Chapter 15 #2
“You look exhausted,” she said, as she took up a steady pace beside him. They headed out of the nomage camp and up the long steps to the Citadel, where the Masters were no doubt waiting for him to begin the night’s battle plan. “You are exhausted.”
“I’m fine,” Arawn said. “I can fight for days, Indriya.”
She’d taken up a spot as First Rider...flying in his place, with new members in his aerie. At least, until he gained his magic and his wings back.
He would.
...wouldn’t he?
“You know what I mean,” Indriya said knowingly. “Your crown is heavier than Kinlear’s. His burden...it isn’t the same as yours.”
While Kinlear’s future was a mystery, to most...it wasn’t a surprise to anyone in the Citadel, what Arawn’s fate was to be. His father was going to die before too long. Draybor’s magic had taken its toll. And then it would be Arawn’s turn to lead. Arawn’s turn to become King.
“Are you ready?” Indriya asked.
No, he thought. Not at all.
“For what?” he answered, as they marched north.
She elbowed him in the side. “Arawn.”
Arawn sighed. “I’m sorting through things,” he said, pausing as the two Sacred stationed at the doors bowed to him.
He’d never loved the bowing. He didn’t want their admiration or their praise. He just wanted their safety. He wanted to see an end to this war.
“I’ll have my magic back soon enough.”
“And if you don’t?” Indriya asked, as they left the cold and entered the rush of the Citadel’s warmth.
“Haven’t considered that,” Arawn said, “Because it’s not going to happen.”
“But it—”
“Indri.” He met her eyes. “Please.”
She pursed her lips, but followed him silently through the halls, her footsteps fast. He noticed the flying leathers, the runes on her cloak and her sword, glowing fresh and bright.
She would fly tonight without him. She would battle, as would the rest of his aerie.
..and he would be here instead, sitting on the sidelines.
Useless...under the guise of healing.
So heal me, he thought to his pillared god. Heal me, I beg of you, Vivorr, so I can fight for you. For my people.
For the ones who are brave enough not to defect.
He wondered if Vivorr even heard him.
He’d wondered for months now, for his flames...even in the woods, even faced with shadow wolves, he got fizzling embers of his magic.
Never once did he receive a steady firestorm.
Indriya paused before the War Room doors.
Inside...he could already hear the shouts of his father as King Draybor argued in circles with his own Masters.
No one could figure out how to win this war.
The Acolyte’s power was too strong, too mysterious...and it had brought out the worst in all of them. Especially for a Sacred King that was dying from the effects of his own magic.
“Hate me for saying this...” Indriya started.
He met her gaze. “I could never hate you.”
She was family to him. As good as a sister could be, shared blood or not.
Still, she held up her hands in defense. “Soraya said that, too. And in the end, Arawn...I think she did hate me. I think she hated all of us. She tried to murder you. We nearly lost you...because of her.”
The memory of that night was an unhealed, festering wound.
He’d not considered how Soraya’s defecting would have wounded Indriya, too...and everyone else who’d known her.
Her defecting had scarred them all in different ways.
It was selfish of him to assume he was the only one.
“You’re refusing to face your feelings,” Indriya said, as she placed a hand on Arawn’s shoulder.
He flinched on instinct, because he wasn’t used to being touched.
And in his mind, he suddenly got a flashing image of a face.
It was Soraya’s....
And then it morphed into a woman with three scars upon her cheek.
Why? he asked his god. Why torture me with someone who looks so much like her?
Did Kinlear feel the same, when he looked at Ezer?
Did he feel that stab of familiarity...and then pain, white hot and eager to devour him whole?
“Sorry,” Indriya said, as she pulled her hand away.
“It’s...difficult,” Arawn explained. “Being home.”
Home without Soraya.
But now with Ezer.
He hardly knew the Ravenminder, turned trainer of a bloodthirsty beast.
And yet...he couldn’t stop thinking about how she’d looked, so fearlessly unafraid in the woods. Like the shadow wolf attack had done nothing to shake her.
He couldn’t get her out of his brain. And it felt like something he needed to pay penance for.
You feel nothing.
Your mind and your heart are empty.
You cannot fail.
You must never fail again.
“We’ve given you time,” Indriya said softly, her voice barely a whisper. “We’ve given you space. But...we need you back, Arawn.”
“I’m back. It’s just that my magic is taking—”
“I don’t give a damn about your magic,” Indriya growled, her hand going to the pommel of her sword. An instinctive flinch, when any Sacred was forced to face their feelings. They were not supposed to feel. They were supposed to push it all down, give it all away to the Five...and fight.
Nothing but fight, for the rest of their lives until they died like his father.
Loyal to their bones.
Nothing but a memory and a sword in the snow.
“None of us in the aerie cares about the magic, and you know as well as I do that you’re worth ten soldiers, even without a single flame on your fingertips. It isn’t that at all.”
Indriya released a breath, and waited as a group of soldiers stomped past, each one of them saluting to Arawn.
“What I mean is...we need you. Our leader. Our brother.” She stepped back, leaving space between them as footsteps sounded out inside the room. “We need Arawn back. All of you. Not just the ghost that Soraya left behind.”
She smiled as softly as a warrior like her could.
“Find a way to heal. Find a way to heal fast, Arawn...because when he dies?” She looked at the door, where his father’s voice rose loud again from the other side. “It’s you that must be ready to step into his place.”