Chapter 31
Chapter Thirty-One
HORNHALL
“ W hat’s the meaning of this?” Archer demanded of the guards stationed outside the hall that led to the Tower.
Both males balked, gazes darting to each other, then back to Archer. “The summons, Commander,” one replied unhelpfully.
“Who issued it?” he challenged.
The corridors had been empty, not even a maid to be found. Archer weighed his options carefully on his way here, considering every possible scenario. They all amounted to the same thing.
A deep pile of shit.
He wasn’t in control. Worse, he had been removed from the order of it altogether. Which meant nothing good could come from whatever he was about to uncover.
With that in mind, he decided to meet his fate head on. As Commander of The King’s Knights.
The second guard said hesitantly, “The King’s Regent.”
“Where is she?” Archer started to cut through them.
The next words stopped him dead in his tracks. “ He is about to address the public. ”
Archer whirled on the unlucky messenger. “Where is my mother?”
The guard’s eyes grew round. He sputtered, “You mother is with him. The King’s Regent…” The male pointed past Archer, finger shaking, to the Tower doors behind them. “...is in there.”
Archer growled into the male’s face, “Who has been named the King’s–”
“Commander?” Drake’s familiar voice said from behind him.
Archer turned. “Please come with me,” Drake continued. His tone was careful. What the fuck was going on?
The tangy taste of blood filled Archer’s mouth as he sawed his teeth into his tongue. But he managed to stuff his need for answers back down his throat, and turned on his heels, following his second in command through the tower doors.
Drake closed the doors behind them and walked ahead a good distance, before spinning to face him. “It’s Dagan,” his second said in a rush. “Your mother announced he was taking over in a council meeting just after dawn.” The warrior glanced down the hall, and dropped his voice another level. “Something’s off with her, Archer.” Another peripheral scan. “Your uncle sent out a summons–for whatever this is–right after that meeting. No one has any idea what’s going on. But they’ve erected the execution scaffolding on the hill. Even Ulrich seemed taken aback when he saw it.”
“What happened after I left last night?”
“They retired to their personal chambers.” Drake shook his head. “If another meeting occurred, it took place in private.”
The sound of a latch clicking at the opposite end of the hall made them both straighten. They turned toward the Tower doors just as Archer’s mother emerged.
She was dressed in a finely embroidered emerald gown, the intricate design minimal at the high neck and along the sleeves but twisting cleverly into an elaborate pattern on the skirt. It was what was sewn into those swirls and whorls that had Archer tensing.
Aeolus, the god of wind. Depicted with his cheeks expanded, a might gust of air blowing from his mouth. A crown atop the coat of arms.
The royal insignia of Arrowren…
“Ah, you’re here.” Dagan stepped through the door behind his mother.
Archer’s eyes went straight to the Regent pin on his uncle’s jacket, the symbol of his power over this kingdom. It wasn’t the same pin his mother had worn only yesterday, with the Hornhall ensign stamped proudly on it. It was the bronze-cast image of the wind god, Aeolus.
Archer’s gaze lifted to the Wolf of Ventus. Dagan smiled and said, “There’s been a few changes.”
K atarra followed the catacomb passageway to the exact location Warelow had described and pulled the scrap of skin from her bag. Surprisingly the stigmata tattoo was holding up pretty well. She spread it out flat in her palm and waited. For what, she wasn’t entirely sure.
She had no idea if not being born fae would affect the spell. But it was worth a shot. She sure as shit wasn’t going to wait in her room for someone else to determine her fate.
Despite the long ride back during the night, the second round of epic sex up against a tree, and minor discussion about an actual plan going forward, she still hadn’t found the right moment to explain to Archer who Dagan was–to her.
Why? Another thing she wasn’t entirely sure of.
The one certainty Katarra had going for her was instinct. A survivalist understanding that told her to be ready. For whatever was about to come barreling her way.
Movement caught her attention. A rat running down the dark tunnel. She tracked it along a wall of bones until it disappeared under a door .
A door that hadn’t been there a second ago…
Katarra went still as the grave, focusing on the vibrations of the rat’s nuanced pitter-patter on the other side. The absorption of sound was different now. A larger space with softer items housed inside. Less bones.
A room. A secret room.
And in that room… she inhaled and sifted past the pungent decay and dirt of the tunnel.
Hay, stale bread, stagnant water, and bodies. Two bodies . One male and one female.
Alive.
She didn’t waste another breath. There was no telling how long she had before others returned. She hurried to the door, glanced back in the direction she’d come from, then once more at where the rat had gone.
Then she kicked in the door.
The Arrows
B astian flexed his wrist and splayed his fingers, one by one. Shadows crept over his knuckles. He willed them into flame.
It had been an hour since the sorceress removed the magic contract with Ventus. With its stifling absence came a freedom he never fully appreciated before. A freedom he hadn’t felt in totality since his last day on Earth.
Another test, he realized, as he surveyed the sweeping valley below . To be stripped of what he thought defined him. To sit with, and feel, the oppressive weight and vulnerability. To appreciate this moment now with the purest of reflection.
Bastian focused on a withering tree–on the bark that splintered and struggled. He traced its structure down to the source, a festering near its base. Harnessing his earth-dancing abilities, he dug into the rich soil, pulled up the nutrients through the roots as he willed the heartwood to expel the disease.
The willow sighed in the gentle breeze.
He was ready. Another shocking revelation. For whatever came next. Thanks to Selene, he now knew what that was. Removing the last lid on the proverbial box housing his full powers.
Unlike mastering earth, air, fire, and water, unlocking the Chosen One’s full potential required turning inward. He would need to tunnel down into himself, deep into the well of his powers to find the key. A key, once understood, would gift him with the essence of each realm.
There was only one problem. Doing such a thing could take centuries. And time was not on his side. Not with whatever darkness was seeping into this land. He would have to give his fate a gentle nudge.
The only way to accomplish such a nudge, according to the sorceress, was to merge his powers with someone else’s. Someone gifted with similar strengths. Together, they could amplify Bastian’s magic upon his decent inward.
Luckily, such a practitioner was here in this glade with him.
Sage, with her Astamere bloodline, possessed Pure Magic. Not just any Pure Magic, either. She could control the strongest of them all; storm-magic.
If the two of them could tap into each other’s strengths… In theory, they could combine them to push Bastian far enough into the void. Enough for him to access his full range of powers. Only then would the universe see fit to bless him with the immeasurable power of the Chosen One. The power to unite them all–human, angel, vampire, fae, elemental. All realms coexisting in harmony.
A pretty fairytale.
One he still wasn’t sure could be achieved. There had always been conflict.
“There will always be conflict,” Sage’s said, as if she were responding to concerns he’d spoken aloud. “But there doesn’t have to be devastation,” she mused, off to his side. “Hate could be curtailed, driven back into the shadows. It could be shunned, instead of promoted.”
Bastian glanced over at her. She had unplaited her hair, and it now framed her beautiful face, pink petals from a fragrant flower caught in the ends like purposefully placed barrettes. She’d been out here with him on the side of this cliff since Selene had given them their marching orders–quite possibly more information than two souls should have–and said she would be back when the time was right. Then she left. Left them here. Alone. Together. To figure out how to change the world.
“Do you really think it’s possible?” he asked.
“I do,” Sage said into the wind. It caught her words, emphasizing the lower register of her sensual voice as it drifted down the mountain side. She glanced over at him. “I always have.”
For the first time in his life, Bastian felt the possibility of hope. It had never been in his nature. If anything, the opposite was true. Eirik was the positive one. Always had been.
But now that Bastian knew? Now that he realized how much was at stake? Now that she stood beside him…
“Are you ready for the first test?” Sage asked.
No. No, he wasn’t.
Bastian craned his neck and looked up at a passing bird. “There’s still the option of the wildlife.”
“They won’t give you the history of this land.” He felt her eyes on him. “Are you worried?”
Bastian faced her. “I would be lying if I told you I wasn’t.”
A mischievous little smile. “I promise not to die on you.”
“That’s not what I’m worried about.”
“Gee, thanks.”
Bastian smirked. “I’m not worried about killing you,” he clarified. “I’ve been starved to the brink of death before, and still maintained my composure when the opportunity to feed finally presented itself.”
He looked out over the valley again. “There’s an intimacy in the taking of blood. I won’t just see the history of Ventus through your eyes. I will have access to your emotions.” He turned back to her. “What you felt in each of those memories.”
Sage’s head tilted, clearly considering his words.
Selene had already explained that the synthetic blood Bastian had been ingesting was drugged to dilute his strength. Despite the fucking magic contract . Most likely why he’d been defenseless against the darkness at the lake, and in his bed chamber. Not to be outdone by unknowingly entering the tourney with a handicap. Their little swim to the lighthouse could have resulted in, not just the loss of his life, but Mekale’s.
The knowledge only made him want to curb-stomp the ruling class of this realm all the more. Not even Gerra was delusional enough to think they could get away with drugging emissaries and guests from other realms and have it go unchecked.
It spoke volumes about how detached Ventus had become. How entitled they thought themselves. How irresponsible they were. Like an insolent child.
That shit was going to change. He’d seen enough, felt the slithery nature of this land since day one–the injustice and oppression of the lesser fae. They were little more than animals to the ruling elites.
Less than animals. They were slaves .
But he needed to feed. And he needed to learn. Quickly. Everything he could absorb about this realm. Aspects of it that had been hidden from him. An understanding only someone with Sage’s background could provide. Someone with Pure Magic coursing through their blood.
“Are you concerned about what you will see?” She pulled him from his thoughts. “What you might feel?”
When his gaze found hers, Bastian held it. “I’m concerned that if I discover what memory had you paralyzed in the ballroom…” His words were so guttural he barely recognized them. “I might tear this realm apart with my bare hands searching for who caused it. ”
Sage swallowed. But she moved toward him, each step smooth and graceful. Confident.
She stopped and pulled her hair to one side of her long neck. “Whatever you find in my past–in the past of this land,” she beseeched, “let it serve as a guide, to a better future. One not carved out through revenge, but through understanding. So that every scar is sacred. To be learned from.”
Those golden rings around her green eyes blazed like fire as she tilted her head and exposed the slender column of her throat.
He reached out and with a trembling hand skimmed the delicate flesh with his fingertips. The skin there prickled under his touch. Bastian could only stare.
He could do this. He could absorb her knowledge. And not eviscerate everyone in his path when he learned the truth.
Because she would forbid it.
The truth of the matter was plain. Bastian might be the Chosen One, the one prophesied to unite the realms. But this female before him…
He would go to his knees for her.
What he couldn’t do was go into this pretending it was simply an assignment. He had been part of a bigger picture since his conception. He was fine with that. He would gladly give his life for what he had to do next. But he wouldn’t compromise what he was building with Sage.
She deserved more. He deserved more.
“This isn’t how I would have done this,” he said, expelling a breath, “if we had more time.”
She looked up at him, gaze questioning. “What would you do different?”
“I’d take my time with you.” He sighed. “Learn your history, the details of your life.” As if his fingers had a mind of their own, they threaded through the silky hair at the nape of her neck. “Like skipping a rock across the water and counting each ring that appears. I’d make it last, dragging it out until you begged to tumble into the lake’s depth with me.”
She stared at him. A moment–an eternity.
Then she said, “Everything I’m about to show you, Bastian…it’s my past. Rocks that have already been skipped, stories that already have an ending. But my future, our future… ” She leaned into his touch. “That’s a brand new lake, unmarred and vast.”
He exhaled a breath he’d been holding. It was everything he needed to hear. More, even . “Will you take this journey with me?” he asked. “Will you bear witness to my history?”
Sage smiled. “It would be my honor.”
He lifted his free hand and extended his fangs, then pierced his fingertip. One bright drop of blood pushed to the surface.
“It’s not a smooth ride,” he forewarned. “But it’s everything that has shaped me. Everything that I love. And all that I fear.”
She lowered her head, but her eyes did not stray from his–saying everything words could not. She wrapped her lips around his finger and Bastian shuddered when she dragged his life’s blood into her mouth. When she pulled back, he leaned in, cradling her neck with both hands, letting her scent twine around him…
The rest of the realm quieted into nothing.
S age inhaled sharply as the sting set in.
It was gone by her exhale.
And then she was floating, high on whatever this sensation was, her skin heating under his touch. She’d never experienced anything like it. Never been so willingly complicit in her own surrender.
Her eyes fluttered closed, and she soared to a whole new level of euphoria.
She felt him everywhere–at her neck, pressed to her chest, cradling her back. Her bones and blood melted into his arms like molten ore and his scent washed over her. Further and further she flew, until she was slipping past time. Day became night, night bled into day, weeks morphed into years.
Like a dream, his past formed in front of her. Snippets at first, colors and layers. Then those stories began to link.
A little boy placed in the center, always stepping back.
They turned to him the moon.
He pivoted to the sun.
Because in the little boy’s mind…
The day was always brightest, when the night was far behind.
S he drifted through starlight as the last image unraveled at the edges, dissolving into the distance.
Still Sage clung to it. Unable to leave him alone there sobbing on the ground with the female before him succumbing to her injuries, her body turning to ash in his hands. He tried in vain to hold on as she sifted through his fingers like sand.
But his pain, the crippling guilt, was not for his own loss. It was for another.
It was for his brother…
The smell of pine and moss and living things pulled Sage away. Until the picture of devastation fragmented entirely–nothing but the moan of a memory between the stars.
A shadow shifted above her. She could feel the hard planes of a larger body pressing against hers. A strong hand, warm and broad, was stroking the hair from her face, brushing over her cheek. Holding her.
The inky night of the dream-like state cleared enough for Sage to make out his face, drawn, lips pressed tight, sapphire eyes wide–scanning.
This beautiful, selfless male had given everything. Devoted his life to keeping the darkness that prowled through his powers at bay. Keeping his family safe from the void he thought was housed in his soul.
Still… He didn’t think it was enough.
But Sage had seen more than his past. She had glimpsed something beyond that. Something in the memory of the stars she floated past.
Bastian’s darkness. It wasn’t a flaw in him.
It was the flaws of them .
The ancient bloodline he carried in his veins. The weight of a hundred souls. Lifetimes of war and power and loss.
Unfathomable burdens . That’s what this life had thrown him. A journey across time, through the history of the realms, and the forebears who walked these lands before him. Each of his ancestors had given over a fraction of their power, passed it directly to him– the Chosen One.
Bastian had no idea. All this time he thought himself flawed. So he’d wrecked and punished, and sacrificed his life because of it.
She couldn’t stop the tears falling.
Shadows crept into his eyes, a different sort of fear. She didn’t have to wonder from where it stemmed. His worry was that she had seen his past. And found him unworthy.
“Bastian, no.” Her hands went to his face. “It’s not that. It could never be that.”
She twisted onto her knees. “I saw more than just your past,” she said in a rush. “I saw where your powers come from. Who they come from. The darkness you think defines you… It doesn’t .”
His throat bobbed and he looked away, down at the bed of clover where they sat.
He had lain her down. At some point in their journey, he had made her comfortable.
Sage pushed aside the thoughtfulness, gripped his chin, and brought his gaze back to hers. “That feeling that rides you,” she insisted, “it’s from your ancestors. It’s their past. You got it all, the good and the bad, when they gave you their powers. ”
He shook his head. “I don’t understand.”
“They chose you. Somehow, someway. Those of your bloodline managed to impart some of their strengths onto you. In doing so, the essence of their memories also transferred.” She cried anew, as understanding took root in his eyes. “There is nothing inherently bad in you.” He gently brushed away her tears with his thumb, lips trembling. “You are worthy, Bastian. You are good.” Her words were a mantra, a prayer, an order. “And you deserve happiness.”
Silver lined his eyes. Then, whatever remained of Sage’s heart, she willingly handed it over to him. No more denying what this was. What he was to her. They were a language all their own, fluent in one other, a story made whole by the other’s half.
Bastian’s eyes widened, awe and wonder lighting them from within. Sage opened her mouth to tell him. That he was meant for her. And she for him. That they only had to find each other...
The words faded on her tongue.
There…
A whisper of color around him.
Around them both .
So faint she blinked, unsure if it was an illusion, or a trick of the light.
Bastian released a shuddering breath. Sage could only stare at the soft glow of twining blues– their auras . It shouldn’t be possible. Fae didn’t have fated bonds. Not the way other immortals did, rare as they were.
Bastian swallowed once. Twice.
Then he declared, voice barely audible, “A perfect match.” Astonishment colored his words. “Our auras are the same.”
She had to be sure. She reached out, searching for that telepathic connection they shared.
With the softest of caresses, she brushed her question against his mental shields. “Is this what you want?”
She held her breath. He’d had a lifetime of denying himself. Of not choosing .
A beautiful smile curved his lips, and he leaned in, so close she could feel the warmth of his breath against her lips. “I’ve never wanted anything more.”
Sage closed her eyes. She let the admission settle over her, allowed it to run through her body, around their bond, down deep into her soul. She took it into her heart and gave it a home.
When she dared to open her eyes…
His gaze was locked on hers–glittering and alive and burning gold.