Chapter 29
Chapter Twenty-Nine
ANU
K ielyn kept a tight hold on the connection she’d established with Merick, allowing the Seer to guide them through the twisting maze they ascended, or descended, into. Kielyn didn’t know which. She had lost the ability to discern up from down the second they joined hands and combined energies beside the prayer pool.
Only darkness accompanied them now. Light a forgotten promise in this silent place. Where they were going had no temperature. They had no intuition to heed. Only blind faith and a hunch.
Kielyn could work with those odds. She’d certainly faced greater unknowns.
Funneling all her concentration into the task at hand, she implored the deity Freyja, “I am the blessing of Kielyndrian. My name was given to bridge the centuries, to join bloodlines, combine powers, and guide the hands of fate. I am the wish of your favorite. I am from the House of the Dragon. I am the mother of the Chosen. Goddess Freyja, please show your grace to me. ”
Merick spoke steadily and reverently into the void. “I am the scion of Arianrhod. Born of stars, seer of past lives, I alone carry your spirit with me. Mother Arianrhod, please show your grace to me.”
The darkness frayed, first in muted hues of gray replacing the pitch-black. Veil after veil lifted, the shifting shadows painting with brushstrokes of light.
Two forms took shape.
“We know who you are.”
The voice that drifted around them was at once the dusk and the dawn; the onset of war and the recovering peace.
“A single drop in the well of souls. Faces and cultures from everywhere and nowhere. From a few and the many. You come from the sun. A sun cast in the shadow of a thousand moons. You come from the sea. A sea crashing with the might of a thousand swords. You come from beyond–other worlds laying tangent to our own. But you also come from us.”
A woman appeared, gliding effortlessly through the gauzy mist, approaching on silent feet. Beautiful, with flowing gold hair. At her side strode a silver wolf with glowing silver eyes.
The woman spoke. “Why do you call on us?”
Merick squeezed Kielyn’s hand and said, “We come seeking guidance.”
The wolf’s silver eyes glimmered with interest. “With what, my child?” A voice both young and old.
Kielyn didn’t need verbal confirmation to know who stood before them. She felt their identity in her bones. The flawless female was Freyja. Arianrhod had chosen the skin of the wolf.
Merick replied, “An unknown darkness has entered these realms. I believe souls are being summoned unnaturally from a place of rest. We wish to understand it.”
“What would you do with the knowledge?” Freyja inquired.
“Treasure it.” Merick didn’t hesitate. “Use it if we must. But most of all, learn from it. ”
Arianrhod extended her large muzzle, nose scrunching as she scented the air, as if tasting the words. “To possess such understanding is to be given great responsibility. An obligation to the realms. Above any personal relations.” The wolf looked at Kielyn. “Could you sacrifice those you love if it came to a choice?”
“No,” Kielyn said honestly.
The wolf’s gleaming eyes fixed on Merick. She answered, “I would give my life before my family’s.”
“Would you give your life to saves the realms?” Freyja asked.
Kielyn squeezed her hand harder. Merick said, “I would forgo my life if it meant saving the realms, and in turn, saving the ones I love most.”
Both deities regarded her. “Ask what it is you wish to know,” Arianrhod permitted.
Merick asked, “How do we access the fifth realm?”
“The portal is only open for a brief moment when two celestial bodies pass, and the light from one is obscured,” Freyja explained.
Kielyn chewed her lip. They had feared as much. There wasn’t set to be another total solar eclipse for a year. Whoever had opened it must have done so during the last.
The goddess spoke. “You do not need it to open, do you?”
“We seek to stop whatever evil is escaping,” Merick confirmed. “We wish to close it.”
“You already know the answer to closing it, my child.” Arianrhod regarded her. “Three scions, combining their unique blessings, have the ability to seal it prematurely.” The wolf angled its head. “You only need to locate the other two.”
Freyja released a breathy chuckle, the sound like water trickling over stone. “Not nearly as difficult a task as convincing them to help you.”
Kielyn asked wearily, “Who are they?”
Freyja actually took a calming breath. “One is the scion of Sekhmet. She is designed for her own pleasure. A charming paradox. Never a slave to the leash or doubt. She is cunning, and power, fashioned from sin. A masterful weapon, chosen to test the fates.”
“Quite possibly the most unpredictable of all the gods, Sekhmet selected her favorite with exacting care,” Arianrhod added. “But she favors you.” The wolf looked at Merick. “You are the only one that stands a chance of getting her to cooperate.”
Merick went still beside Kielyn. She breathed, “Who is she?”
Arianrhod’s silver eyes didn’t leave Merick. “Katarra Diaboli.”
“That’s not possible,” Kielyn blurted. “My son killed her.”
“She was created in the image of a goddess that’s half cat,” Freyja stated. “Sekhmet permitted her nine lives.”
Kielyn felt her jaw go slack. “Please say she’s on her last.”
“She is.” Merick’s words sounded hollow, melancholy. Kielyn was reminded the two shared a past not entirely awful. The former Queen of Gerra, contrary to her nature, had been kind to Merick. “I think I’ve always known.”
Kielyn glanced to the regal warrior at her side. Merick asked the deities, “Who is the second?”
“Janus, God of beginnings, gates, duality, time, and endings,” Freyja said. “His scion is the wisdom cast from the blood of the ages. His own test and his own trial. He is a lover, a fighter, a friend, and a brother. He is the unquenchable fire. Made to weather the winds and support the storm.”
The goddess looked at Kielyn. “He is your son.” Freyja words stole the air from her lungs. “Eirik LaGoryen.”
The Arrows
S age was panting by the time they reached the ridgeline, the forest a tangled river of gold and burgundy below them, Windsong sprawling toward the sea and the rising sun beyond it .
They had made excellent time, not slowing their relentless pace during the night, only stopping to drink from mountain streams. They communicated with small, nondescript words, hand signals, and some innate sense of one another that recognized the other’s mindset and emotions.
Sage knew their need for distance and stealth had been the only thing keeping Bastian’s questions at bay. He’d placed them aside for the sake of escaping Windsong undetected. She turned now and looked toward the sleepy little cabin set like a jewel in a forest glade, glistening in the dewy freshness of the morning. That mission was over.
Now the real one began. Explaining everything to the male who now walked at her side.
The cabin door creaked opened, but it wasn’t Selene who stepped from the dark interior. It was Wilkes.
Sage took one step forward. Then another. Her steps grew into determined strides and her vision blurred. All of her repressed fear bubbled to the surface, finally free to express itself. Now that her oldest friend stood before her. Alive.
She flung her arms around his neck hard enough he rocked back on his heels. Wilkes tightly hugged her, a slight tremble in his chest. He said, “Gideon blocked access to the city. It came with a warning.”
Sage pulled back as a different type of fear took hold. She looked him in the eyes. “What warning?”
Wilkes’s keen eyes looked past her, to Bastian, sizing him up. Likely calculating how many steps the prince stood from her, how quickly he had taken up the defensive positioning at her back.
“He’s on our side,” she confirmed. Wilkes didn’t look convinced, his mouth no closer to answering.
Right. She wasn’t getting out of this introduction.
“Bastian LaGoryen.” Sage stepped out of the embrace, not taking her eyes off Wilkes, as she added, “This is Wilkes McGee. My second. ”
She felt Bastian’s gaze on her back like a physical touch–knew what his clever mind was discerning.
Sage breathed out through her nose, steeled her resolve, and turned to face him.
No time like the present .
She said, “The second in command…” His piercing blue eyes, like thunderclouds, held hers, waiting. “…should anything happen to the rightful heir of the Arrowren throne.”
Hornhall
T he streets were too quiet. Too still…
Shops were closed, hand-painted signs tacked above thresholds stating as much. No donkey-pulled wagons moved in the town center. No urchins darted to and fro, messages or stolen food in their hands. No unamused prostitutes loitered in shadowed doorways.
Only the beating sun overhead and the sound of the wind accompanied them, as they made their way to the castle gates.
The prickling sensation only intensified when they dismounted, not a groom in sight to assist with their horses. “Something’s wrong,” Archer gave voice to Katarra’s thoughts, his silver eyes scanning the empty courtyard.
Of the same mindset–one that wasn’t ready to untack and stable the stallions just yet–they quickly tethered both by a water trough and headed inside.
Katarra followed Archer into the dim interior and up a narrow set of servants stairs on borrowed feet. She’d forsaken her natural form for that of the champion’s about an hour outside the city.
To her satisfaction, the commander had grumbled, “I prefer the other.” She still smiled from the grumpy compliment as she trailed him now, each footstep alternating between appreciation of the finely muscled ass in front of her, and the niggling feeling they were walking into a trap.
The stairs climbed higher than one level, higher than three. Not a window or landing or hall to be had. This particular staircase only connected to two floors.
A narrow short door opened onto the fourth floor of the west wing. Once closed from the opposite side, it appeared a seamless section of wall. The perfect passageway for servants in a hurry, and any noble occupants who didn’t want to be reminded the castle had servants.
Beyond this level was the last entry point into the castle’s gilded interior. The sixth floor, the King’s Floor.
But Archer stopped here, on the fourth.
Katarra leaned in, using her heightened hearing to check the corridor on the other side of the door was clear. She straightened and nodded. He turned the knob.
They moved swiftly down the hallway, their tread quiet against the rugs running down the center. Ahead, a cross-section corridor forced a decision. Travel right; toward a grand set of stairs, which led to the castle’s center. It would be impossible to continue unnoticed.
Or left, toward the most coveted guest chambers. Where both Sterling LaGoryen and Dagan were staying.
As they neared the intersection, they slowed, again listening. Nothing. Not the lilting voices of courtiers, the grumbling of council members, or the busyness of reticent servants.
Archer stepped toward the main hall. Katarra held up a hand that stopped him instantly.
There… faint, but she detected it .
Two sets of booted steps were coming up from the main level, heavily armored and deliberate.
They both took a step back, reconsidering the doors they had just passed.
This wing was also for guests. Second tier guests, those not fortunate enough to be housed with her nephew and ex-lover. Which meant the occupants would be even more eager to prove their worth to the royal family if given the chance.
They couldn’t risk entering one of these rooms.
A tiny sound caught her attention. So slight Katarra almost missed in. Then it grew.
Something small and round had been set in motion.
She tracked the sound over cracks and divots in the hardwoods. Behind the wall, coming from a room, under a door, toward the hall…
A marble appeared a few feet away. As it rolled languidly toward them, its swirling colors alternated between waves of cloudy soft-white and depthless streaks of cobalt-blue. Its journey across the hardwoods was redirected when it contacted with the carpet runner. It continued on slower, but now heading directly for them.
Katarra caught the glass sphere silently under the toe of her boot and bent to pick it up. She kept watch on the door where it had rolled out. She knew that scent.
Slowly, she stood and reached for the door handle. Archer followed her lead.
They stepped inside.
And were immediately set upon.
Katarra got one eye closed before a darting pink tongue could lick it directly. She held still as the wyvern climbed all over her face and head, licking her like a dog, before it noticed Archer and belched a fireball at him.
He dodged it with ease and started to close the door, then stilled. Katarra noted the set of tangerine-colored eyes hiding in the corner.
“He’s safe,” Katarra told the child, “…enough.” She surveyed the holy mess in the middle of the bed. It looked like Legion had pulled out most of the mattresses down stuffing to make a nest. She sighed. “This is precisely why I told you to keep this little bastard in my room.”
The tiny beast leapt off her head and onto the bed. And proceeded to stomp defiantly in the goose feathers.
“He doesn’t like to be left alone,” Oakley replied. Eyeing Archer cautiously, she stepped from the shadows. “I couldn’t risk him having a hissy fit when I left to find you.”
“Where is everyone?” Archer said by way of introduction.
Oakley scanned him from toe to head, clearly determined to decide for herself if “enough” was good enough.
Apparently not. Oakley addressed Katarra instead. “Everyone was instructed to go to the Tower hill. There is an announcement being made within the hour. Both nobles and civilians are to attend. A penalty of death will be issued for anyone who does not.”
Katarra raised an eyebrow at Archer. He raised one back at her.
Impressive. But not typical of Ventus politics to threaten their subjects in such a manner.
The Tower–a standalone structure that was exactly as its name suggested, a tower–was located on the south end of the castle. That explained why they hadn’t seen the crowds, having entered from the north. The Tower housed inmates deemed too powerful for the dungeons. Its balcony was used for issuing new decrees to the masses. It also hosted public executions.
“ Everyone is there?” Archer asked.
Oakley nodded. “I kept watch from your chamber window,” she told Katarra. “When I saw you coming up through the town center and heading toward the stables, I knew what entrance you would most likely take and sought to cut you off, before…”
Katarra knelt until she was eye-level with the child. “Before anyone could spot us? Why?”
Again her bright eyes fixed on Archer. “The new arrivals. I heard them talking. They said the commander wasn’t cooperating.” She kept her focus on him. “They said it might get him killed. I wanted to warn you.”
In a too calm voice, Archer asked, “The group of males that arrived yesterday?”
Another curt nod, her tight red ringlets falling into her face. “The dangerous ones.”
Dagan and his wolf pack .
“You did well.” Katarra squeezed the child’s shoulder and stood, surveying the room. “Where’s the passageway?”
Oakley canted her head and beamed. “I thought you knew them all?”
Katarra smirked down at her. “Apparently not.”
Oakley pivoted, scooped Legion off the bed, which earned a hiss of protest. Then she shuffled to a large bronze statue carved into the wall. “Behind here.” She pointed with pride. “There’s a lever under his left elbow.”
Katarra felt where the child instructed. Sure enough, the statue creaked open. She turned back to Archer.
“Go with her to your room. Lock the door,” he said. “Don’t open it for anyone.”
“What about your sister and nephew?” Katarra pushed Oakley toward the passageway. The girl quietly obeyed, slipping into the secret hall with the wyvern.
“Just wait for me in your chamber.”
Katarra looked at Archer. “And just where do you plan on going?”
“Someone will have noted our arrival by now.” He turned for the door. “Ulrich wouldn’t be foolish enough to pull all his spies from their holes.”
“You didn’t answer me.”
He glanced over his shoulder at her. “I’m going to find out what’s going on, first. Then, I am going to speak with my uncle.” He ordered, “Wait for me.”
She held his stare for a heartbeat before issuing one of her own. “Don’t have too much fun without me, Commander.”
She winked, then stepped into the dark passageway and pulled the statue closed behind her.
Then bent at the waist to look Oakley in her bright eyes and whispered, “Go to my chamber and do as the commander said.”
The child’s brows furrowed. “He told you to go with me.”
Katarra straightened. “I will. After I do something.”
Oakley eyed her suspiciously. Smart kid.
She added, “I will be there shortly. I need you to keep Legion safe for me until I do. Can you do that?”
Oakley hugged the wyvern to her chest, determination taking the place of doubt. Legion fussed and pushed like it was the worst injustice he’d ever experienced, but he didn’t burp fire at his tiny captor.
Katarra smiled and patted the child’s head. “Go.”