what he needed from Iyana and write her off or try something foolish.
Their voices drew nearer. “I may need more time, Your Majesty,” Azazel said.
“If she doesn’t give you anything by dawn the day after the autumnal equinox, I order you to dispose of her, you cretin. If you defy me further, you can join her.”
“No, Your Majesty. I’ll do as you ask.”
“We need to complete the ritual soon, Azazel. I’m not getting any younger, and I worry about Zane.” Zane started. Why would Uther be worried about him?
“Sire?” Azazel asked as they walked in front of Zane’s hiding spot.
“He’s becoming more disrespectful and spending most of his time away from Athusia. I’m worried he’s planning something. Always knew I should have killed him along with his slut of a mother.”
Zane’s ears were ringing. He was vaguely aware of Azazel and Uther continuing their conversation as they walked away. His back hit the wall. Sinking to the ground, he stared into the shadows. He’d been suspicious, over the years, that Uther may have murdered his mother, but to hear it come out of his mouth… Zane didn’t know how to react, didn’t care that Uther all but admitted he wanted his own son dead.
That bastard had taken the only good thing in Zane’s life. Without regard to what it would do to his son, to his empire. Things had fallen into disrepair within days of his mother’s death. Zane’s soul had never repaired, and it was the moment everything had changed for him. There was a distinct line of before and after. Before he had friends, he laughed, he played. He smiled. His mother always told him his emerald eyes sparkled when he smiled. He’d give her his best toothy grin to make her laugh, and she’d tickle him until they were both lying on the floor giggling, tears streaming down their faces. After his only companions were fear, anxiety, and self-loathing. He had more scars—physically and mentally. He had no friends, his face had forgotten how to smile, except for the one night in Huton with Talon and the others. It was the first time he’d felt like himself since he was eight-years-old, lowering his mother’s body into the earth. Be strong, his father had told him, hand firmly on his shoulder, squeezing to the point of pain. No tears, do not shame me.
Uther had been more…contained before his mother died. He still had bouts of anger, fits of rage, and was ambitious, but he laughed. He danced with his wife, stole kisses from her during dinner. But something had happened. Uther had snapped. Now Zane knew he’d killed Selena, but he didn’t know why.
All thoughts of Iyana and the Aztia emptied from his brain; he only wanted—needed—to be in his own quiet quarters. Scream into a pillow, read his mother’s old letters, have a good cry. Exiting the alcove, he walked in a daze through the dungeons towards the servants’ passage he’d used to get there. At this point, he didn’t care who saw him, or if his father learned he’d defied his orders.
In his haze, he didn’t see the person in front of him until they’d collided. Looking up, he saw Emmeric holding a prisoner’s dinner tray, shock written on his face. A vial clattered to the floor.