Chapter 5
Chapter Five
The fire in the grate burned low as I worked late into the night, my eyes slowly drooping shut, begging for the reprieve my mind and body wouldn’t allow.
This was the first night in weeks that I did not find myself deep in a bottle of rum at the Cub’s Tavern.
After Rina’s words last night, the world had begun spinning.
The atmosphere was too warm, everyone’s voices making me claustrophobic.
My skin felt like it was crawling to get off of my bones, and if I didn’t get away into the cool air, I might claw it off.
I had no desire to return tonight.
Instead, I busied myself with research. To my left, piled high on my father’s desk and casting an ominous shadow in the fading light of the fire, were books.
Each spine divulged a different facet of the Undertaking.
My nose had been buried in a volume that housed theories of the Spirit Volcano—Undertakings Past: The Rituals, Rules, and Ruptures of the Mystique Warrior Tradition—for the past two hours.
The words were starting to bleed together before my eyes.
If only I could complete the Undertaking myself, maybe then I could tap into an unknown piece of knowledge that would unlock the key to what had happened to Malakai.
My father, the Mystique Council, even Malakai’s own parents had completed the Undertaking, yet none of them offered any assistance.
Why they didn’t understand my determination was a mystery to me, but when the Revered gave the order to forget the Undertaking, everyone obeyed.
The flames crackled, cutting into the silence of the study. My eyes snapped open. I could not rest yet. I planted my elbows firmly on the desk, cradling my chin in my hand, and continued to scan the page.
With sorceresses, warlords, and Angels haunting its depths, it is unknown precisely what Spirits will greet a fledgling warrior as they embark on their journey through the volcano.
That much I knew. Legends shared with us as young children explained the process of the Undertaking: one ventured into the Mystique Mountain Range against physical feats, climbed to the rim of the Spirit Volcano, and journeyed within.
It was believed that the ancient land mass housed the souls of all Mystique Warriors past, as well as select other magical beings, and it was their choice to deem one worthy in the first step of the Undertaking—the mental challenges.
Only those who had attempted the ritual and were approved by the Spirits knew what happened next.
When a warrior entered the Spirit Fire—the final phase—they were tested emotionally, each journey unique.
I always believed that the Spirits of your Undertaking were tailored to each individual. Ancestors of your bloodline, predecessors of any gifts you wielded. Who were Malakai’s? If I had been granted the chance, who would mine have been?
The Spirits may grow greedy should a blessed soul cross their path, choosing to claim it as their own, harboring it as a true life among the dead in their realm.
I bolted upright, sending the leather wingback chair shooting out behind me. My pulse quickening, I reread the line to confirm what I took it to mean. In all of my lessons, never had it been said that the Spirits could claim someone during the Undertaking.
A blessed soul…
Certainly, a blessed soul would be one who was worthy. But beyond worthy, blessed implied touched by the Angels themselves. A child of the First Revered Warrior, the blood of the Angels running within their own.
Malakai…my mind flashed to his strength, power in both mind and body. His conviction as a future warrior. Blessed. Could Malakai have been deemed a blessed soul by the Spirits and now reside—alive and whole—within the Spirit Realm of the volcano?
My hands shook as I traced the black ink on the next page, all thoughts of sleep fleeing my mind.
Though this theory still resides in folklore, there has never been evidence of a blessed soul crossing the paths of the Spirits, deeming this tale as false.
Most likely, this was a story created to encourage warriors to complete the perilous Undertaking with the hope that they may be revealed as an Angel descendant.
Over the centuries, bloodlines have become so entwined that one would be hard-pressed to find a source of Angelblood pure enough to qualify as blessed.
My breathing stilled, the spark of hope I briefly felt extinguishing as I realized how ridiculous it was. Warriors had descended from Angels ten thousand years ago. Angelblood was nearly impossible to find nowadays.
“Fucking Spirits,” I cursed, throwing the book from the desk and collapsing back into my chair in frustration. Heat roared through me. I wanted to tear this office apart, tear the world apart until I righted these wrongs. Reestablished our people’s glory, completed the Undertaking, found Malakai.
“He is alive,” I whispered the reminder to myself, massaging the spot below my inner elbow that burned brightly, answering me. “I will fix it all.” Even to my own ears, my voice sounded disheartened.
The flames cast dancing shadows on the endless books lining the walls. Endless pages in which I had searched for answers. Endless dead ends I had met in the past two years.
How had my friends, my family, even Malakai’s own family, given up so easily?
I knew what they all thought. Rina’s words from last night had echoed through my mind since she spoke them.
Everyone believed that Malakai, Augustus, the son of the Revered, and our future leader, had somehow failed to complete the Undertaking and died in the process.
They were wrong.
If Malakai had truly died, I would feel it.
He couldn’t cease to exist without a piece of me dying as well, thanks to the imbued ink of the tattoo on my arm.
Distantly, as if pulled through tar, I could feel the twin threads tangled together within my blood.
But the link that should have formed between our souls was silent.
Despite the pressure on the Bind every time I thought of him, I had never felt further from the man I loved.
The distance opened a trench of hopelessness in my soul, and the wider the cleft became, the harder it was to fight.
I felt as though I was grasping at the air of memories without a solid reminder to tether me down.
I sank down further into my chair and ran my fingers through my hair, trying to imagine his touches, his kisses, but it all felt so distant. Watching the flames flicker with a heat I longed to feel, I realized that if intimacy was what I lacked, then I must go to the place where we were closest.
Brushing aside the curtain of jasmine and honeysuckle that shielded our clearing from the world was like stepping back in time. It was like years past, before the war, before the Curse, when Malakai’s footsteps echoed my own.
Moonlight flooded our clearing tonight as it had then, reflecting in the crystalline water of the pond and catching the wildflowers, turning each petal into a drop of starlight.
My gaze swept over the space, twenty feet across with knee-high, featherlike grasses.
A dense grove of trees wrapped around the field, concealing it from unwanted eyes.
The trees were in the throes of spring, with fresh leaves and budding flowers decorating their branches.
Despite the tragedies that befell my life, the clearing alone remained untouched, its beauty only tarnished by memories.
Limbs shaking, I staggered to the pond and fell to my knees, the grass under my skirts cushioning the blow. A shadow crept across my heart as I looked around our haven and endless hours played out before my eyes.
“Come on, Augustus,” I called, grabbing his hands and slipping my slim fingers between his. It was the third night in a row that we had crawled out of our bedroom windows and met at the edge of our city, walking the mile to our clearing under the moonlight.
He laughed, and it was a breathtaking, husky sound that caused my heart to flutter like a caged bird. “I’m right behind you, always.”
Wildflowers reflected in his glossy emerald irises, starlight outlined the freckles across his nose, and my heart swelled within my chest. I had never known such happiness as these stolen moments.
“And when you aren’t, I will always find you,” I promised.
I brushed the gentle curls of dark hair from his forehead and stood on my toes to press a soft kiss to his lips.
They were full and willing against my own.
The moment our mouths met, his lips parted to welcome me, and I was undone by the taste of him.
My hand continued past his forehead to the spot where his curls rested against his neck.
I tangled my fingers among the thick strands, grazing my nails down his skin and tugging gently.
He groaned against my lips, something deep within me heating at the sound.
Firm, familiar hands slid up my arms and back down the sides of my dress, exploring my body, as he so often had, each time as exhilarating as the last. Every time we were together was different. New and exciting. I could never get enough of this. Him. Us.
His hands gripped the backs of my thighs and lifted me effortlessly despite the layers of my gown. When he settled me across his hips, I relaxed into him, tightening one hand around the cool skin of his neck and the other against his broad chest.
I explored every part of him, my mouth moving from his lips to his neck while I slowly undid the buttons on his shirt. Each fastener that slid through the thin linen intensified the moment. We weren’t in a rush. We had all night in this clearing—our clearing.
Gracefully, Malakai lowered us to the ground, all the while staying tangled together. He moved one hand from my thigh to brush my hair behind my shoulder, and I rolled my head to give his mouth better access to my neck.