Chapter 8
CHAPTER EIGHT
EVONY
When do you suppose we’ll see the lights over the lake again? The people here call it the ‘noctilux.’ I miss it. And you.
Evony – Aedrialis, Sultira
“Oh my gods.” Ronan’s goblet made a soft clunk as he set it on the table. His throat bobbed as he turned to the map of Vael draped along the wall.
“Gods, gates, and war,” Vander murmured, his light brows pinching.
“Multiple gates,” I repeated, moving across the room to the map. “Where are the others?”
“I don’t know,” Ronan said as he stepped to my side, his sapphire eyes scanning the rivers, mountains, and oceans. “But I think I now understand why Saros created his mountain from Larimer stone.”
My eyes drifted to the open window, filtering in the red light from the massive rubelline we stood in. They caught on Vander’s eyes, and his gray irises seemed to absorb the ruby light, painting them a lovely shade of pink.
“He was protecting the Kingdom of Sultira,” Ronan continued as he skimmed his hand over the large continent in the center of the realm.
“He may have been a monster, trading his people with Dark King Daimos to gain access to the stone, but he’d done it to protect the kingdom from the return of the Embodied. ”
His hand dropped to his side before he brought it to his hip and shook his head.
“There had to have been a better way,” he muttered, his nose crinkling in disgust.
My stomach knotted as memories from the tribute ship rammed forward. The armored fist that slammed into my face, fingers digging into my forearms as I was hauled onboard, the stench of bodies pressed too tightly together in the rooms, and the damning click of the door being locked…
“And how far does his protection reach?” Vander cut in, his head cocked to the side. I released a breath and swiped a hand down my arm, as if I could wipe away the phantom grip of the soldiers.
Ronan’s shoulders relaxed, and he heaved a sigh, as if pulling himself away from his own haunted memories of the tribute.
“I sent Drystan and Evony’s brother, Ezrich, scouting to see how far the nullifying effects of Mount Telum reach. They aren’t due back for a couple more months.”
Ronan rubbed at his face, the bags beneath his blue eyes dark and heavy.
Vander nodded as he leaned forward. “I would be happy to help you sort through these scrolls to look for more clues on the location of the other gates. And who knows, maybe Mount Telum is doing more than just cutting off magic. If there’s a gate in its range, it could prevent it from being opened.”
Could there be a gate, here in Sultira?
“And maybe there’s even a way to strengthen the rubelline power of Mount Telum. Perhaps the late king kept construction plans of the castle we could examine.”
Ronan blinked before nodding. “Yes, that’s a good idea.
I’ll see if we can find anything related to the construction.
” Ronan moved toward the door, and I followed, but Vander lingered at the map.
“I appreciate the offer and you coming to see me right away, but I’m sure you could use some rest after your long journey,” Ronan continued.
“Captain Einar has secured you a bunk in the southwest barracks.”
Vander turned and paused, his eyes raising in question.
“Forgive me, Ronan. I assumed I would be staying at Cantor Manor, given my history with the agrippa herd,” he interjected.
Ronan cocked his head, his brows narrowing. “Drystan established a group of trainers before he left, along with Evony’s help,” he replied, nodding his head toward me.
A warm grip of pride swelled in my chest.
“I appreciate your offer to help, but General Calvus has refused to concede power to Prince Owyn. He fled to Khasimir with his forces after the city fell. We can use all the soldiers we can get.”
A muscle feathered in Vander’s strong jaw, and his chin dipped.
“I apologize,” he murmured in a shaky voice. “I’ve just struggled since the last battle. Kayj left me… haunted.” His gray eyes found mine briefly before he looked away.
My chest squeezed as a sliver of shame shadowed his eyes.
Ronan’s eyes dipped to his hands, and his throat bobbed.
“I understand,” he finally said. “You’re a good soldier, Van. We need you. But we need you healed. You have my leave to take a couple months to remain in Aedrialis and train the recruits. I’ll let Einar know.”
Vander’s head dipped in a gracious nod as Ronan stood, ready to dismiss us as a soft knock sounded at the door.
“Come in,” Ronan commanded.
Marian poked her head in. “Apologies. I’m early,” she signed and stepped forward, her hunter green dress swishing as she strode into the large chamber. Her thin lips tilted into a wide grin, and her soft brown eyes warmed as they darted from mine to Vander’s.
“Heard the ships arrived,” she signed, her hand movements practically jubilant. “Good to see you. How fair my crewmates?”
Vander’s gray eyes stared blankly at her before they slid to mine, and his light brows pinched in pained apology.
“I’m so sorry,” he murmured, shaking his head and rubbing his hand across his face. “I fear during the battle on Kayj, I hit my head, and I simply do not remember how to communicate this way.”
Ronan paused, shuffling the papers on the large table, frowning as he looked up at Vander before translating Marian’s words for him. Van placed a large hand on his heart and nodded to Marian.
A shade of pink crept into the skin on Vander’s cheeks as he gave Marian an abbreviated update.
Marian’s eyes narrowed, the lines on her face deepening in worry as she surveyed Vander. She set a handful of scrolls on the table, and Ronan nodded toward Vander and me, indicating our dismissal.
We shuffled out of the Grand Council chamber and into the dimly lit hall.
“Could I perhaps bother you to show me to the barracks, Lady Evony?” Vander’s soft voice filled the hall in a hush, and my stomach did a pleasant flip as my eyes landed on his mouth.
“I’m no lady,” I replied, resisting the upward tug of my lips and the near-uncontrollable urge to giggle at the title. “But I’d be happy to show you to the barracks.”
I tucked my braids behind my ears and smoothed my deep blue tunic as I led him down the hall.
The twittering of chickadees floated down from the tops of the pines as the late morning sunshine jutted through the space between branches, broken and scattered.
Smatterings of star-shaped flowers poked through the dirt ground, fighting the undergrowth for the light coveted by the large trees.
I plopped down on an old log, straddling the wide tree like it was a horse.
The moss lining its sides dampened my leggings.
I pulled my gaze up as the chickadees grew louder, the unseen choir awakening the sleeping forest. The trees twisted and sighed as a spring breeze slipped its way through my mountain.
“There you are, my little star,” Mum’s voice sang from behind.
I twisted around and swung my legs, my little bare feet dangling over the side.
Her bright red hair sparked like a flame each time her steps took her out of the shadows, the sunshine igniting the brilliance of its shade.
She carried a handful of yellow starstay flowers in her fist, and she crinkled her nose as my eyes met hers.
The crystal blue and spattering of freckles covering her cheeks were a match to my own.
“The chickadees are happy,” I said.
She hopped onto the log next to me and wrapped a warm arm around my shoulder, tucking me in to her. Her curly hair tickled my cheek as her gaze drifted to the treetops, and she clucked her tongue.
“Ah, not happy, my dear,” she murmured as her blue eyes scanned the little birds swooping high above.
“But they’re singing.” I frowned, following her gaze.
“Aye, they’re singing,” she said quietly, pulling me closer and lifting a porcelain finger. “But today, they’re singing a war song.”
My eyes darted around as her finger tracked something in the distance. A hoarse screech cut through the chickadees’ twitter as several of the tiny birds darted after a large form—a hawk.
“They’re chasing him away,” I said quietly.
We watched more birds join the mob that pursued the hawk. I felt my mother nod next to me as I kept my gaze on their dizzying circles.
“Yes,” she said. “And others will come to their aid as they get louder. Bluebirds, even the little wren. They’ll band together to protect against the threat.”
My head tilted as a flurry of different colored feathers popped into the air to join the chase, and Mum released her arm and began to hum.
I heaved a sigh as I brought my gaze down to the starstay flowers she wove. She wordlessly placed a small handful in my lap, and I picked two up and began to weave the pattern she’d taught me.
We sat there in the noisy silence of the forest for several minutes, our fingers moving in unison as the thin, mossy stems twisted and curled over each other, connecting a long line of bright, yellow petals.
My mother gently pulled the head of a small blossom through a loop and lifted the little circlet of flowers before her.
“A starstay crown for my star princess.” She grinned as she placed the small tiara of flowers on my curly brown hair.
“Why are they called starstays?” I asked as I examined the wide bloom resting on my palm.
“Perhaps they’re meant to remind us the stars stay out there, even in the light of day.”
“They do?” I asked, squinting beyond the treetops and reeling as my eyes slid too close to the sun.
“Of course they do.” Mum laughed. “How else would our stories get written?”
“The gods write our stories,” I replied, rubbing my eyes. “That’s what Dad says.”
Mum let out a snort and swatted something invisible in the air. “The gods don’t write our stories in the stars, Evony. We do.”
She wrapped her arms around me once more and squeezed me to her chest before pressing her lips to the top of my head. My hands gripped her forearms, and I watched my little fingers squeeze back.
“Morwyn!” my father called from a distance. “We’re back with fish!”
My mother’s grip around me tightened gently as she took a deep inhale of my hair, and I giggled. Mums were weird.
“We’re coming!” she called back before loosening her grip.
She stood and reached for me. Her red eyebrow cocked as I pinched my nose and bent my knees, readying myself for a leap. She hunched down, arms out as I launched myself off the dead tree and into her safe arms.
She spun me through the air, circling once, before coming to a sudden stop. My laugh caught in my throat as my gaze landed on her face.
The crinkles in the corners of her eyes disappeared along with her smile as she stared past my shoulder to the small clearing in the woods. Her brows narrowed, and I followed her gaze.
A hazy gray mist floated in through the trees, and my mother’s grip tightened on me. The mist gathered slowly, swirling over itself, and sparkling like silver as it floated into the sunshine.
Evony… it hissed, and I froze.
“Get out,” my mother spat.
It circled in the sunshine and began crawling toward the damp undergrowth of the forest. It paused, as if watching us, and my mother spun away from the clearing and sprinted back to our stone cottage… to safety…
Terror choked me as I tried to heave a breath, and I emptied the contents of my stomach on the smooth wooden floor of Cantor Manor.
My nightshirt clung to me as I wretched and sweat poured from my temples.
My heart banged in my chest as I forced my breathing to slow.
A dream… Just a dream… It was a memory… But was it?
I grappled with the glimpsing vision as it began to slip through my fingers.
A twisting, painful ache awakened as my mother’s beautiful face flashed once again behind my eyes, and the paralyzing devastation of her death hit me as if it had just happened. I stared at my pile of vomit and hiccupped once before my face fell into my hands, and I sobbed.