Chapter 7
Although Drexley had mentally prepared himself to have breakfast with their uninvited yet intriguing guest, a sense of relief had swamped him when Adney announced his intention to question Ducarius before eating.
Cowardly as it was, Drexley had rushed into the dining hall and filled his belly as quickly as possible to avoid speaking to anyone.
Then he’d nearly run to the library to distract himself with a thick tome.
Unfortunately, Drexley was finding it impossible to keep his mind occupied despite the comfortable chair and what should have been an interesting book despite the fact that he’d already read it.
His heart raced with either excitement or dread whenever he thought about facing Ducarius again.
It was tempting to find something in the library to better explain matebonds, but Drexley feared learning anything further.
He’d met Ducarius the previous day and had a single conversation with him, yet his entire night had been plagued with dreams of the cloaked man.
Drexley’s mouth twisted, and a prickling awareness traveled through him.
Someone was close by. It was a sentinel, and Drexley doubted any more of his people had slipped into Adney’s realm.
One of the thick library doors creaked open, and Drexley’s eyes widened.
A frisson of attraction made his dick twitch as he caught sight of an uncloaked Ducarius.
His dark brown hair was nearly a match for the walnut shelves in Adney’ s library, and it hung carelessly around a handsome face defined by the strong angles of his jaw and cheekbones.
Their eyes met, and Drexley did not care for the feeling of being pinned in place by the fierce look in Ducarius’s cognac gaze.
Like the chicken he was, Drexley glanced away and vaguely recalled once being garbed in the same unrelenting charcoal gray as Ducarius’s clothing.
The lone thing that caught Drexley off guard was the mixture of poisons glowing from Ducarius’s daggers.
Only Alaric had a similar mixture. Was that definitive proof that Alaric was an impostor? If any sentinel could mimic Alaric’s green and black poisons, then no evidence remained that he was anything but a normal sentinel pretending he belonged in the role of leader.
“What is with your daggers?” Drexley blurted as Ducarius stalked to within a few feet of where the sentinel had tried to distract himself with the book still lying on his lap.
One dark brow rose. “I have already been told about the rules Adney has imposed, but I refuse to walk anywhere unarmed.”
“As an uninvited guest, you should better heed your host—especially when he is a necromancer and you are a sentinel—but that is not what I meant,” Drexley insisted. “You have both the green and black poison on your blades at the same time. How is that possible?”
“It was a gift from Alaric.”
Drexley was thoroughly confused by Ducarius’s answer. “Alaric gave the sentinels the ability to use both poisons simultaneously. But why? If he wished to convince anyone he is the leader he claims to be, it would be better for him to stand out.”
“Your logic is confounding,” Ducarius stated calmly as he sat opposite Drexley in the small sitting area. Although Drexley had sat in companionable comfort with Adney for many hours in the same chair, Ducarius’s presence unsettled him.
“I do not know what you mean.”
Ducarius cocked his head to the right, but his expression remained stoic and unchanged.
“You insist Alaric is no leader but acknowledge that he was unique in being the lone sentinel with the ability to use both of our poisons at the same time. Now that he has granted that gift to others, you are wondering why he would not choose to stand out to continue what you consider his masquerade as the Lich Sentinel. Have you forgotten what it felt like to be in his presence? How your instincts responded to him and assured you without question that he is the ruler of the sentinels?”
There was little Drexley recalled of his life before his arrival in Adney’s realm. He had a vague recollection of Alaric’s glowing eyes, but it was such an odd thing for someone to have that he sometimes doubted his own memory. “I left the compound five centuries ago.”
“I know.”
“What do you remember about your life five hundred years ago?”
“My days at the compound were monotonous. I mostly sat on a cot and wondered what would become of me. It is not something I will ever forget. My memories stretch much farther back and remain crystal clear no matter how often I wish to scrub them from my mind.”
Although Ducarius’s expression remained placid, his voice had grown rougher, and Drexley found he did not like the idea of anything hurting the other sentinel. “I am sorry for what you must have suffered.”
“I appreciate your kindness, but the last thing I want to do is spend today reliving those days with you. Tell me about your life here with Adney. He told me you are well educated.”
Drexley grinned. “Yes, I love books and learning. Most of Adney’s books focus on necromancers and spells. Since I lack sorcery, many of them offer me knowledge I can never use, but I cannot regret expanding my mind, nonetheless.”
“I suppose you learned something about matebonds along the way.”
For reasons Drexley could not explain, heat rushed to his face, and he had to break eye contact with Ducarius.
Mindlessly staring at the jumble of words on the pages resting on his lap, Drexley nodded.
“Yes, although I committed little to memory. I did not think it would affect me personally. Much like the spells I cannot use, it was interesting to learn, but Adney was emphatic that resurrected beings did not have mates.”
“An interesting assumption.”
“You sound disapproving, but I have never met a mated sentinel.”
“The only sentinel you likely met was Alaric.”
“Yes, and he is unmated.”
Ducarius gave a ghost of a smile, and something about that expression made Drexley grow warm. “Five hundred years ago, Alaric was unmated. Things are different now. Alaric has met his other half, and they are very happy together.”
“Do they live at the compound?”
“Alaric destroyed the compound years ago after the Arch Lich aided us in freeing the sentinels from necromancers. We live amongst the Council of Sorcery and Shifters and were asked by the Order of the Fallen Knights to assist in protecting and defending our government. We take great pride in making our world a safer place.”
“I recall reading about the Order of the Fallen Knights. They were created by the Arch Lich, correct?”
“Yes, in 1369. I am surprised you know about the fallen knights.”
“Why? That was a significant achievement by the Arch Lich, and it was necessary for defense. The fall of the Coven of Warlocks proved that sorcerers lacked an army, and they had to find a solution if they wanted to survive.”
“Because the fallen knights are resurrected like you and me, and they have mates. Yet you believed until yesterday that resurrected people did not get that gift from Fate.”
Drexley blinked as he searched his memory. “I do not remember reading about any fallen knight with a mate.”
“When you disappeared, the fallen knights had been part of the Council for over eight and a half centuries, yet no book you read in this library mentioned that they had mates?”
“Few books here mention the fallen knights beyond their creation. They are soldiers. Their contributions are defensive. What more is there to say about their people? They do not have magic, and they do not bother becoming scholars, so they do not contribute to society except to ward off dangerous elements. My interest in them is stronger than it should be, but I could not help focusing on another race of people resurrected like myself.”
“The Coven of Warlocks was not destroyed.”
“What?”
“Your education is flawed, but in the case of the warlocks, they were believed to be destroyed at the time you moved to this realm. But that information was incorrect. Although their population is small, the Grand Warlock and Grand Summoner were among the survivors of their war with the Cwylld elves.”
“That is a relief to hear. Necromancers are descendants of warlocks, and it is good to know that another type of sorcery lives on.”
“You have a bit of magic.”
Drexley laughed. “Many a night I have lain awake waiting for sleep and recited a spell from a tome I read that day. Nothing ever came of it. I think I would know if I was a sorcerer.”
“Tell me why my daggers float near my hips.”
“What?”
Ducarius stood, and Drexley was rather embarrassed that his first instinct was to stare not at the glowing daggers but at the man’s groin. What in the world was wrong with him?
“My blades are not holstered. They float near my hips. It is a bit of magic we possess. We whisper a word to put them in place.”
A ghost of a memory floated through Drexley’s mind, but he did not know what Ducarius was talking about. However, he could not deny that Ducarius’s blades were indeed hovering about an inch from the fabric of his deep gray pants.
“Weapons are better suited to barbarians,” Drexley stated briskly. “It has been years since I had daggers.” So much time had passed, in fact, that Drexley could not recall exactly when he’d moved past the archaic practice of using weapons.
Out of thin air, Ducarius produced the cloak he’d worn the previous day. “I am afraid our daggers, creating a version of ourselves to train with, and our ability to summon a cloak are the extent of our direct magical abilities, but it is better than nothing.”
“How did you do that?” Drexley asked.
“I pictured the cloak, and it appeared.”
“How did you gain that ability?”
“It is innate to every sentinel. Arch Liches Faustus and Domitia, along with a warlock called Le’Terrius, gave it to us as they created our people.”